Ursula was laughing. “I want to read that book! Of course, if they'd been caught in a trap, they would have had to be released right away, since they were oversized. But this way, they got to do some traveling.”
“It's starting!” someone called out. The crowd along the parade route had grown considerably. The high school band was playing “It's a Grand Old Flag” and another Sanpere Fourth of July was marching along its invariable course. First came the kids on their decorated bikes. Pix remembered how excited she'd been as a child to thread crepe-paper streamers through the spokes of her Schwinn, then ride grandly with the others at the head of the parade. Except for the color scheme and crepe paper, today's bikes looked radically different, although two or three were relics obviously handed down by a previous generation. After the bikes came the school band.
“Isn't that Arlene's boyfriend?” Sam asked.
Pix nodded. Fred had been completely transformed by his drum major's uniform, gold braid dripping from his shoulders and sparkling in the sun as he solemnly raised and lowered the baton. It was a very important position. Fred was class president, too.
“Nice kid,” John commented. “I guess he'll be the fourth generation to lobster from Ames Cove, although things have certainly changed since his great-great-grandfather used to go out with nothing more than his traps, buoys, a compass, a watch, and a hank of rope with a weight on it to tell him how deep the water was around the ledges.”
“It's simpler now,” Sam said, “and safer, yet some of the romance is gone. I think it every time I see the plastic buoys, instead of the old wooden ones they carved, and the new traps.”
“The new traps weigh less, same with the buoys, and both don't require the kind of upkeep as the old ones. But I'm with you, aestheticallyâmaybe even practically. Sonny Prescott told me the other day he's not so sure all the new computers are helping the industry. Makes it too easy, and God knows these waters are being overfished enough.” John seemed to be off and running on a favorite topic and Sam was ready to join him, but Pix didn't feel like hearing about the demise of the island's fishing economy today. She wanted to enjoy her lobster at the noon Odd Fellows Lobster Picnic without worrying about the cost of bait and later at the Fish and Fritter Fry she didn't want to think about the growing scarcity of clams. As her friend Faith Fairchild was wont to say, “Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.”
“Look at the children. Imagine making all those lobster costumes! Aren't they precious!” The lobster-boat float had to be a major contender for Most Original. The boat itself was a miracle of construction, papier-mâché over chicken wire, and the red-clad children gleefully wriggled about its hull snapping their “claws” at the parade viewers.
Barton's lumberyard sponsored a huge float with Mother Goose figures and the cannery had opted for Alice in Wonderland. Sonny Prescott drew a big round of applause as Robert McCloskey's Burt Dow, Deep-Water Man, dragging his double-ender, The
Tidely-Idley,
complete with rainbow stripes, set on wheels behind him.
“He must be roasting in all that foul-weather gear; they'll probably give him Most Foolish for that alone,” Sam commented.
“More lemonade, Pix?” asked Rebecca.
“Yes, thank you, but let me help you.” Suddenly, Pix realized she'd been so intent on the parade, she'd forgotten about Rebecca, who was dispensing lemonade and now cookies in the hot sun. “Does Addie feel any better?”
Before Rebecca could answer, Norman Osgood, coming toward them from the house, beat her to it. “She says she's fine.
Just wants to be left in peaceâthat's a direct quoteâand she'll see everybody later.” He took the pitcher from Rebecca's hands and started pouring. “I brought your hat,” he said, and plunked an old leghornâher grandmother's?âon Rebecca's head. Handy man to have around, Pix thought. He was beginning to seem more like a member of the family and less like a guest all the time.
“Oh, Norman, thank you,” Rebecca gushed. “This is so much better.” She turned to Pix. “It's my gardening hat; actually, it was Mother's. The straw makes it light.”
Pix was off by one generation, yet, who knew where Rebecca's mother had picked it up. Rebecca's garden was one of the showplaces of the island. She did put in some vegetables, at Addie's insistence, but they were behind the house. In front and on the sides were Rebecca's borders, plus an old-fashioned cutting garden. Her roses never suffered from Japanese beetles and her delphinium, in intense blues and lavenders, had been known to stop traffic during the tourist season.
“Look, it's Samantha! Samantha!” Pix called, and was rewarded with a brief acknowledgment. The campers, singing lustily, dressed in immaculate Maine Sail Camp T-shirts and crisp pine tree green shorts marched in perfect synchrony, stopping opposite the judge's platform to flip their cards to form a perfect replica of Old Glory. They then crouched down so the crowd could see and flipped the cards again, displaying for all the message: HAPPY FUCK OF JULY, SANPERE ISLAND! written on the hull of a sloop with yet another flag for its sail. The prankster had struck again. A gasp went up from the crowd and the judges all stood up simultaneously like puppets on strings, peering down from the roof. The children knew something was wrong, and predictably, Samantha's adorers moved in her direction. Jim, attired like his charges in the camp uniform, except with long pants, was shouting, “Put the cards down! Put the cards down!” Ranks broke and the campers raced for the bank parking lot, parade's end, to the
strains of “Anchors Aweigh” as the band played valiantly on.
“I can't believe Duncan would do this. Not after what happened on Monday!”
“Why do you assume Duncan did it?” John asked. Pix was struck by the protective tone in his voice.
“Well,” she wavered, “he seems to be very angry at his parents and there have been a number of incidents at the camp, unpleasant things happening.”
“Yes, I know,” John said impatiently, “but that doesn't necessarily mean it's Duncan. Lots of kids fight with their parents and don't chop the heads off mice.”
“Whoever did it, it was a horrible thing to do. They've been working on the parade routine for days!”
The old fire engine, bells ringing and crank-operated siren blaring, was bringing up the rear of the parade. It effectively put an end to any conversation, and Pix, for one, was glad.
She stood up and stretched, trying to recapture the mood of the day. “Anybody going to the children's games? Why don't we walk up and leave the car here,” she added to her husband.
“Darling.” He kissed her earlobe, “You don't have any children in the games anymore. We don't have to go and watch our progeny dissolve in tears when the egg rolls off the spoon or the balloon breaks when they try to catch it and they get soaking wet. There are other things we can do. Things at home. Grown up things.”
Pix blushed. She couldn't help herself. Mother was here.
“I know, sweetheart, but the camp will be there. I'm sure everyone is quite upset, and Samantha may need help.”
“All right, we can check in, however I doubt Samantha needs or wants us. She's doing a fine job on her own, and remember, I have to leave straight from the picnic.”
Pix remembered. She went to thank Rebecca and say good-bye to everyone. Ursula was going to the picnic with the Fraziers.
“Go home with your husband and help him pack, Pix,” her mother said with a very amused look in her eye.
Â
Saying good-bye to Sam had been hard. He would try to get up again for a long weekend, but the likelihood was that they wouldn't see each other until August. She didn't want to think about it. They'd checked in with Samantha at the games and the kids were not as upset as Pix had feared, especially since the judges had awarded them the prize for Best Walking Group. Everyone was studiously ignoring the incident, except for some of the younger campers who were still giggling. Samantha's sidekicks, Susannah and Geoff, were among the worst. They would get in control, glance at each other, and burst out laughing again. Pix watched in amusement herself at her daughter's struggles to be firm with the two. Samantha had told her that their initial homesickness had quickly given way to a friendship based mainly on a mutual love of corny “Knock, Knock” jokes and mischief.
Jim and Valerie were overseeing the three-legged races, laughing just the right amount as they partnered unlikely combinationsâfifteen-year-olds with five-year-olds. Everyone seemed to be having fun. Duncan was nowhere in sight. Samantha's camp duties ended after the Odd Fellows Lobster Picnic and she told her mother not to worry, which Pix correctly interpreted as meaning mother would not see daughter until midnight. She was tempted to extend Samantha's curfewâit was a holidayâyet the girl was still looking pale, quite unlike her usual hale and hearty self. Pix wondered whether anything was wrongâunrelated to health. Samantha had seemed preoccupied for the last few days. Of course with everything that was happening, this was a reasonable response. But Pix's motherly intuition was picking up more, her antennae were twitching. She'd try to talk to her daughter later. Maybe the two of them would drive to Ellsworth for dinner
and a movie tomorrow night. She needed to get her in the car for a good long drive.
Â
Pix spread her blanket out on a choice spot on the library hill overlooking Sanpere Harbor and waited to see who would join her for the fireworks. They were due to start at 9:00 P.M. and it was 8:30 now. You had to arrive early to grab a good place. Her mother had decided to forgo the fireworks this year, as she had for the last two years. The first summer she'd declared she was going to bed early and had seen enough fireworks to last the rest of her life had Pix ready to check her mother into Blue Hill Hospital for a thorough examination. Ursula loved fireworksâor so she had always claimed. “It's the beginning of the end,” Pix had told Sam mournfully. “First fireworks, then she'll stop going out of the house altogether.” Sam had reacted less dramatically. “Just because your mother doesn't want to sit on the damp ground with hundreds of people chanting
ooh
and
aah
while they get cricks in their necks plus kids running around throwing firecrackers, waving sparklers in everyone's faces, doesn't mean she's cashing in her chips.” And of course he'd been right. But Pix didn't like things to change.
Well, her mother had made it both to the Lobster Picnic and the Fish and Fritter Fry. Few Rowes would miss the chance to eat lobster, dripping melted butter and lobster juice all over themselves and their neighbors at the picnic tables the Odd Fellows erected especially for the occasion in the ball field each year. Some of the older people always reminisced about the days when lobster was so cheap and plentiful that they would beg for something else. Ken Layton, Sanpere's resident historian, would remind everyone that around the time of the Civil War, lobsters, regardless of weight, were two cents apieceâand they pulled in bigger lobsters then. It had all happened again this year and Sam had managed to eat two lobsters, since he was going to miss the Fish and Fritter Fry, but Pix had stopped at one to save room.
She lay back on the rough wool blanket, an old army blanket of her father's, and gazed up at the dark sky. You never saw so many stars in Aleford and certainly not even a quarter in Boston! She felt as if she were peering into a big overturned bowl and the milky white constellations were tumbling out above her. The fireworks would have some competition. It was even a full moon.
Just as she was beginning to feel a bit sorry for herself, no kith nor kin by her side, Jill came and sat down.
“Do you have enough room for me?”
“I have enough room for ten or twelve of you,” Pix said, sitting up. “Sam had to go back early and Samantha's off with her friends.”
“What a day! Business hasn't been this good in years.” Jill was clearly excited. “People stuck around after the parade and I even sold the lobster-pot lamp that one of the Sanfords made. It's been sitting in the store for years.”
Pix knew the lamp well. She had threatened to give it to Faith more than once and vice versa. Not only had the resourceful craftsman wired the pot buoy but he had attached netting, cork floats, and, as the piece de resistance, a whole lobster that glowed when the lamp was turned on. The plain white shade had been lavishly painted with yet more bright red crustaceans.
“That's great, especially about the lamp.” Pix laughed.
“Don't worry,” Jill said, “you can still have one. He's bringing another one up tomorrow! If I'd known, I might have been able to sell them as a pair!”
“I doubt it. When you buy such an object, you like to think it's one of a kind.”
“The only thing about being so busy was that I didn't close for lunch or dinner. I missed the picnic and the fry.” Jill sounded very disappointed.
“I think I ate enough for both of us,” Pix said. “And everyone at the parade and in your shop must have gone down to Granville for both. I've never seen so many people! Mabel
Hamilton told me they went through three hundred pounds of potatoes, a hundred and sixty pounds of fish, twelve gallons of clams, fifty pounds of onions, and goodness knows how much else for the fry!”