The Body in the Lighthouse (4 page)

She tried to sound reassuring, “Feuds are hard to deal with, but usually someone from each camp decides she or he has had enough and then things get resolved. But I'm not so sure about the KSS people. I know the type, and these people have a ‘My way is the only way' perspective. I feel sorry for them, though. Their children will be Mainers, but
they
won't. Just as I'll never be a New Englander.”

“You don't want to be, dear,” Ursula observed shrewdly, and accurately. “These people do. Help me turn out the lights and I'll tell you a joke.”

This is enticing, Faith thought, wondering if it would involve a lobsterman, a rabbi, and a priest.

“A Down East man and his pregnant wife are visiting in New Hampshire, when she goes into labor. He bundles her into the car and they drive as fast as they can to the Maine border, but it's no good. The baby is born before they can cross it. The same day, another baby is born somewhere on the Maine coast. As soon as he can travel, his parents take him to the Orient, where he lives for the rest of his life. The other baby lives a long life, too, but he never leaves the state again. They die at the same time. The
Ellsworth American
runs both obituaries: “Local Man Dies in Singapore” and “Man from New Hampshire Dead at Eighty-one.”

Faith laughed, getting the point.

Upstairs in their room, Tom was sleeping soundly—and silently. Faith got ready for bed and sat on the window seat before turning in. The sky was so clear, even clearer than in Aleford. The stars were bright and seemed close enough to touch. Her husband moved slightly, and she turned her gaze toward the man for whom she had given up the Great White Way for the Milky Way, as well as the three
B
's—Bergdorf's, Barneys, and Balducci's—and reliably good haircuts. She missed the energy and diversity of the City, but she had never regretted her decision. She still wasn't used to the move—and hoped never to be—yet there hadn't really been any choice. She'd met Tom at a wedding reception she was catering, unaware that he'd just performed the ceremony and changed out of his vestments. Daughters and granddaughters of clergymen, Faith and her sister, Hope, one year younger, had sworn never to marry into the fish-bowl existence that was inevitably parish life. Hope had stayed the course, presently engaged to Quentin, another urban warrior on the Street, almost as successful as she was; Faith had been diverted from the path—decisively. Love has a way of doing that.

She stood up and reached to pull the shade down. She wanted to be outside, looking up at the sky. Her religious beliefs were somewhat eclectic, and tonight she thought she might be a Transcendentalist. What other name could there
be for what was before her than the Oversoul—reaching out to pull her into one great, grand Universal?

In the morning, she'd talk about it with Tom. Tom, her beloved. She pulled the shade and noticed that some trick of starlight was making it seem as if a lantern was moving about the old lighthouse. Maybe Ben was right. Perhaps Abbie Burgess's ghost, or that of some other long-ago lighthouse keeper's daughter, was taking up residence. She pulled the shade back up again and dismissed her whimsy. It wasn't the stars. It wasn't a ghost. It was definitely a light.

 

No one had pulled up the shade, yet the strong sun pierced through, dappling the bright patchwork squares on the quilt Faith had pulled over her shoulder when she'd gone back to sleep after Tom had gotten up. It had scarcely been light then and she'd barely been conscious. Now, she realized with alarm, it was late. After eight o'clock. She had to feed, clothe, and get the kids to camp within the hour. Throwing on her own clothes and pausing briefly in the bath, complete with lion-pawed cast-iron tub, she raced downstairs, fearing the worst. Normally, she would have been awakened much earlier, at least by Amy jumping on the bed. Where were her children and what were they doing? She stopped short at the kitchen door. The scene was straight out of Norman Rockwell. Amy, not only dressed in a top and shorts that matched but with her silky blond hair
in two tightly braided pigtails, was drying a fork with a voluminous dish towel. She was standing next to Ursula at the sink. Ben, similarly well turned out, was in the rocker by the woodstove, reading out loud from Harry Potter. One of the cats was curled up by his feet.

“Good morning, Faith dear. There's a stack of pancakes keeping warm in the oven, and the coffee's hot,” Ursula said.

Kissing her children, as much from affection as to make sure the body snatchers hadn't paid a nocturnal call, Faith kissed Ursula, too. The woman should be bottled.

Ben resumed his reading after casting a stern look at his mother for interrupting. Then they all prepared to leave.

“The skunks must be gone,” Faith said. “Otherwise, Tom would have come back. Or maybe not. He might be trying something else.”

“They're gone. Don't worry. He called about an hour ago.”

“That's wonderful.” Faith was enormously relieved. “I think I'll go see what's going on over there. We should be able to move back now.”

“Nonsense,” Ursula declared. “Your house isn't ready, and it's a pleasure to have you. Besides, it will go faster if you're not underfoot.”

Admitting to herself that she had been hoping Ursula would say something like this, Faith offered to take her over to the house to see what progress had been made.

“Not today. It's Sewing Circle at Serena Mar
shall's. Vera Hamilton's taking me. The fair is coming up, and we aren't nearly ready.”

The Sewing Circle, or, officially, Sanpere Stitchers, was a group of island women who got together periodically to sew and chat. During the winter, they made quilts for the Ronald McDonald House and other worthy causes. All year, especially in the spring and summer, they made items for their annual fair in August, the proceeds of which went to the Sanpere Medical Center. The fair usually sold out in an hour. Faith was glad of the reminder. Ursula had been knitting a beautiful deep blue pullover with a chain of tiny white starfish at the neck, which would be perfect for little fair-haired Amy. The Sewing Circle. Ursula might be a summer person, but she was in a category all her own, the only nonislander to be invited into the select group.

“Serena is Seth Marshall's mother, isn't she?”

“Yes, and I understand he has more work than he can handle. Booked for two years from now.”

“Well, tell her to say hi from us. He did a wonderful job on the original part of the house, and we're grateful he recommended Lyle.”

After asking whether Ursula needed anything, Faith added that she would be handling the meals from now on, even breakfast. Ursula told her that would be a treat and to get going; otherwise, the children would be late for camp. It was hard to feel like a grown-up at the Pines, no matter what tack you took.

When Faith arrived at the cottage, she was
happy to see that no one was sitting outside. A steady sound of hammering was issuing from inside, reverberating in the warm summer air. Very warm for Maine. She eyed the cove. The tide was going out. Pix claimed the best time to swim was the second tide—when the water came back in over the sunbaked mud and rock. Faith shook her head. What could she be thinking of?

“Tom,” she called, going into the house. “Did you see their footprints?”

He emerged from one of the bedrooms.

“Hi, honey. Yup. They were as plain as day. Lyle has put in the vent, so there won't be any more return visits from these guys or all the relatives who will have heard by now of the fine cuisine we offer.”

“What's happening today?”

“We're starting on the counters and cabinets. Kenny's finishing the upstairs ceiling.”

“Is he the young one? Tall, skinny, crew cut, not used to women in dishabille?”

“Sounds like Kenny, except he must have seen his mother plenty. He's Persis Sanford's son, never married and lives at home with her.”

It was at moments like these that Faith especially missed Pix, who filled in all the blanks for her, both in Aleford and on Sanpere. It was slightly galling to have her husband so much more in the know than she was, but Faith was feeling generous. The skunks were gone. All was right with the world.

“So tell me, who's Persis Sanford?”

“She's a real estate agent, local, as you might guess from the name. Also Grand Marshal of the Fourth of July parade not once, but twice, and general mover and shaker on the island with a finger in every pie.”

“Mixed metaphors aside, how do you know all this?”

“Oh, the guys talk, and when Lyle said he was hiring Kenny as extra help, I heard all about Persis. Apparently, she was quite a hot ticket in her youth.”

“But Kenny's not in the business?” Now that she thought about it, Sanford Realty sounded familiar, although Faith couldn't recall seeing any signs dotting front yards or along the roadside. What did adorn local front yards this summer were black plywood silhouettes of bear cubs, granny in a rocking chair, gramps with a corncob pipe, and everything in between. They'd replaced the ornaments of yesteryear, the Smurfs and bloomer-clad fat ladies bending over.

“Kenny's not in the business. He's a very good carpenter. Period.”

“Slightly dim?”

“Not that. Just not all that bright.”

Faith nodded; she understood the difference. He wasn't slow, simply wasn't burning up the road the way his mother seemed to be.

“Well, he has time. He could be a late bloomer. What is he, twenty-two, twenty-three?”

Tom laughed. “For an astute observer, you're
way off on this one. Kenny's in his early thirties. About our age. But he does look like a kid—as do you,” he added charitably, and truthfully. Faith was wearing a white T-shirt and khaki shorts. She'd let her thick blond hair grow longer over the winter, and now it was pulled back in a scrunch. Like the rest of the family, she was slender, and despite heavy applications of sunscreen, her skin had acquired a light tan.

“I didn't get that good a look at him,” Faith said, defending herself. “Now, do you have what you need for lunch? I'm going to Blue Hill to do a big marketing. After that, I'll pick up the kids and bring them here.”

She realized she hadn't mentioned her conversation with Ursula—or her own late-night Emersonian thoughts.

“Maybe we can get some time to talk after the guys leave,” she added. “Ursula was telling me that some pretty disturbing things have been going on this summer. Sanpere's own version of ecoterrorism, and a lobster war.”

“I've been picking up some of this, but both topics are pretty off-limits. Especially the lobster war. Elwell is a Hamilton and Lyle's sister's son is married to a Prescott. As for the other, they pretty much think it's this nutty group and want nothing to do with any of it.”

“It's more complicated than that. KSS, I mean. I don't know about the Hatfields and the McCoys.”

“KSS?”

“Keep Sanpere Sanpere.”

“I hate it already,” Tom said as Faith got into the car and set off for the mainland.

 

Feeling guilty for shopping off island but needing to stock Ursula's larder for a family of four at Trade Winds, the large Hannaford in Blue Hill, Faith had almost finished her list when she narrowly avoided ramming her laden cart into Jill Merriwether's. Jill owned the Blueberry Patch, a combination bookstore/gift shop in Sanpere Village. Jill, who had been raised by her grandparents on the island after her parents' deaths, looked as guilty as Faith at being caught outside the aisles of their local IGA.

“Earl's coming for dinner and I wanted to get one of those big porterhouse steaks he likes so much.”

Earl was Sgt. Earl Dickinson of the Maine State Police, responsible for patrolling Sanpere. After years of patient persistence on his part, he'd finally gotten engaged to Jill. The wedding was planned for the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. Jill would make a beautiful bride. She had straight dark brown hair that grazed her shoulders in a shining curtain, and deep brown eyes to match. She was tall and had a serious, quiet air about her. Faith had known her for a long time before Jill had spoken to her with the ease they now shared. Perhaps it was being raised by her grandparents, growing up in a taciturn household. Perhaps it was learning loss at such an early age. But Jill was beaming at the moment, her gen
erous mouth, the feature that most broadcast her warm nature, curved in a big smile.

Faith gave her a hug.

“It's wonderful to see you, and your groom deserves the best. Are you very, very happy and very, very crazed?”

“Both, and more. I wanted to elope somewhere or just go up to Ellsworth and get married in the courthouse, but Earl says he's only doing this once and wants to do it right. I was down in Portland for the final fitting of my dress. I do love the dress, but I hated to close the store when the island is filled with tourists. I haven't been able to find anyone to work for me. It's the same all over the island. They're offering dishwashers eight dollars an hour at the inn. I could make more money there!”

Faith had noticed that Jill's store was closed and had wondered where she was.

“If there's anything I can do to help, you know you can call me. We're staying at Ursula's. The house isn't anywhere near finished, so I have plenty of time.”

“There is a God!” Jill exclaimed.

While assuming that Jill held such a belief—after all, she
was
getting married in the Congregational church, with Tom assisting—Faith was surprised by the outburst and wasn't sure whether to respond, “Praise be!” or “Are you okay?” She said nothing, waiting for a further cue.

Jill grabbed Faith's arm excitedly. “I've been
desperate. You know we've been working on a production of
Romeo and Juliet
—an updated, Down East version—as a fund-raiser for the swimming pool project, right? Pix must have told you; she's been involved from the beginning.”