“I'll pick up more interesting pictures on my next trip over,” Celia said defiantly. “Meanwhile, I've got a windfall that will provide new wardrobes for the whole family, with more than enough left over for me to treat us to a slap-up meal in Boston. And all for a couple of boring old miniatures I've long since grown tired of looking at!”
“How super!” I could hardly call her a liar. I wondered just how bad the financial position was. There were too many telltale dark patches on her walls, too many treasures missing from their assigned places.
Had Hank and Viv (“our friendly local scavengers,” Pixie had called them) siphoned away the lot? Or had they been dispersed, piece by piece, among several eager buyers?
Probably no one would ever know. Celia had had to admit it this time because I was right there with her as she went to sell the miniatures. She sounded pretty sure of their eventual destination, so the process was evidently familiar to her. Undoubtedly, Viv and Hank dispatched most of their purchases to New York with the dual purpose of getting more money and saving Celia's face. Perhaps Celia made the stipulation herself, so that no local residents carelessly browsing through the shop might recognize the items and thus guess how difficult her financial position had become.
Had Patrick lost his job as well as his health? He was home far too oftenâeven for a top salesman with complete autonomy over his territory and his schedule.
“Furthermoreâ” Celia gave a final cheery wave to
Viv and slid behind the steering-wheelâ“we'll stop at Captain Ahab's again and have ice cream for elevenses!”
Â
Boston had the fascination of the old and the new jumbled together, each holding its own better than might have been expected. The imposing skyscrapers dwarfed but did not diminish the dignity of the State House, with its goldleaf dome, looking down over the green sweep of Boston Common to the red brick of Park Street Church with its gleaming white steeple.
We plunged into the basements of the big storesâFilene's and Jordan Marshâand ransacked them for bargains. We did so well that we had to return to the parking lot and lock our bundles into the boot of the car before returningâthis time to the upstairs departmentsâfor more booty.
Celia spent wildlyâperhaps desperately. Was it an attempt to convince me that she had no financial troubles? Or was it simply the spending spree of a woman who had counted her pennies for far too long and needed to break out or break down?
From the big stores, we went to the smaller shops. We bore away books, costume jewellery, postcards, jigsaw puzzles, a tea-set Tessa fell in love with, a spaceman's outfitâagainst my better judgementâfor Timothy, and so many small items that we promptly forgot them and were amazed to discover them later.
“I'm shopped out,” Celia sighed happily. “My back is breaking, my feet are killing meâand I don't want to see Boston again for another six months.”
“It will take them that long to restock,” Luke said, and nimbly dodged the loaded shopping-bag his mother swung at his legs.
“One more trip to the car to dump all this,” Celia proposed, “and then we'll find something to eat.”
The evening rush hour was upon us by the time we had disposed of our packages. We joined the stream heading towards the harbor. We poured through the pedestrian precincts by City Hall and the stream divided and subdivided again, some veering off for the multi-storied car parks to reclaim their vehicles, some crossing to the bus station at Haymarket Square for their coaches to the outer suburbs and commuter towns along the North Shore.
“We're going to Quincy Market,” Celia said, leading us across a street and into a cobblestoned area of thriving activity. “This has all been done up in recent yearsâ” she waved a hand at the low buildings housing shops, ice cream parlors, restaurants, food shops and workshops for craftspeople. “It's a great tourist attraction and most of the local residents like it, too.”
“It looks like a Bostonian version of Covent Garden,” I decided as we strolled around. Beyond us, the deep blue harbor sparkled in the sun. “Is thatâ?”
“The very same. Farther up, they have a Tea Party Ship and Museum. You can still throw tea chests in the harbor, and they're retrieved by rope harnesses. But it's all done in good fun these days. Except for the time the Russians shot down that Korean civilian jetlinerâthen some people came and threw cases of vodka into Boston Harbor. It was the beginning of the boycott on vodka.”
“I never heard about that.”
“Oh, there are lots of things you don't hear about from one country to another.”
Including, of course, family financial problems. However, by this time, I was too hungry to worry about lesser things. Fragrant aromas drifted out from the restaurants and our steps slowed as we debated the delicious choices. The children voted for the one featuring the most spectacular desserts and we settled ourselves at a table and ordered.
By the time we had finished our meal, it was dark and a bright moon was lighting the Market. Music and laughter carried on the cool breeze sweeping in from the ocean; it seemed a perfect night.
“We'll stop at a bakery,” Celia said to Luke, “and pick up something nice for Daddy.” Suddenly I was swept by an aching sadness because there was no one waiting for us. No one but Errol.
“We've got a lovely kitty-bag for Errol,” Timothy said stoutly. The children must have felt it, too.
“Wait till he sees it,” Tessa said, blinking valiantly. “He'll be so excited.”
“Errol will be delighted to see us,” I agreed. He was about to be the happy recipient of two Italian meatballs, two pork chop bones with plenty of meat and fat on them and two butterfly shrimp. Perhaps it would be wise to close the living-room door before we went upstairs tonight.
The atmosphere changed as we walked away from Quincy Market. The way back to the parking lot led through the now-deserted business district. Away from the
harbor, there was no coolness in the air. Dark unsettling shadows moved in darker doorways. I repressed a scream as one of them lurched across the pavement ahead of us.
“Street people,” Celia said softly. “Patrick always says there's no harm in them, but they frighten me, too.”
I pulled the children closer to me. Possibly there was no real harm in the sad derelicts, but they seemed more menacing at night.
“Here we areâ” There was relief in Celia's voice. We turned into the parking lot, glad to see that it was well-lighted and had an attendant. We piled into the car thankfully and headed back to New Hampshire.
Â
The children had carried the first load of shopping into the house at Cranberry Lane and I was unloading more from the trunk, when Celia suddenly caught my arm.
“Rosemaryâ” Shadows moved across her face, she looked as furtive and out of place as the street people for a moment. “Could I ask you a favor?”
“Of course.”
“My shoppingâ” she indicated the mound of parcels belonging to her. “I'm afraid I went overboard. Patrick will have a fit if he sees it all. Could you keep it here for me until I have a chance to break it gently to him? Or perhaps I could smuggle it into the house bit by bit. I don't want to upset him.”
“Of course.” What else could I say? “Bring it in and we'll find a cupboard for it until you want it.”
I was glad that the moon had gone behind a cloud and she could not see my face. She didn't want Patrick to know how much money she had spent. Because they
couldn't afford it? Or because he would ask where she had found it?
Was she selling the antiques without Patrick's knowledge?
I
t was as well we hadn't postponed our shopping spree in the hope of better weather. The next day was even hotter and the day after that unbearable. Then the temperature settled down in the low 90's for the next week and seemed about to remain there for the rest of the summer.
“We need a good thunderstorm to clear the air,” Celia complained. “I've never known it so bad. And it's not August yetâthat's supposed to be the worst month. That's when we have what they call the âdog days', when dogs are supposed to go mad from the heat. People, tooâthe murder rate always goes up during August.”
“Wonderful!” My own temper was beginning to fray. “Do you have any more good news?”
“Patrick has had a letter from Nancy.” For a moment I thought she had taken my question seriously, then I noticed her expression. She did not consider that good news, it was part of her catalogue of complaints. “Nancy says
the weather is mild and damp over there and she's having a wonderful time.”
“I'm pleased to hear it. Have they smashed up anything else lately?”
“She didn't say. At least, I don't think she said. I haven't seen the letter. Patrick just read out bits to me.”
I glanced at her sharply. Was there something a little too evasive about that reply?
“Poor Errol,” Celia changed the subject quickly. “This weather is hard on him, too.” Errol was lying in the shadiest corner of the veranda, looking as wilted as the plants. We were lazing on the swing with a pitcher of iced lemonade, waiting until it was time to drive over to Camp and collect the children.
“He hasn't even gone out prowling the past few nights,” I agreed. “He wants to stay indoor with the air-conditioning.” I had given up that struggle. We had begun by turning it on for an hour or two each day to cool the house, now we kept it on most of the time. I was developing a double guilt complex: first, because we were running up Nancy's electricity bill; second, because the electric company itself was now placing large advertisement in all the newspapers asking people to conserve electricity lest there be more of a demand than the grid could handle and another big blackout ensue.
“It can't go on much longer,” Celia said unconvincingly.
“It's gone on far too long already. The lake is inches lower than it was when we arrived andâ” I didn't want to finish the thought.
“And the woods are parched,” Celia completed it for
me. Involuntarily we both glanced towards the dry rustling pines. They'd go up like torches at the slightesty spark.
“I'm glad Greg has banned campfires,” I said. I still had reservations about Camp Mohigonquin but had convinced myself that my imagination had been working overtime the night we dined at Gino's Place. At any rate, I had no concrete excuse for denying the children the amenities of the camp and I continued to allow them to attend.
“Oh, he's very careful.” Celia deposited her cigarette ash in the deep bowl she was using in place of the shallow ashtray; she was being very careful, too. “The danger is some tourist smoking carelessly. Most of them are from cities and don't realize that they can't throw away lighted cigarette stubs here the way they do on city streets. That's why we have warning signs at the entrance to the woods. Chief Rogers fines them on the spot if he catches them doing it.”
“So he should. It would be better if people didn't smoke at allâat least until the danger is over.” This was a delicate subject. The anti-smoking faction in America was so vociferousânot to say downright objectionableâthat smokers were becoming a persecuted minority. I smoked an occasional cigarette myself, but had to feel concern at the amount Celia was smoking. They couldn't be doing her any good. Of course, she was going through a difficult time and I recognized that she needed every crutch available. I suppose I could only be thankful that she hadn't taken to drink the way she had taken to cigarettes.
“Rosemaryâ” Celia was on her feet suddenly, staring into the woods. “Do you smell smoke?”
“We've probably talked ourselves into it.” But I joined her at the railing. “I don't think ⦠wait a minute ⦠I'm not sure.”
A thin gray spiral snaked into the sky in the distance.
“There!” Celia pointed to it but I had already seen it.
Errol got up and came over to stand at our feet. He lifted his head and sniffed, his whiskers twitched uneasily. That made it unanimous.
A second, thicker, gray spiral drifted up and merged with the first.
“What's over there?” I asked.
“I'm trying to thinkâdistances are deceptive. There are summer cottages dotted all through the woods. Log cabins, most of them. And all along the Mohigonquin Trail there are wooden huts where hikers can shelter for the night or from the rain. The rainâ” She scanned the sky hopelessly. The only cloud in sight was the rapidly growing cloud of smoke over the forest.
“We'd better report it!” Celia whirled and dashed into the house, heading for the telephone.
Errol stirred and crouched to jump down from the veranda.
“Oh no you don't!” I pounced on him and caught him up. “You're not going wandering in the woods right now. You're coming into the house and staying there!” I carried him inside.
Celia was just replacing the receiver as the fire whistle in town began blasting out its grim message. Automatically I began counting silently.
“They'd just had a report from a Park Ranger,” Celia said. “He'd spotted it from his lookout tower. But it's better to have too many people reporting it than no one at all.”
There had been a pause, now the series of blasts began again. This time Celia stood silent and counted with me.
“Fourâ” She turned to me with fear in her eyes. “That's North! The Camp is North! If they can't contain the fire, if it spreads through the woodsâ” Suddenly she was running. I was right behind her.
The whoop of sirens sounded along the town road as we leaped into the car and Celia started the engine. It sounded as though they were sending out all their engines again. Even so, they'd be lucky if they could get enough of the woods immediately surrounding the blaze wetted down before the flames took hold.
We careered out into the main highway. Celia was taking no account of speed limits and I was not going to remind her of them. The children were more important.
She drove so fast that we caught up with the engines in time to see them veer off on the fork that led into the North woods.
There were more clouds ahead of us now. For a moment, I was afraid the fire had started in a new location, then the clouds wheeled and circled and I realized they were flocks of birds driven out of the woods by the encroaching danger and flying to refuge elsewhere.
“Thank heavens there's no wind,” Celia said. “This is the first time all summer I've been thankful there isn't a breeze.”
“The fire seems a good distance away,” I said. “And
there's the highway dividing the two sides of the woods.”
“Don't build any hopes on that.” Celia's mouth was a tight grim line. “Fire jumps, you know.”
I knew, but I had been repressing the knowledge. We swung into the turning for Camp Mohigonquin and the clouds were behind us. Out of sight, but never out of mind.
The camp seemed strangely peaceful when we reached it after our wild dash. The campers were gathered on the hillside sweeping down to the lake, watching something that was happening on the shoreline.
“There they are!” I spotted Tessa and Timothy, standing with Luke and Dexter, and felt the knot of tension in my stomach begin to loosen. They were safe. They had not decided to go for any hikes in the woods. They were placidly standing on the hillside watching the Sailing Club preparing for its races.
“Leave them there a minute.” Celia's grip was tight on my arm. “We'd better find Greg and have a quiet word. He'll know whether any of the kids have gone hiking in the woods.”
It looked as though the whole camp had turned out for the races, but we had to make sure. The children hadn't seen us, so we moved away quietly. Greg wasn't in sight; he was probably in the Administration Building.
The building was empty. We checked the Cookhouse and the Dispensary, but they were also deserted. Everyone must be out watching the races.
“He must be down on the shore, after all,” Celia said. “Let's go back.”
Our sense of urgency had abated. Obviously the races
were too big an event for any camper to miss. It was most unlikely that any of the children would have taken themselves off to the woods with them in prospect.
Benjie, the new Counselor, seemed to be the kingpin of the Sailing Club. He was everywhere, giving directions, lending a hand to launch a boat, trying to line up the entries. We had to speak to him three times before he noticed we were there.
“I know Lois went into town to do an errand, but Greg's around somewhere ⦠. Huh? Yeah, sure all the kids are here. Why wouldn't they be?” He paused and a thoughtful look came into his eyes. “Unlessâ”
By then our own children had spotted us and came running down the hill.
“Yeah, all present and accounted for.” Benjie gave a satisfied nod. “The only one ever likely to go missing is Dexter, but here he is.”
“Mummyâ” Tessa slid her hand into mine. “You're early. Did you come to see the races?”
“There's Greg!” Celia cut across Tessa's question. Greg had appeared at the top of the hill, coming from the direction of the camp buildings. “Where was he? We looked everywhere.”
“Not quite,” I reminded her. “Neither of us looked into the Gents.”
“That's so.” She started towards him, to intercept him before he got within earshot of the campers.
“I'll be right backâ” I slipped out of Tessa's grasp. “You stay here, we just want to talk to Greg for a minute.”
“Hi, folks,” Greg greeted us. “Come to see the races?”
His expression changed radically as we told him why we had come.
“Well, hell!” He looked around the camp, rapidly taking a mental tally. “That's one Chief Rogers can't pin on us. Everybody's here. No way could any of my gang be responsible.”
I wondered if Chief Rogers would take that view. The kids might all be here nowâbut where had they been an hour or so ago? Rumor had it that the investigators had found a timing device in the ruins of the Old Tithe Barn. An alibi for any particular moment no long meant anything.
“It could have been spontaneous combustion,” Celia said. Her tone suggested that she didn't really believe it. “The woods are so dry now.”
“Anyway,” Greg said comfortably, “it sounds as though the Park Ranger spotted it in timeâand you, too, of course. If the engines can get through without too much trouble, we're in with a fighting chance.”
Below us, a starting gun was fired and the small boats straggled out from the wharf to the cheers of onlooking friends.
“We thoughtâ” Celia said carefullyâ“we'd come and collect the children.”
“Nowâand ruin their day?” Greg was indignant. “They've been looking forward to the races all week. Honest, there's no danger. Even if there were, they'd be safer here where they can always dive into the lake. What could be safer than that?”
“That may be all right for the others.” I voiced my fears. “But Tessa's arm won't be out of the cast for another week. I wouldn't rate her chances very highly if she had to swim for it.” Tessa was an inexpert swimmer at the best of times.
“Oh, we'd load the non-swimmers into the boats with the provisionsâ” He broke off abruptly, realizing that he was arguing along the wrong tack and started again. “I mean, I take your point, I really do. And I don't blame you for being jumpy. But, I promise you, everything is going to be okay.
“LookâI'll tell you what I'll do. We'll go back to Admin and I'll telephone the lookout tower for the latest report.” He turned and led us back to the buildings. “Come on, you can speak to him yourselves.”
“Yes, ma'am,” the Park Ranger said patiently. “I've been keeping my binoculars on the fire all along. I'm happy to say the firemen appear to have achieved a containment situation. They're going in on the main blaze now and should have it under control soon. There's absolutely no danger over where you are. Have a nice day.” He rang off.
“You see?” Greg was relieved and cautiously triumphant. “Now, why don't you come down and watch the races? When they're over, it will be time for the day kids to go home anyway.”
“All right.” We fell into step beside him, still brooding. There was a faint trace of smoke drifting on the air. Celia sniffed sharply.
“I'll tell you what,” Greg placated. “As soon as Lois gets back, I'll set her to sorting out some emergency rations
and we'll stack them in the boathouse. Then, if anything happens, we can load the boats with the rations and the non-swimmers and push out from shore. If necessary, we could ride it out in the middle of the lake for three or four days.”