The Body in the Kelp (12 page)

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Authors: Katherine Hall Page

BOOK: The Body in the Kelp
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Louise was silent, then drew an audible breath.
“It's magnificent, Faith, and I won't deny being terribly, terribly jealous. Oh, you're going to have so much fun quilting it!”
There it was. No hope at all, Faith thought gloomily.
“Now let's see what we have here.” Louise pointed to a square. “That, of course, is Mariner's Compass.” She was starting to name another when Jill, Eric, and John all arrived at the front door at once.
Eric looked a little shaky, but he was clearly trying to deal with his grief. The first thing he said upon entering the room was, “Yes, Elliot, I'd love a very large gin and tonic and I'm doing okay.”
Elliot put a drink in his hand, and he sat down in one of the comfortable overstuffed armchairs that filled the room. John, with a glass of wine, followed suit.
Rooms seemed to get filled quite often in New England, Faith noted. Maybe because people didn't want to throw anything out. You never knew when something might come in handy. In the case of the Fraziers' living room the result was not chaos but comfort. The bookshelves were lined with all the books a person could ever want to read, especially curled up in one of the chairs on a foggy day with a fire in the fireplace. There were large pitchers of wildflowers mixed with a few garden civilians set on the pine tables scattered around the room. A huge glass-fronted china closet stood in the corner, too large for the dining room, Faith suspected, and it was filled not only with majolica and French pottery gathered on trips, but with shells and rocks collected closer to home. At Faith's side a polished slab of deep russet granite rested on top of the wrought-iron base from an old Singer sewing machine. The quilt was spread over a slightly
faded chintz sofa, which provided a soft background for the brilliant squares. There were twenty of them connected by pale serpentine-green lattice strips.
“Oh Faith, is this what you got at the auction?” Jill asked. “It's beautiful.”
“The same, and I feel very lucky. It's exactly what I wanted. Only I do wish Matilda Prescott had been able to quilt it too. I think it may take me until the next century.”
“Now don't be discouraged. I'd be glad to help you baste it and get you started,” Louise offered.
“Me too,” Pix said. “Besides, if it had been quilted, you probably wouldn't have gotten it. I've never seen one like this. Once you start, you'll love it. We could go up to Ellsworth and get batting and fabric for the backing tomorrow or Friday if you want.”
“Leave the island?” Faith teased. “I didn't think anything would get you to cross the bridge before Sam dragged you kicking and screaming home after Labor Day.”
“This is a special case,” Pix replied.
“I remember seeing Matilda working on these squares last Spring,” Eric said. “She was having a lot of fun with them. She subscribed to all the quilters' magazines and was constantly ordering books on quilting. She'd finish one square, then go through her collection to decide which one she'd do next.”
“I was able to get some of her books at the auction, Faith, and you're welcome to borrow them and my magazines. As I said, I know this is Mariner's Compass”—Louise placed her finger on the square, then moved it to another—“and this is Shady Pine, I'm sure, and Fern Berry. I wonder if she picked them for their association with Maine? Perhaps not. This is Old Maid's Puzzle, and I don't think that is particular to the state.”
They were all standing over the quilt now.
“It's interesting to know the names. I always think a sampler quilt is very special, choosing different squares instead of repeating the same one,” Pix said.
Jill was looking closely at the squares.
“Her stitches were exquisite—just look at how even they are.”
She bent down to count them. “Oh, here are her initials in the corner. She must have planned to embroider them. And the date, but I can't read what's next to it; the pencil got smudged.”
“Let me see,” Louise said. “No, we need the magnifying glass.” She went over to the reduced Oxford English Dictionary and took a large magnifying glass from the top. “Here, Faith, it's your quilt. You look.”
“This is exciting,” said Faith. “Like a secret message.” She read slowly, “‘Seek and Ye Shall Find.' I'm sure that's what it says, but what does it mean?”
They took turns looking and agreed on the words. Elliot offered an opinion: “Remember, Matilda was a very religious woman. It may not be cryptic at all, just simply what it says, Seek and Ye Shall Find—God, peace, salvation.”
“I think Elliot's probably right,” John added. “She had a big bowl next to her bed filled with tiny slips of paper with the chapter and verse of parts of the Bible printed on them, and she'd pick one every morning and every night, then read whatever passage it told her. I wouldn't be surprised if all her quilts had quotations from the scriptures on them.”
“Aunt Matilda
was
a God-fearing woman,” chided a voice from the doorway, a voice that more than hinted that few in the room would be counted in that number. Faith turned around, startled. It was Margery Prescott, Sonny's wife, and she was putting on a sweater. She was a substantial woman in her late thirties. Her hair was the same snuff brown as her sweater, and standing with her back to the door, she looked like a greatly enlarged doorstop. One of the old cast-iron ones guaranteed to keep the door from slamming shut in any wind.
“So that's what she was working on at the end,” Margery said as she strode toward the group clustered around the quilt. “She made beautiful quilts. We all got one when we got married. Kept her busy, I suppose.”
“Margery brought the mussels for our supper and was kind enough to stay and clean them for me,” Louise explained. Margery was moving toward the door.
“I'll be going then. Enjoy your meal.” She was gone, but was
it Faith's imagination or did Margery cast a glance of malicious amusement toward Eric? A glance that suggested that his mussels might have something other than pearls in them?
“And now it's my turn,” Louise said. “It won't take long. I hope you all like Billi Bi?”
Faith was slightly reassured to hear that Margery had not prepared dinner too.
Louise wasn't gone long, returning faintly flushed. “Please come and sit down. It's a simple summer meal, but it does have to be eaten hot.”
Besides the delectable creamy mussel soup, the simple summer meal included lots of crusty bread; corn from their garden, picked as the water reached a boil; juicy slabs of tomatoes; and rhubarb compote with heavy cream for dessert. Afterward they took their coffee out to the back porch.
The sky looked like an overturned bowl of stars. It was the time of year for shooting stars, and they fell in trails of light across the darkness. Eric was sitting on a lower step leaning against Jill. John was sitting alone off to the side. Eric spoke in a low voice.
“You know, I can't believe Roger is really dead. Here we all are sitting on the porch as always, but he's not here. I just haven't been able to take it in somehow.”
“Early days yet—don't try,” Elliot advised.
“I believe he is here, Eric.” Pix spoke softly. “Because we're here, he's here—and always will be.”
Nobody said anything for a while; then Eric said, “Thank you, Pix.”
It was almost the same group who had been together at the covered-dish supper just over a week ago. They must have done a lot of things together. But now one of them would always be missing. Bill Fox was missing too, but Faith was sure he would have been invited if Bird hadn't been his house guest. It was not likely that Eric would want to see her just yet. Faith wondered if Bill had prevailed upon her to change her dress.
They didn't stay much longer. Faith thanked the Fraziers and
realized she wanted to get to know them better. She had a feeling Tom would like them too.
Tom. It was a stabbing thought as she drove home. She missed him so keenly these days, it was easier not to think about him too much. She'd spoken with him last night after the funeral. He had called to see how she was, but she didn't want to tell him about Bird. He'd just worry, and it wasn't as if there was any danger. But Tom didn't like unpredictability, except in his wife, and if he thought people were jumping into graves on the island, he would assume it was only a small step to other forms of aberrance. Like pushing Faith into a grave. She knew how his mind worked.
Samantha and Arlene left after telling Faith what an angel Benjamin was, and Faith once again questioned the order of the universe that had determined that a child will always behave better for anyone, even a perfect stranger, than a parent.
After she closed the door and turned off the lights, Faith sat on her porch for a while, reluctant to go in. It was too beautiful. The air was warm and the world was full of stars—in the sky and reflected back by the water, lapping the rocks at high tide.
She thought some more about the evening at the Fraziers'. Jill had been warm and friendly; apparently recent events had penetrated her shyness and she had let down her guard. Faith was sure she was deeply upset about Roger, but there was also the way she looked at Eric, slightly maternal, certainly in love. She was needed. John Eggleston had been restless and uncharacteristically silent. Was it likely that he was still troubled by the funeral? Somehow Faith thought not. He was a cipher to her and she wasn't sure she liked him. He didn't seem to fit the circle of friends. Someone who had forced his way in and stayed? She'd forgotten to ask Pix why he had left the church and made a mental note to do so.
She lay back on the rough porch boards and tried to find the Big Dipper. Tom knew all the names of the constellations. She smiled. He would be here soon and she'd try to learn one or two. That was a good thought. She saw the flash of a shooting star and
made a wish. She knew it would come true. Faith had primitive beliefs when it came to stars and fortune cookies, believing in their infallibility more than the average minister's wife was wont to do. She found the Big Dipper and something that might be Orion's belt. Tom would tell her.
 
The next afternoon Faith brought the quilt over to Pix's and they spread it out on the dining-room floor. Pix had some books, and Faith had borrowed a couple from Louise. They hoped they would be able to identify the squares. Samantha had gone off to Arlene's house to lend moral support while her mother gave her a perm, and for the moment Benjamin was happily playing with his little cars and some blocks Pix had dug out. He sat sputtering away at their feet, and Faith realized it wouldn't be long before her car keys, at present an instant baby calmer, would exert a different fascination. She had always been a strong proponent of environment versus heredity, but faced with objective reality, she had to admit there might be something to inborn preferences. As a truly liberated woman, she had presented Ben with balanced choices since birth—a sweet Corolle baby doll, a tea set, a truck—and it was wheels every time.
They decided to have lunch before getting down to work and had moved into the kitchen when they heard a car pull up. Pix looked out the window. “It's Bill Fox and he's alone,” she said, drying her hands hurriedly on her shirt tail and walking toward the door. Faith followed her after locating a dish towel.
“Oh, Pix,” he said, “there you are. I came by earlier and no one was home. I wanted to leave you a note, but I couldn't find any paper without rifling your drawers. It was an enticing notion, though perhaps a bit familiar.”
“Bill, you can rifle my drawers any time,” Pix offered.
This was Pix? Faith thought in amusement—our Pix who dropped her drink at Aleford gatherings if a man so much as admired her canapés?
Bill walked into the house and set a large paper bag on the dining-room table.
“I was wondering if you could follow me into Granville tomorrow
and bring me home. I have to leave my car at the garage to have the brakes checked, and they're going to get rid of all this grime for me. I don't think it's been washed since last year.”
“I have to go tomorrow anyway, so I'd be happy to help you out. Morning or afternoon?”
“Let's be optimists and say morning, around nine o'clock? Maybe it will be done sooner that way. Oh, and this is for you. Some things from my garden that I don't think you're growing .”
“Or if we are, they're nowhere as good as yours. Thank you and I hope you tucked some of that white eggplant in.” Faith had learned that Bill Fox's garden was famous on the island. It was beautiful to look at. Flowers, fruits, and vegetables were planted together in seeming disarray. Scarlet runner beans on tepee trellising were bordered by beds of white phlox and deep-blue bachelor buttons. But the garden was not only a feast for the eye. Bill delighted in producing new and unusual varieties—all the things that were not supposed to grow in this climate. Radicchio, arugula, and baby vegetables had all been in his patch of earth long before they had inhabited Balducci's bins and Manhattan's menus.

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