The Body in the Birches (11 page)

Again, she noted, he had a thing—a Southern thing?—with personal space. He was so close she could tell he'd just brushed his teeth.

“It was horrible,” she admitted. “I just wish I had known how ill she was and gotten her medical care before this happened.”

“I feel the same. Bev was very good at keeping secrets, especially about herself. I'm not sure it would have helped, in any case, from what Paul told me the doctor here said this morning. He'd been able to reach her doctor at home. She needed an immediate valve repair and he'd been strongly opposed to her coming to Maine. Wanted her in the hospital for the surgery.” He nodded his head in the direction of the house. “What's going on in there?”

“Uncle Paul has gone to lie down and I hope sleep. Simon and Deirdre are eating breakfast. No one else is up. I'm heading out to Granville. There's a farmers' market there every Friday morning during the summer and early fall.”

“I saw Daisy on the beach with the little girl who lives at The Pines,” Will told her. “And Rory's car is gone and it was gone when I came back last night. Maybe he's made some new friends Down East.”

Will's dislike of the Californian was evident. What is this about? Sophie wondered. “The little girl is Amy Fairchild. Her mother, Faith, is the woman who was with me last night. Their cottage is being worked on, so they are staying with Ursula until they can move back in. I used to babysit for Amy and her brother, Ben, back in the day.”

“Very sweet. My babysitters tended to be elderly females with chin whiskers. Come on, I'll drive you to Granville. We should take your car, it's bigger. I like farmers' markets, although I'll bet at this time of year it will be slim pickings. If what I hear is true, tomatoes don't ripen until the end of August and you can't grow peaches, period. Not like our peaches, anyway.”

Sophie hesitated. But the idea of someone else driving and also some company, even Will's, decided her.

“Just let me get my basket,” she said.

She returned with a copious willow market basket.

“Now all you need is a little red cape,” Will said.

It was on the tip of her tongue to reply “No need to look for a big bad wolf,” but instead she settled into the passenger's seat and tried to relax.

The farmers' market was packed. The ball field across from what had been the Granville elementary school through high school until the state stepped in and said it had to combine with Sanpere Village, raising the combined graduating class to twenty-five, was filled with parked high-end SUVs, the occasional BMW and Mercedes, and Subarus—the unofficial Maine state car—both
new and old. Outside the former schools on the blacktop, the lines at each stand were lengthy. Sophie immediately got in the Sunset Acres one.

“Is this the only place you're going?” Will asked.

“I was hoping to get some veggies—chard, early lettuce, anything any of them have—but it will take too long and I want to get back to start lunch. I thought I'd get a few of Bob Bowen's whole chickens here as well as the bacon, eggs, and cheese.”

“I'll pick up the vegetables while you go get the rest.”

Sophie was stunned. She couldn't imagine any man she knew, most especially Ian, offering to stand in such a long queue. Ian. When would the slightest thought of him stop hurting?

“Are you sure?”

In answer, he gave her a little shove, placing his hand on the small of her back. It felt warm, and there was that tingle again. She quickly gave him her order and he went off to the shortest of the produce lines.

On the way to Bob and Anne's stand Sophie passed Sylvia. Her cousin grabbed her arm excitedly. She had a large canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Sophie thought she remembered its use as a kind of Snugli for Daisy.

“The Community Center has what they're calling a ‘General Store' in the old school's basement. People donate usable items, and you wouldn't believe what I scored! An Arabia pitcher from Finland and a lot of antique Nippon and even Limoges. They have no idea what the things are worth. I'm going to make a killing on eBay.”

And donate the profits to the Center? Yeah right, Sophie said to herself, feeling slightly sickened. Sylvia was currently living in a beautiful home in Mill Valley, provided by Daisy's father in Silicon Valley. And her cousin's clothes might look Bohemian, but Sophie had seen some of the labels, and Sylvia wasn't tie-dyeing her wardrobe in her bathtub.

“Sorry, I have to go. The lines are so long.”

“Ridiculous.” Sylvia tossed her head. “Daisy and I are heading to the new place for their lobster rolls. Hear they are fabulous and well worth the money. Later.” And she drifted off in a cloud of patchouli.

“The guy is a total ass . . . I mean jerk!” Ben said angrily.

“Who are you talking about? What's going on?” Faith was bewildered. One minute they were having a nice visit with Mandy Hitchcock and the moment she was out the door, Ben had exploded.

Faith had invited her in when she dropped Ben off, wanting to meet the girl who would be driving her precious son, and she also felt they should offer gas money. Mandy had refused, saying she lived on Little Sanpere, too, just down the road. Faith had liked her and been struck by what a difference less than three years in age made between teenage girls and teenage boys. Mandy was on the brink of womanhood and Ben was still teetering toward snips, snails, and puppy dog tails.

“That guy next door. Daisy's brother, Rory whatev'. Thinks he's God's gift. He came to lunch today with a group of people and the chef was getting really PO'd. Their burgers were too rare, then overdone. Who orders burgers in a seafood place? They were eating at the tables on the deck and getting rowdy. The bartender couldn't keep up with the drinks orders. Mr. Otis came out, but ended up joining them.”

“So, it was all right then?” Faith still felt a bit clueless.

“No, it was
not
all right! He was like hitting on Mandy, who was their server, and he's way older than she is. Wanted her to go to some party with him.”

So that was it. Oh dear, Faith thought. Poor Ben.

“I'm sure Mandy handled it. She seems like a very level-headed girl.”

“That's not the point, Mom!”

Faith was suddenly very tired. The deep sadness she'd been feeling after finding Bev Boynton plus the news that Marian might need complicated heart surgery was leaving her drained. She just didn't have the energy to cope with adolescent angst at the moment.

Fortunately Amy reverted to something akin to eight-year-old brattiness and sang out, “Ben's in love! Ben's in love!” which resulted in his swift exit from the room and a slammed back door.

When Tom had called earlier, he'd told her what she'd already assumed—that he'd be staying down in Massachusetts for the foreseeable future. He was due to participate in a retreat the denomination was running for parish ministers toward the end of the month—God Camp, Faith called it, since the locale was at a conference center high up in the Berkshire mountains. After they'd talked today, she had been tempted to pack up the kids and head home to Aleford, but Ben, as well as Amy, would be heartbroken. Thinking back to Ben's outburst a few minutes ago, she realized he'd be furious, too. She might have taken Sophie Maxwell up on her offer, leaving for just a few days, but not after what Sophie had been through last night.

Sophie was probably also very busy taking over for Bev. Faith doubted the others were pitching in much. This thought was just what she needed to get her out of her funk. She'd go buy some fresh crab from Kathy Gray and make up a few dozen crab cakes that Sophie could serve or freeze. If Kathy's husband, Robbie, was home from fishing and had lobster, she'd do a risotto, as well. That with a big salad from Ursula's garden and several of Gert's pies left from the picnic would serve The Birches for dinner tonight. She'd also make a smoked turkey puff pastry (see
recipe
) that Sophie could pop in the oven and then cut up bite-size for hors d'oeuvres, or larger as a main course. Besides the turkey, there was cheese and either mustard or an onion/garlic jam between the two pastry sheets. When on Sanpere, Faith bought Pepperidge Farm ready-made dough to make
life simple. I should have thought of providing food earlier, she chided herself.

She hadn't known Bev Boynton, but these offerings would be the equivalent of funeral baked meats—food in time of sorrow was a necessity, just as it was in celebration. The celebration yesterday seemed like months ago. She called to Amy, who was upstairs. The summer had already been topsy-turvy because of the delay of the addition to the cottage—and work had stopped for the holiday. Now the summer was starting to feel like an endlessly spinning whirligig.

It was cooler today, thank goodness, Sophie reflected as she finished putting together a massive amount of smoked chicken with steamed vegetables, including the rainbow chard chopped fine and penne pasta she'd found to cook in the pantry, dressed with her own vinaigrette. She put the bowl in the fridge and would bring the dish to room temperature for dinner. It felt good to have accomplished this, and she began to assemble more ingredients. She'd always liked to cook, much to her mother's surprise. “Oh, Sophie, this is why one has people, or failing that, Balducci's in Westport.”

She was about to start on some gazpacho and other cold soups to have in reserve when Uncle Simon and Aunt Deirdre came waltzing into the kitchen. Well, not literally, but Sophie thought there was a pronounced glide to their matching steps as they came through the door from the living room where Paul was. Sophie had brought him some lemonade and offered food, but he said he wasn't hungry.

She looked at her relatives and braced herself. Their habitual cat-that-ate-the-canary looks were broader than usual. They'd pulled something off, and Sophie was certain it had to do with the competition. Forbes and Felicity were sailing but had made sure to stay in the running by inviting Paul to come along as they were leaving. Sophie had seen him smile and refuse. “Not today, children,” he'd said.

“We've just been telling Uncle Paul that we can't continue to impose on you for all these meals. We've hired a caterer from off island to supply lunches and dinners until Bev can be replaced,” Simon announced.

Sophie started to speak but stopped immediately. What she had been about to say was that Bev could
never
be replaced. As for the meals, there was no reason why they all couldn't pitch in until Paul himself decided what he wanted to do. Apparently, since Simon had only mentioned lunch and dinner—she thought in annoyance—they were happy to have Sophie continue supplying them with breakfast.

“I already made dinner for tonight,” she said.

“And I made it for the next two nights.” Faith Fairchild had quietly entered the kitchen while Simon was speaking. “Such a lovely gesture, but as soon as word gets around the island you'll have more food than you know what to do with—I'm surprised the casserole brigade hasn't shown up by now. I'm Faith Fairchild, by the way. We met yesterday at the clambake and also a few summers ago. I'm staying with Ursula Rowe at The Pines.”

“You are a peach, Faith.” Paul McAllister had walked in, hearing her voice. He went over and gave her a quick kiss. “And she's right.” He turned to address his niece and nephew. “Thoughtful of you, but I think we'll pass on any catering for now. Gert Prescott has said she'll find me someone to pinch-hit for the summer. I'm not sure yet where I'll be this winter.”

“With mother and me in Savannah, Uncle Paul,” Will Tarkington said firmly. His entry was making the kitchen feel like Grand Central Station. Who was going to walk through the door next? Sophie thought somewhat giddily.

It was Sylvia.

“Has anyone seen my children? Oh, what's going on? What have I missed?”

“Nothing,” Paul reassured her. “We're just getting all the meals
arranged. And I believe Daisy is on the porch reading. I haven't seen Rory or Autumn today.”

“Meals! Of course! Now I can do a stir-fry for tonight with farro and mustard greens. And fish. We should be able to get some nice haddock.”

“That won't be necessary,” Simon said in a clipped voice. “It appears we're in no need of victuals. Now if you'll excuse me I have a call to make.” He left in high dudgeon closely followed by his wife, who was grumbling what sounded like, “Try to do a nice thing!”

Faith turned toward Sylvia. “Amy would love to have Daisy come over for the rest of the day. They had a fun time on the beach earlier. We could bring her back after our dinner.”

“How nice,” Sylvia said. “Yes, why don't you do that? Where was it Simon said she was?”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. Faith gave her a smile and said, “I'll go out the front and get her, shall I?”

Sylvia didn't answer her, instead asking, “Are you sure no one has seen Rory or Autumn today?”

Faith stopped. “My son is working at The Laughing Gull Lodge and said your son had been there for lunch.”

“Why on earth would he go there?” Sylvia ran her hand through her long hair and left. Sophie heard her car start up. Was she going to scour the island for her offspring?

As suddenly as the room had been packed full of people, it emptied. Only Sophie and Will remained.

“Nice relatives,” he said and left, too.

The dance at the Legion Hall the Saturday night closest to the Fourth was another long-standing Sanpere custom and a cherished one. Some of the dances remained the same as when the tradition had begun—an old-fashioned line dance, Lady of the Lake, as well as a few square dances. Freeman Hamilton had been calling them,
he was quick to tell anyone who asked, “Since Hector was a pup.” The Melodic Mariners, who had also graced the small stage at the hall for almost as long, were amazingly versatile, capable of segueing from “Louie, Louie” to “The Blue Danube” seamlessly. For Freeman's dances, however, a trio took over—Dorothy, a plump woman Freeman's own age with raven tresses Faith suspected had been enhanced thanks to the hair color aisle at the Rite Aid in Ellsworth, on guitar; a young man on fiddle; and an even younger one on flat-backed mandolin. These last two had replaced the other trio members now presumably making St. Peter tap his toes with their renditions of “Red Wing” and “Soldier's Joy.” The change, which she had noted last summer, had initially brought a lump to Faith's throat, but time had passed, and she was happy to know an island institution—and its musical heritage—was being continued.