Nan spoke before Faith could ask.
“I came over here to give you some mushrooms I'd dried. Thought you might be a little restless with all the fog. I saw the car and knew you couldn't be far away, so I went over to Pix's. She was just starting to get nervous and about to call Earl, but I said I'd take a look."
“I hope you don't think I've imagined the whole thing," Faith told her, beginning to feel as if she might have.
“No, deah, I don't think you've dreamed it all up. Wish you had." She looked solemn. "I can't remember a time when the island has been like this. Everybody looking at everybody else like they don't know who they are. And you've got a nasty cut we'd better wash." Faith stood still while Nan gently bathed her cut. She was feeling like a five-year-old about to get a cookie after skinning a knee. It was a lovely feeling.
She went into the kitchen and picked up the offending loaves lying all ready on the counter.
“Why don't you come back to Pix's and have a late lunch with us?" Faith didn't want Nan to leave yet.
“I think I will, thank you. Nothing but Freeman at home, and all he wants to do in weather like this is mend his traps and sleep. Not terrible interestin' for me.”
They took the car. There was no way Faith was going back into the woods except in the clear light of day, and maybe not even then.
Pix rushed out of the house. "Oh, Faith, thank God you're all right! You can't imagine what was going through my mind!”
Faith could and had.
Over lunch the three women speculated on who could possibly have been following Faith and why. After a quick exchange of glances and a slight nod toward the quilting books, they told Nan about Matilda's quilt and the map.
“It sounds like her. Mind you, she was a friend. Maybe because we weren't related and she couldn't boss me around. But she had a peculiar streak in her. Like leaving the house to those two boys. That was just orneriness. Same thing with the gold. If she had it, she should have given it td her nieces and nephews. Fine people, most of them, and they work hard for a living, every day. Would have been pretty glad of some extra money.”
Faith tried not to picture the gold this way—a Prescott legacy. She pushed the image back toward her id and away from her usually high-minded super-ego.
Nan had stopped talking and appeared to be lost in thought. "I don't know who was following you, Faith, but I have a hunch if you find the gold or whatever it is Matilda hid, you'll be a lot safer."
“My sentiments exactly," agreed Pix. "You know the island so well, Nan. Why don't you have a look at the squares and see what you make of them?" She went to the closet and took down the bread crumbs. Fortunately she had taken the precaution of wrapping the photos in a Baggie, so Faith did not have to touch the crumbs. They spread them out on the table. Pix had labeled each one, and they told Nan how they had followed the map as indicated by the squares.
“She was a very smart woman," Nan commented admiringly. "But I didn't know she was this smart. She was spry until a few years ago, so she must have had a lot of fun running around the island and figuring out her clues.”
She paused at number seventeen. "Why doesn't Rail Fence have a name to it?"
“Oh! You're wonderful! We couldn't find it," Pix exclaimed.
Nan pointed a finger at number fourteen. "I've never seen a Jacob's Ladder like this one, but they are different in other parts of the country."
“But Matilda would have used one she was familiar with. Oh, Pix, you don't think we've been wrong about these!" Faith turned a stricken face toward her friend. She had felt they were virtually at the end of their quest.
“Maybe Jacob's Ladder, but not the others. The names have fit the clues. And anyway, we know white House steps That's the most important part, and I'm sure about it. Nan, can you think of a white house on that part of Prescott Point?"
“I know the very house she's thinking of. Only it's not there anymore.”
Pix and Faith looked at each other, crestfallen.
“Which house was it? Did it burn or was it moved?" Pix asked. Houses were moved routinely on the island as fortunes rose and fell.
“Neither. It just fell down and most of the lumber got hauled away. Belonged to Clifford Prescott. It wasn't even a white house. It was gray, but it got that nickname in the forties. FDR was yachtin' up here and they hailed Clifford when he was out lobsterin'. Wanted to buy eighty pounds of lobster. Clifford was a friendly sort, and he got to chatting with them and gave the President some special lobsters as a gift and got a thank-you note from The White House. He was right proud of that letter. Had it framed on the wall. That was when people started calling Clifford's house the Prescott White House. He loved the joke, and Matilda must have too."
“That's a great story," Faith said. She was in the mood for a cheerful story or two.
“If the house caved in, it's possible that the steps are still there." Pix was thinking out loud.
“Of course," Faith agreed eagerly. Nan looked a bit wary.
“Just be careful," she said. "Now I'd better get home or Freeman will try to make his own supper, and there's no tellin' what the mess will be like." She looked at Faith. "I hear you don't think much of island cookin'. You have to come over and have a meal with us sometime. I'm not a bad cook, if I do say so. The two best cooks on the island are two sisters. Had a restaurant in their old farmhouse. You may remember it, Pix, South Beach Farm? It was too popular and they got worn out, had to close. But that was some good.”
Faith blushed. Had her distaste at the casserole supper been so obvious? She remembered all the good smells in Nan's kitchen and didn't doubt her expertise.
“A lot of the food at the supper we went to was delicious—the baked beans, the biscuits, and the desserts. I don't care much for casseroles," Faith said apologetically. "I hope you don't think I don't appreciate the island."
“Well," Nan admitted, "some of those casseroles the girls got from magazine recipes, and I never did lean that way myself.”
She turned at the door. "By the way, those were Freeman's beans.”
Nan left, and Faith decided to spend the night. The idea of going back to the cottage alone was both terrifying and exhausting.
After supper they put Ben to bed, popped some corn, and played Trivial Pursuit, to Samantha's infinite delight. Faith reminded her that this was a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion and she would always detest all forms of board games. She also enjoined her to secrecy. If Tom discovered she had played Trivial Pursuit, then backgammon, Othello, parcheesi, Chutes and Ladders, whatever, would not be far behind. It was pleasant to sit and be beaten, basking in the ordinariness of the situation, but when she climbed into bed at last, she was aware that her arms still ached from being treed, her cheek was sore, and she was still afraid. Pix had suggested reporting it to Earl, but Faith wanted to forget the whole thing. She wasn't going to be alone anymore and she'd be leaving soon. She wasn't sure if she was happy or not at the prospect. So many loose ends remained, but today's intimate experience with a spruce had given her a longing for impersonal sidewalks and forests of skyscrapers of her childhood.
When Ben came in and jumped on her bed the next morning, thrilled with the novelty of sleeping in a different house, Faith noticed at once that the fog, as predicted, had gone wherever it goes. It was a perfect Maine day.
She got up and dressed hurriedly. She wanted to look for the White House steps, and she had a lot to do to get ready for Hope and Quentin. They had said late afternoon, but that could mean virtually anytime between two o'clock and midnight.
After bolting breakfast, Pix and Faith climbed into the Woody and set off on the trail. They drove straight to the area of Prescott Point where they had been on Saturday. Afterdriving up and down the road searching fruitlessly, they finally admitted there was no indication of where the road to the White House was, or had been. Nothing suggested Jacob's Ladder either and they agreed the square could have been mistakenly identified.
They'd have to get i
n touch with Nan to find the old road and since she didn't have a phone, that meant going to her house. Pix volunteered to do it while Faith went back to the cottage. It was impossible to feel apprehensive with such a blue sky.
As Faith was dropping her off and fetching her son, she took a deliberately cheerful view. "The Hamiltons are bound to know where the road is, and it won't take me too long to get things in order. Quentin can always remake the bed if my hospital corners aren't taut enough. Call me and we can resume the search. Ben shouldn't be a problem." Samantha was with Arlene for a joyful reunion after their fog-induced separation.
“Don't worry, I'll call the moment I have any news. Oh Faith, isn't this exciting! Even if it's not the gold, we've solved the puzzle.”
Pix phoned a half hour later. "Nobody's home! I'm so disappointed. I'll go back in an hour or so and keep checking until I find them. They can't have gone far. Freeman says the last time he went off island was in 1979. Hasn't needed to since. Nan does go up to Ellsworth to shop occasionally."
“Well, let's hope she didn't go today. Talk to you later.”
It was almost four o'clock when Pix called again. "Still nobody home!" she cried. "Should I wait until tomorrow?"
“Why don't you try once more at dinnertime, island dinnertime that is? And maybe by then Hope and Quentin will be here and can help us hunt."
“All right, I'll let you know one way or the other.”
At five o'clock Hope and Quentin pulled up to the cottage in the Jeep Cherokee they had rented. Faith grabbed Ben and rushed out to meet them. Hope was getting out of the car in one swift motion. It was the way she did most things. Like her mother. They didn't look the same, but they moved the same way. Women who knew where they were going.
Faith hugged her sister warmly and turned her cheek to Quentin. It wasn't an air kiss, but it wasn't a big smacker either and that pretty much summed Quentin up. Nothing in excess. He and Hope looked as if they had just stepped out of the J. Crew catalogue. Faith knew for certain that everything Hope was wearing was brand-new, but it could just as well have been sailing in Newport for years. And Quentin's jacket was either an old favorite of his father's handed down or the equivalent at a price. Dressed for the part, they were delighted to be there.
“We've been having such fun, Fay. Maine is wonderful!”
“But the last few days were a bit foggy, don't you think?" Hope and Quentin looked at each other in astonishment. "Foggy? They've been the best of our trip. We were out sailing all day yesterday and the sun never stopped shining." Of course.
“Are you hungry? Why don't we go in and get something to drink and sit on the porch? I have a nice 1987 Bertani Catullo white chilling and some tidbits to go with it," Faith proposed.
“I'm sure you do. We stopped for clams at Beal's, but I can eat again. How about you, honey?" Quentin said. He was very appreciative of Hope's sister's talents. Hope herself had firmly told him her own culinary expertise involved knowing which number to dial.
“We have been eating like pigs. Lobster, clams, all those biscuits and pies, but it's vacation, so lead me to the trough." She was on a permanent diet. The Sibley side of Faith and Hope's family were tall and also had what was referred to kindly as "big bones." Hope's skin had been stretched tightly, but not too tightly, over those bones so far, and with her dark hair and deep-green eyes—the only ones in the family, to Faith's chagrin-the hearts Hope Sibley did not cause to quicken in fear over her business acumen quickened for more pleasurable reasons. Quentin was tall too, although less exotic in appearance: light brown hair, brown eyes. Just your average, run of the mill, good-looking-enough-for-any-adcampaign-from-Dior-to-Dewars kind of guy. They made a nice couple.
They settled onto the porch and took turns retrieving Benjamin from trying to climb onto the Jeep's hood. He had settled into car worship and Faith had to keep her car locked at all times after once discovering him at the wheel, steering away and screeching in imitation of squealing tires.
Quentin seemed to find it all very amusing, and Faith and Hope exchanged looks of relief. Quentin did not have a great deal of experience with children. None, in fact, and viewed the whole notion of parenthood with fear and loathing. There was no question of avoidance, he had told Faith once as she was cleaning spit up off his linen suit in Ben's earlier days. The line must continue, but preferably out of sight with a good nanny. Hope felt almost the same way, with moments of thaw when Ben was particularly winsome.
Faith raised an eyebrow in inquiry and glanced in the direction of her sister's ring finger. Hope shook her head slightly. She didn't seem worried about when and if Quentin. would pop the question. He could do no wrong.
They began to eat the gravlax Faith had made with the salmon from Sonny Prescott and dill from the Millers' garden. There was dark-brown bread to go with it, and Faith had heated up some tiny chèvre tarts, in case anyone was still hungry.
“Delicious! And we certainly wouldn't need dinner after all this." Hope leaned back against Quentin, sitting on the stair above.
“Speak for yourself. I always need Faith's dinners," he protested.
“Me too," Faith said. "Besides, we'll eat later, after Ben is in bed. Anyway, it's a simple meal, a bourride, some salad—”
Hope sat up. "And now, sister dear," she said, fixing Faith with that gimlet eye usually employed in sizing up a building, or individual, in her capacity as a real estate appraiser for Citibank, "tell all, and I do mean all—not the edited-for-Mother-and-Father version.”
Faith had sandwiched a brief mention of finding Roger's body between glorious descriptions of the flora and fauna of the Maine coast in a letter to her parents. After finding Bird's body, she had decided not to say anything more and confined herself to postcards of lighthouses and sunsets with brief messages about the weather.
“I know you found some poor drowned man's body on the beach, Fay, but knowing you I figured there had to be a whole lot more going on.”
Her sister was smart. But where to begin and where to stop? She gave an only slightly edited version of the last few weeks, and had just gotten to Bill Fox's suicide when the phone rang.
“I hope that's Pix," Faith cried, and ran inside. It was.
“Faith, I had just about given up. They weren't home again. Then on my way back, I passed them on Route 17 and waved them over to the side. They'd been at Nan's sister's house helping her pack. She's moving to her daughter's in Granville or maybe it's South Beach."
“Pix! Tell me about it later! Did they know where the road was?"
“Of course, and what's more we all drove over there and I know where it is now too. Is your sister there yet?"
“Yes, and there's just enough daylight to go and have a look. I haven't had a chance to tell them about it, but I'll fill them in on the way. Can you meet me there in ten minutes?"
“Of course. See you then.”
Faith ran back to the porch and hastily told Quentin and Hope about the quilt.
“Are you making this all up to entertain us?" Quentin asked reasonably. "If so, it's very kind of you and a lot of fun—especially after the tale of horrors you've been relating."
“I swear it's true," Faith protested.
They were still claiming disbelief as they got into the Jeep while Faith threw some shovels, trowels, a pick, and a crowbar—all easily to hand in the Thorpe cottage's well-equipped barn—into the back. Soon they were headed off to Prescott Point. Ben chortled with joy at riding in the Jeep and made little vroom-vroom noises all the way there.
Pix was waiting by the side of the road.
“We have to walk in. A car can't get through anymore, but the Hamiltons said to follow the remnants of this stone wall and we'd end up where the house used to be. Maybe Jacob's Ladder was meant to look like a stone wall.”
Quentin swung Benjamin up on his shoulders and they set off. It was easy going at first; then they had to pick their way through a dense mass of alders. They emerged into what had obviously once been a clearin
g and looked across to a heap of fallen boards in an old cellar hole. The stairs were almost intact and looked odd leading to the pile of dereliction behind them.
“That's it! Those are the stairs! Come on, let's look for ferns.”
Quentin and Hope clearly believed Faith had gone mad and taken her neighbor and friend with her, but they decided to humor her. After all, there could be money involved. They walked purposively over to the steps and fanned out to look for ferns.
A few minutes later Quentin, with Ben, his adoring disciple, in tow, strolled over to Faith. "This is a fern, isn't it?" he asked, waving a giant frond at her.
“Yes! Where did you find it?"
“Over there"—he waved his hand—"by that fence.”
“Faith!" Pix screamed. "Rail Fence!" This was no lighthearted scavenger hunt now.
They all raced over to the fence.
“Then," said Faith slowly, "the treasure must be buried under this pine." She looked up at the towering tree, starting to merge with the sky in the dusky twilight. She was developing quite an affection for the pines of the Pinetree State. "It's the only one standing'alone." Matilda's clues had been perfect.
They circled the base of the tree. Quentin handed Ben over to Faith and began to dig in a few places. The earth was packed solid.
“I think we ought to come back with a metal detector,”
he suggested. "There's no telling how deep this thing is buried, if it's here at all."
“It's here," Faith and Pix chorused.
Hope had been looking at a piece of ground between two exposed roots. "Why don't you try this spot, darling? This would be where I would have hidden something; then I'd have these roots to guide me if I ever wanted to dig it up again.”
Sensible, very sensible.
Quentin started to dig, and at two feet the tip of the shovel hit something. He removed some more dirt, and Faith took the hand trowel and carefully scraped away the rest. After a long five minutes, she lifted a small tin box out of the hole.
The Body in the Kelp ff-2 Page 20
