The Body in the Gazebo

Chapter 5





Down East, Faith had occasionally heard someone described as being “sick with secrets,” and while she didn’t think she had reached that point, she definitely felt she was suffering from a surfeit of them as she sat next to Ursula in the early afternoon on Wednesday. There was the missing money at First Parish, which Faith hoped Ursula would not hear about, knowing how upset the former Senior Warden would be. And then there was Niki, whom Ursula knew. The older woman would most certainly think the news of a wife’s pregnancy should be shared with her husband. However, these paled in comparison to the situation Ursula’s daughter found herself in—a situation to be kept from her mother at all costs.

Faith had spoken to Pix the day before at greater length and had tried, in vain, to convince her that she had not aged beyond recognition since college. Yes, her hair was a bit shorter, but it showed no silver threads among the bronze. Nor had she gained weight, and if any cottage-cheese cellulite existed, it wasn’t apparent, even in a bathing suit. A few crow’s-feet at the eyes, but the rest of her face was smooth. Faith only hoped she would look as good as Pix did some years hence. Of course for Faith, there was always a Plan B involving a discreet “vacation.” Pix had not and never would resort to cosmetic surgery. When the wrinkles appeared, as they would, she’d be one of those people who say they’ve earned them. Faith would be one of those people who say they’ve earned erasing them—the result not Joan Rivers or Nancy Reagan, but merely a slightly younger version of her own self.

“Okay, maybe he doesn’t recognize me physically, but he should remember my name. It’s not as if there could have been a lot of other people named Pix in his life, and especially not that weekend.”

From what Faith had heard about the wild Green Key weekends of yore, there would have been a plethora of Muffys, Bunnys, and yes, Pixes from the Seven Sisters, Ivies, and other schools in attendance. But she was also sure this wasn’t why Dr. Cohen didn’t remember her friend’s name. Faith had no doubt as to the reason.

“It’s a guy thing. Think about it. Remembering names, especially female names, is not in their DNA. I’ve caught Tom stumbling over them more than once. Do admit, you’ve seen this with Sam—and your sons.”

“Well . . . yes,” Pix had said, “and my father could never keep people straight, female and male. Mother used to whisper in his ear at parties, she told me, so she wouldn’t be embarrassed when he forgot that the next-door neighbors were Sally and Bob, not Susie and Bill.”

“Okay, feel better now?”

There had been a long pause.

“So, I guess I was just a one-night stand?”

Faith had had to go through it all over again and at the end Pix had still sounded forlorn.

Before she’d hung up, Faith told Pix, “Don’t you dare let this put a damper on everything. Tonight I want you in that strapless number we bought. I guarantee that Stephen Cohen and every other Y chromosome in the place will never forget you in that.”

Pix had sworn her to secrecy and Faith would never violate the trust, but she wished she could tell someone, Niki in particular. Faith could discuss the situation with her, and yes, have a giggle. The person she had absolutely no desire to tell was the woman next to her now. Parents didn’t need to know everything. As she thought this she realized, however, she wasn’t anywhere near this point with her kids.

This was going to be the third installment of Ursula’s tale, and as each chapter was revealed, she seemed to gain strength and look better. “Sick with secrets.” The phrase came back to Faith again. Was this what had been ailing Ursula?

“You are good to come and listen so patiently, Faith dear. I’m sure you have all sorts of better things to do,” Ursula said.

“Please don’t think this—and there’s no rush. Things are very slow at work and I have plenty of time. Being with you is exactly where I want to be,” Faith said, meaning every word and then some. Faith felt honored at having been chosen to hear whatever it was Ursula needed to reveal—and it transported her away from her other worries.

“Throughout life,” Ursula began slowly, “there are times when you read about a terrible tragedy and want to turn time back for an instant. When you want to keep someone from getting on a plane or opening a door. Or you may even want to turn time back many years, granting someone a happier childhood instead of the one that led to misery and worse—that sort of thing. You say to yourself, ‘What if ?’ Since that summer, my turning-back-time ‘what if’ has been, ‘What if Father hadn’t gone to Sanpere that August weekend?’ ”

Faith nodded. She knew the feeling well—and it worked in the other direction, as well. Times you didn’t want to change. What if she hadn’t accepted the catering job at the wedding reception where she’d met Tom? Their paths would never have crossed otherwise.

“As I mentioned, the house in Maine was undergoing major construction. In those days, getting to the island took much longer than five hours and involved train and steamboat travel. Father had hoped to get away from work at the end of July, but there were already rumblings of the crisis that would occur on Black Tuesday and he had to stay in town. He never discussed business with me and all I knew then was that Father was ‘very occupied with work.’ Again, if he had been able to go earlier, would it have changed what happened?”

Ursula looked steadily out the window for a few moments before continuing.

“I rather think not. Naturally Theo thought this would be the perfect time to have the house party he’d been talking about all summer and my mother agreed. He would have picked any time Father was gone for a long stretch. Unlike Father, who thought their music was an assault to the ears and their dress the same to the eyes, Mother liked having the young people around. She seemed very old to me, but she was only just forty. And, in any case, she never denied Theo anything. It was Father who didn’t spare the rod—not literally, but definitely figuratively. I know the Professor didn’t think the party was a very good idea. At the time I thought it was because Theo still had so much math to study if he was going to pass the course in the fall. Later I learned there were other reasons.

“Some of the guests were at their family houses on the island, but Scooter Jessup, Babs Dickson, Charles Winthrop, and Violet Hammond were all staying with us. I think those young women were the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen. I was completely captivated by them—the way they talked, and especially by the way they looked. Years later when I read Fitzgerald’s Gatsby, there was a line that has stayed with me about Daisy Buchanan and Jordan Baker weighing down their white summer dresses ‘like silver idols’ against the breeze a fan was making. When I read it I was back in the living room of the house on the Vineyard watching from a corner as the music played and the breeze from an open window caused those sheer white linen dresses to ripple ever so slightly.”

Ursula was back in the room now, too, and from her description Faith could clearly see the images of the women. Bobbed hair, Clara Bow mouths, and rolled stockings. Flappers. Those “silver idols.”

“Violet Hammond was the most beautiful of all. She truly did have violet eyes. How could her parents have known the name they chose was going to be so apt? I’ve never heard of babies with such dramatic-colored eyes and I’ve never seen such eyes again, except in an Elizabeth Taylor movie. But not on a person I knew. The men were all mad for her. She had a very beautiful voice, too. Husky, not high-pitched, and she spoke softly. Years later I wondered whether this was so people, especially men, would have to lean in closer to hear her.

“And she wore a very distinctive perfume. She said she had it made up for her in Paris. It wasn’t floral. Nothing as mundane as lilacs or roses. Sandalwood, or some other exotic Far Eastern scent.”

“She does sound lovely,” Faith murmured.

“Oh yes, exquisite. Her people were from Chicago. She’d been sent to Boston to live with a cousin of her mother’s. I don’t think I ever knew why, although I have an idea that she was taking a painting course at the Museum of Fine Arts. She was just out of school—I think it may have been Miss Porter’s or Dobbs—and she’d been a famous beauty there, too, very popular with the boys at Yale. The cousin lived on Beacon Street across from the Common, and I don’t think Violet received much supervision from her. Mother never said anything directly, but she made it clear that the Hammonds were not, well, people she’d care to know. I heard her talking to her sister, Myrtle, about them. The ‘Chicago Hammonds’ as opposed to ‘our Hammonds.’ It wasn’t about money. Even though Violet had gone to an expensive private boarding school, it was my impression the family wasn’t very wealthy. She never appeared in the same outfit twice, but I think that’s why I have the idea she was doing something artistic—she was very clever with scarves and such. With Mother it wasn’t about money—money wasn’t important to her. Breeding was. This sounds terribly snobbish. It was terribly snobbish.”

Ursula reached for the glass of water on the table next to her and drank.

“Are you hungry?” Faith asked. Ursula’s hands were so thin. When she brought the glass to her lips, Faith fancied she could see the bones under her thin skin like an X-ray against the sunlight from the window. “I brought some of the currant scones you like, and the last of the strawberry preserves we put up in July.” The strawberries in Ursula’s garden at The Pines were the stuff of legend.

“Thank you, no. But could you stay a bit longer?”

“Until five. Tom is working at home today.” Faith didn’t offer any further explanation. After trying to write his sermon in the shadow of his file cabinets at the church yesterday, he had decided to give the parsonage study, neutral territory, a try today.

“As I said, everything hinged on Father’s absence, and then Mother had to leave, too. The second ‘What if ?’ but one that wouldn’t have mattered if Father hadn’t been so far away—and impossible to reach. No cell phones. Not even a landline at The Pines until many years later. She must have sent him a telegram. I wasn’t told. She had received a telegram, though, early that morning. Aunt Myrtle had been rushed to the Massachusetts General Hospital for emergency surgery. Appendicitis. It was a much more perilous diagnosis in those days than now and Mother left for Boston at once, leaving the housekeeper in charge—and the Professor. Although he was only a year or two older than the others, he seemed like an adult. The others were still children, intent on having a good time above all else. Mother did suggest that perhaps the young people staying at the house might want to leave, but Theo said he thought ‘Aunt Myrt’ would be upset to know that her illness had caused anyone an inconvenience.”

Selfish, foolish, or just very immature? Faith wondered to herself about Theo. Ursula obviously had adored him—and did still.

It was as if she had read Faith’s mind, or perhaps her last words had triggered the defense.

“He wasn’t a bad person, Faith. Not at all. Generous to a fault, especially with his friends. But I’m afraid he was weak, easily influenced, and not terribly interested in what Father and the Professor both had mapped out for him as a course of study. In the ordinary way of things, he would have squeaked through Harvard and done very well in business, perhaps with Father. People liked and trusted him. Although the years that followed weren’t good for most of his generation.”

“Those Depression years for young men in their twenties weren’t much different from recent times,” Faith said. “The highest unemployment is in that group.”

Ursula nodded. She was glad her elder grandson was gainfully employed and concerned about Dan, the younger, soon to finish college.

“In any case, Mother left in a rush, reassured me that Aunt Myrtle would be fine, but said I should still add an extra prayer for her before I went to bed. Selfish child that I was—although at that age, sickness and death have little reality—I confess what was really worrying me was not my aunt, but whether I’d be able to go to Illumination Night. Do you know what this is, Faith?”

Faith did, having had the great good fortune to be on the Vineyard some years ago on the second Wednesday in August. She hadn’t known about the Grand Illumination previously. For her, a grand illumination meant the lighting of the tree at Rockefeller Center at Christmastime.

“It was magical,” she said. “I’ll never forget the moment when all those strings of Japanese lanterns were lighted on the cottages, which are pretty colorful by themselves.”

Faith had immediately coveted one of the little Victorian Carpenter Gothic–style houses. She’d learned the two rooms up and two rooms down with front porches trimmed with froths of lacy gingerbread scrollwork had replaced the tents pitched earlier in the nineteenth century by attendees at the Methodist camp meetings that became popular during the Revival.

The houses were painted in bright peach, rose, turquoise, and yellows with contrasting trim. When she’d expressed her desire, her friend had told her that the houses were passed down from one generation to the next, and even if one did go on sale, it was by word of mouth and gone moments later. This part of the Vineyard was also the setting for one of Faith’s favorite books, The Wedding by Dorothy West, a member of the Harlem Renaissance. West had been coming to Oak Bluffs since childhood, her family part of the early African American summer colony who had made Oak Bluffs with its famed Inkwell Beach an ongoing destination.

Illumination Night had obviously captured Ursula’s imagination, too.

“By the summer I was there, Illumination Night was an old tradition and I’d been hearing about it for weeks, especially from the servants. By this time I’d become adept at the Vineyard sign language and considered Mary Smith, who worked in the kitchen, a new friend. She wasn’t much older than I was and was walking out with the gardener. I think I mentioned this the other day.”

Faith nodded. Ursula had mentioned the young woman, but not her name.

“The lanterns sounded like something out of a fairy tale—Mary told me that originally they were plain ones until a Japanese family opened a gift shop in Oak Bluffs in the 1870s when there was such a rage for Asian art. After that the lanterns had to be from Japan or China.

“And I thought the little houses were playhouses when I first saw them and used to beg to be taken to see them. Mother had a friend who owned one and I loved to sit on her tiny porch in a rocker that was small, too. There were always people strolling by and stopping to say hello. I’m afraid I wasn’t missing Sanpere at those times, although at others I wanted intensely to be there.

“The huge tabernacle in the middle of the campground looked like a rustic palace. I had never been inside and this was another reason why I had been counting the days until Illumination Night. As soon as we heard about it, Mother promised she would take me and I think she was excited to go, too.”

Faith remembered the Tabernacle. It was interdenominational now, and Illumination Night, as well as the other summer events held there, was run by the Camp Ground Association. They should try to take the kids this year, although August meant Maine. Even Ben, who had recently adopted a world-weary air more reminiscent of Garbo than a seventh grader, would be impressed. The lanterns were what turned a summer band concert, albeit an extremely large one, into a unique experience. The lantern collection went with the houses—if they changed hands—and some were over a hundred years old, painted by artists or an owner’s children and grandchildren. Many were still illuminated with candles. At dusk, someone who had been appointed, a terrific honor, lit the signal lantern at the Tabernacle and immediately hundreds of others festooned on the surrounding houses glowed. At eleven, they were extinguished, and church chimes filled the now quiet night, signaling the end of another Illumination Night.

Faith had even gotten into the old-time sing-along at the Tabernacle, especially when they sang “East Side, West Side, All Around the Town.” The band concert that followed the sing-along had been heavy on Sousa. It had all suggested a simpler, carefree time, although as Faith listened to Ursula she doubted such a moment had ever existed even in “The Good Old Summertime.”

“The weather that day was unseasonably warm, especially for Martha’s Vineyard,” Ursula said. “Perhaps that had something to do with it, too.”

“You’re all a bunch of slugs. Big fat oozing slugs!” Babs said. She was carrying her tennis racquet and dressed for the courts.



“Darling girl. It’s too hot for tennis. Too hot for anything, except a dip in the ocean. What about it?” Theo looked around the living room at the group that had assumed a variety of languid poses, none more drooping, or aesthetic, than Violet’s. She was stretched out on one of the cushioned wicker chaises. Her shapely legs and ankles, down to her bare feet—she’d kicked off her shoes—were nicely displayed.



“Too salty, and Babs, even your devoted Scooter isn’t going to bake on that clay court. Run along and practice that divine backhand of yours.” Violet’s slightly sarcastic tone turned the compliment truly into a backhanded one.



Babs flushed, walked over to Scooter, who’d been idly playing the piano, and grabbed his hand.



“I suppose a walk on the beach won’t kill you? You can borrow one of Violet’s sunshades if you don’t want to freckle.”



“Hey, don’t have a conniption, honeybun. Everything’s jake. If you want to play tennis, I’ll play. Violet isn’t my mouthpiece.”



“You’re a doll.” Babs planted a big kiss on the top of his head. “But it is hot. Let’s walk now and play later.”



“I thought it was ‘Let’s play now and pay later,’ ” Theo quipped.



“That’s only you, Lyman,” Charles Winthrop called out. He was looking at the ocean through a brass spyglass. “And speaking of paying, I believe you owe me several simoleons from last night. Damn, not a single sail. Nothing’s moving. I’d hoped to get out today. Dickie Cabot said to come over if the wind was right and we’d head out. Nice little boat they have.”



“If you call a yacht that sleeps eight with quarters for the crew little, then I’d agree. And Charlie, there are ladies present.” Theo sounded peeved and seized on Winthrop’s oath. He also considered it devilishly poor taste to mention the money he owed after several late nights of cards with a few fellows who’d dropped by. Charles wasn’t the only one he’d lost to and it was partly the cause of a headache that was getting worse not better as the day wore on. The other cause was too much gin.



“Stop it, both of you,” Violet said, swinging her legs to the floor and stretching like a cat. “Order some lemonade, Theo, and we can play mah-jongg in the shade on the porch. It must be cooler there.”



Theo walked to the door and pressed a button to the left of it. Mrs. Miles, the housekeeper, soon appeared and he asked her if she could please bring some cold lemonade to the porch.



“Yes, Mr. Lyman,” she said.



She was barely out the door when Violet gave a throaty laugh. “She has a beau, your Mrs. Miles.”



“Really, Violet, the servants’ affairs are of no concern to us. Leave the poor woman alone,” Babs said.



“It’s really very sweet,” Violet continued, taking no notice. “He appears every night after dinner and lurks in the shrubbery until she’s finished and then they disappear in the direction of the beach. A bit gritty for nooky, I’d say.”



“And you should know,” Babs said softly to Scooter.



“I heard that,” Violet said, not in the least bothered. “Better to be the bees’ knees than a Mrs. Grundy.”



“Meow,” Scooter said, and got up from the piano. “Are we taking that walk or not?”



“Taking it,” Babs said. “See you in the funny papers.”



Mrs. Miles returned with a tray. Ursula was at her heels. She’d been in the kitchen talking to Mary.



“Would you like the lemonade in here or on the porch, Mr. Lyman?”



“The porch will be fine. Let me get the door.”



“The Professor would like you to meet him in the library, Theo,” Ursula said. “I saw him in the hall and told him I’d tell you. And don’t forget, you promised you’d take me tonight since Mother can’t.”



“What does he want now?” Theo ignored the rest of what Ursula had said.



“Go and swallow your medicine like a good boy. I don’t want my Theo flunking out.” Violet walked over and slipped her arm through his. “We’ll be thinking of something fun for tonight’s party. Charades?”



Theo brightened immediately. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to see a man about a dog in Edgartown as soon as I can get away from Herr Professor.”



“Remember, Baby likes champagne, Daddy,” Violet said as she squeezed his arm.



Ursula thought this sounded pretty stupid. Theo wasn’t anywhere near old enough to be Violet’s father. She knew it was slang—which her mother had forbidden her to use—but shouldn’t even slang make some sense?



Violet dropped Theo’s arm, and Ursula grabbed the other one, tugging on it slightly.



“You promised! And we don’t have to stay too long. Just see the lanterns lighted and hear some of the music.”



Theo shook her off and walked toward the door.



“Later, squirt. I’ve got a date with an isosceles triangle.”



She followed him out and down the hall into the library. It was smaller than the living and dining rooms, but bigger than its counterpart at the Lymans’ Boston house. A large fireplace dominated one wall. The rest were lined with bookshelves that came halfway up the walls. Above and on top of them, the owner displayed his weaponry collection. There were elaborately etched swords, some in embossed silver scabbards that looked as if young Arthur had pulled them from the stone. In addition there were several very frightening-looking spiked maces and crossbows. Another wall was devoted to American weapons starting with the muskets the colonists used against the British, up through the Spencer carbines of the Civil War. The last wall was filled with African and South American spears. They were arranged like the spokes of a wheel with an enormous moose head as the hub. Ursula had spent hours in the library, reading and contemplating the décor. The moose looked slightly surprised to find himself surrounded by such foreign objects, she thought. There was a leopard skin spread out in front of the fireplace over the Oriental carpet that almost covered the entire floor, leaving only an edge of gleaming wood to show that the quality of what was beneath equaled what was on top. The leopard was headless. Doubtless, she imagined, if the house’s owner had killed it, he would have displayed that head with the spears. He must have killed the moose and decided it would have to do. A large library table was covered with richly illustrated books on the history of weaponry—and a number of guns ranging from a tiny pearl-handled revolver to the kind of gun Tom Mix carried in the movies. She’d learned many interesting new words from the books and it certainly was a very different kind of hobby from any of hers—the ferns and birds’ nests in Maine, postcards in Boston. Her father collected stamps, which took up considerably less room.



“Sorry to drag you away from your friends, Theo, but we don’t have a great deal of time left and there’s still so much to get through.” The Professor sounded tired, Ursula thought.



“Well, let’s get to it, then,” Theo said and then seemed to regret his tone. “You’ve been cooped up here all morning in this heat.” When he wasn’t tutoring Theo, the Professor was editing his senior thesis, which he hoped to publish. “How about some cold lemonade? Ursula, run out to the porch and get us both a glass.”



“Thanks, I am feeling warm, so a glass of something cold would be very nice. Meanwhile, shall we start on page fifty in the text?”



Ursula was only too happy to fetch the drinks. As she left she thought, Page 50? That’s all? The text was a thick one. Maybe they were reviewing. If not, Theo would never be through the book by the end of the summer.



When she returned the two men were in deep conversation, but it wasn’t about mathematics. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but could she help it if she had to slow down so she wouldn’t spill on the carpet?



“Don’t be sore, Theo. I’m your friend first and tutor second. You know that. Think of this as advice from one friend to another. It’s just that with both your parents gone and word about this party all over the island, I’m afraid things are going to get out of hand. Can’t you call it off and have dinner with the people staying in the house? Maybe ask one or two other couples? Roll up the rug afterward?” He was leaning forward, smiling persuasively, and Ursula wondered how her brother could possibly resist giving in.



Theo was on the opposite side of the desk, slouched in a leather chair. He was cleaning his nails with a sharply pointed stiletto—Ursula had asked her father what it was and he’d told her. He’d also told her not to touch it and would be appalled at the use to which Theo was putting it. The gold handle was elaborately enameled in emerald green. The house’s owner used it as a letter opener and it rested on a special little tray.



“Sorry, can’t do it. I’d look like a chump. Vi, I mean the girls, would be very cut up. They’re looking forward to putting on their glad rags. Not much chance here.”



There was a brief silence.



“Best get to work, then.”



Ursula almost burst into tears. How could Theo disappoint his friend—his wise tutor, wise counselor—this way?



She gulped and said, “Here are the drinks. I could get some cookies from the kitchen if you want. Cook baked this morning.”



“That’s very kind of you, Ursula, but I’m all set with this. Thank you.” The Professor took the glass from her hand. Theo took the other glass.



“They light the lanterns at dusk, Theo. We could be back for your party in plenty of time.”



Her brother was seldom cross with her, so Ursula was surprised at the vehemence of his next words.



“Can’t you see we’re working here? Now get going—and stop pestering me about a bunch of lanterns!”



Ursula started to answer back, but the look on his face stopped her. He was scowling. A rare sight.



“Illumination Night? It’s tonight?” asked the Professor.



“Yes,” Ursula said, her voice shaking slightly, “and with Mother gone there’s no one to take me. Mrs. Miles was supposed to be off today, but said she’d stay since Mother had to leave. Mary is only working until just before dark, and I’d ask her, except I know she’s going with . . . with someone else, and Theo said—”



“What I said was ‘get going’!”



“I’ll take you,” the Professor said. “I’ve heard about Illumination Night for years.”



“Don’t you want to go to the party?” Ursula asked.



“No, I don’t care to attend.”



Daylight savings time had started earlier in the month, an event Faith always greeted with great joy. It might be freezing outside, and snow up to the windowsill, but there was light! Although it was close to five o’clock, sunshine was flooding Ursula’s bedroom, giving the illusion of a balmy summer day.

“You must be getting tired,” Faith said.

“No, happily I’m not.” Ursula reached for Faith’s hand. “Is there any way you could stay another hour? I hate to keep you from your family, but I really don’t feel fatigued and I’d like to tell you some more of my story.”

The tale was reaching its climax and perhaps its end, as well. Faith had sensed it all afternoon. She didn’t want to leave.

“Let me give Tom a call. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“I’ll ring the bell for Dora. Some of Millicent’s restorative calf’s foot jelly for me, and tea for you instead, I think.” Ursula smiled mischievously, knowing full well Faith’s opinion of all things Millicent. She rang the little brass hand bell shaped like a lady with a wide hoop skirt, a gift from Samantha, who had found it in an antiques shop. It was always placed nearby.

Tom told her to stay as long as she wanted, and soon they were settled back with not only the tea and jelly but also some cucumber and cress sandwiches. Dora was well-known for her British-style cooking, particularly nursery comfort foods like jam roly-poly and rice pudding.

Ursula picked up where she had left off.

“Theo’s guests were beginning to arrive as we left for the campground. Most of the women were quite dressed up for the Vineyard. Violet, who was acting as hostess, was wearing one of those long white satin backless dresses that movie stars like Carole Lombard and Jean Harlow had made so popular. She had a long rope of pearls, not real I’m sure, that she’d tied at her neck so they hung down her back. Her skin was almost as white as the necklace and as smooth. Babs was wearing a long gown, too. It struck me because I’d never seen her dressed up before and hadn’t realized that she was quite lovely, too. It was sapphire blue and cut quite decorously compared to Violet’s dress. The men who were staying at the house were all in dinner jackets, which must have been terribly uncomfortable. The heat hadn’t broken.”

Ursula slipped out from her hiding place beneath the piano and went into the dining room. Theo had had food delivered from some restaurant and the table was covered with platters of all sorts of delicious-looking things. She took a plate and started to reach for some lobster salad, stuffed back in the red shell, but realized that she was too excited to eat anything except some toast that had been placed next to a mound of caviar. She was momentarily tempted by the shiny black roe—she’d had it once and it tasted like the sea—but she decided to stick to the toast.



She heard the Professor’s voice calling her name and then he was at her side.



“Time to get going?”



“Oh yes, please.”



They left the crowded room and slipped into the kitchen, leaving through the back door into the still night. The last noise from the house that Ursula heard was a champagne cork popping and a woman starting to sing ‘Yes Sir, That’s My Baby.’



She had put on her best frock. Rose-colored silk. A dropped waist with a pleated skirt. Her mother would not have approved. Ursula had felt a twinge of guilt when she’d slipped it over her head—but only a twinge, and that soon disappeared.



If Mother wasn’t back tomorrow, perhaps the Professor would take her to the carousel—the Flying Horses—in Oak Bluffs. Mother had heard that they were originally at Coney Island, a place Mother called ‘a vulgar amusement park,’ but she hadn’t expressly forbidden Ursula from going.



She darted a glance at her companion. He was a grown-up, but not terribly old. Only twenty.



“Have you been enjoying your summer? I understand it’s quite different from the place you normally go in Maine.”



Ursula started talking and soon she felt as if she had never before talked to anyone so understanding. He wasn’t at all condescending and she moved from a description of Sanpere Island to her desire to explore Boston, and the whole world—her eagerness to grow up.



Blessedly, he didn’t tell her not to be in a rush, but spoke of his own hope to travel once he had finished law school.



“Perhaps I’ll be able to find a job that won’t start until the fall, allowing me a summer to roam. I’ve a yen to go to the Lake District, Wordsworth country.”



And Beatrix Potter’s, Ursula almost said, before deciding mentioning Peter Rabbit’s creator might seem childish.



A few minutes later she realized she could have mentioned Peter, or anything else. The Professor was interested in everything she was interested in—his bird list was twice as long as hers!



He found seats for them near the front. The Tabernacle did not disappoint. They sang lustily, joining the others raising their voices, the notes reverberating into the twilight as the sun’s last rays struck the stained-glass panels below the wooden tented ceiling. Through the open sides, Ursula could just make out the unlit lanterns strung on every porch, swaying slightly, waiting for the signal. She thought the Tabernacle was indeed a holy place, and very far removed from King’s Chapel.



The music was over too soon, but outside there were the lanterns, illuminated now—hundreds of them. They ate peppermint ice cream—“The color of your pretty dress,” he said—and wandered about looking at the glowing orbs.



“I’m afraid we should be getting back,” he said.



Ursula looked at her watch. Theo had given her a Gruen wristwatch for Christmas. Mother had told her not to take it to the Vineyard because she might get sand in it, but she’d packed it anyway, loath to leave one of her most precious possessions behind. Tonight she’d happily tightened the black grosgrain ribbon strap and thought she’d much rather have it than the pearls and other jewelry the women were wearing.



She’d only stayed up this late—it was just after ten o’clock—on New Year’s Eve. The Professor was right, regrettably. It was time to go.



As they neared the house Ursula could see there were cars all over the drive and even some on the lawn. Father would be terribly upset, she thought. They had been hearing the music from quite far away and now, close to the house, it was very loud.



“Let’s slip in the kitchen way again and I think you’d better go straight to bed. I’ll be in the library if you should need me.” He looked a bit anxious and Ursula knew he was concerned that the party showed no signs of winding down. Then he smiled at her. “It’s been a lovely evening. Good night.”



“Thank you for taking me. It was perfect.”



Mary was helping the people who’d brought the food, but Ursula didn’t see Mrs. Miles. Mary signed that she would be leaving soon for the Illumination and wasn’t it wonderful? Ursula signed back that it was better than anything she had ever seen and, feeling a sudden shyness, raced up the back stairs, realizing when she got to the top that she hadn’t said “good night” back to the Professor. She started to turn around, but he’d be gone. It didn’t matter. She’d say “good night” to him twice tomorrow night to make up for it. Perhaps she’d tell him why.



As Ursula went into her room, she felt as if she were floating, like one of the lanterns. She changed, said her prayers, and got into bed. It was impossible to sleep. Her room in the turret was stifling even with the windows open. And the noise. Not just the music, but people were in the pool, directly below, splashing and shrieking. There seemed to be a constant stream of cars coming and going. Finally she decided to retreat to her place in the woods.



Her place by the gazebo.



She took a blanket with her and made a cozy nest beneath the rhododendrons. There wasn’t anyone in the gazebo. She’d been afraid there might be some couples there, but it was empty, although someone had strung up some Japanese lanterns like the ones in the campground and lighted them. The noise from the house was muted.



She felt quite drowsy, but fought sleep to enjoy the novelty of sleeping outdoors. She could see the sky through the branches. It was a clear night and the stars were bright. For a time, Ursula amused herself by picking out the various constellations. Theodore Artemus Lyman was an avid amateur astronomer and had taught his children all the names.



I wonder whether the Professor is a stargazer, too . . . she thought fuzzily. The night air was cool at last. She slept.



Ursula hadn’t been asleep long when she was awakened by the sound of loud voices nearby. Two men were arguing in the gazebo. She couldn’t see them through the thick foliage, but she could hear them clearly. One was Theo; she wasn’t sure who the other was. Theo was slurring his words. She’d let him into the house in Boston one night very late and he’d sounded the same. She’d had to help him up the stairs to his room. He was very unsteady. The next day he’d told her he’d never mix champagne and whiskey again, but it sounded as if he had tonight. The other voice was similar. How silly these men were to get drunk and quarrel, Ursula thought.



“I’ve got to have the money now. I told you they won’t wait. They want the money tomorrow first thing! You said you’d have it tonight! I’m done for if my father finds out!”



“Can’t do it, old chum. Jus’ tell ’em.”



“Snap out of it, Theo! I’m telling you I’m in a jam. They won’t give me any more time. They’ve threatened to hurt me—and they will.”



“No money here. Not on this little old island.”



“Get it from somebody. What about your tutor?”



“Poor as a church mouse. Hey, that’s funny.”



Theo started to laugh and stopped abruptly.



“Whadya have to smack me for? Thought we were friends. Let’s go back to the house. Need another drink. Want to see Violet. Violet with the violet eyes.”



“Look here, I’ll smack you again if it will bring you to your senses. You owe me the money fair and square. You knew we were playing for high stakes. Had to impress Violet, didn’t you. Well, she wasn’t. She thinks you’re a sap.”



“Watch what you’re saying! I’m no sap. I’m gonna go ask her. Ask her what she thinks of you, too!”



Ursula ducked farther back into the bushes. She was starting to get frightened. Maybe she should run to the house and get the Professor. Theo, oh Theo, why did you have to get yourself in such messes! She had ten dollars left from her summer spending money. He was welcome to it and then this person would leave him alone.



“You’re not going anywhere.”



“Who’s gonna stop me?”



“Me, that’s who!”



“Come on, les go have a drink, buddy. Stop fighting. Make up. Friends. You’re my friend, right?”



Theo’s voice had lost its belligerent tone and Ursula was relieved. She heard a few thumping noises—they were crossing the wooden floor of the gazebo—followed by the sounds of running feet.



It was all right, then. They’d gone back to the house. She decided to stay where she was. It was so quiet and peaceful. A beautiful night.



It seemed as if she had barely fallen asleep again when she heard a woman’s screams. She got up and ran out from under the bushes into the clearing. There were two people standing up in the gazebo. The lanterns were still lighted and the woman who was screaming was Violet. The other person was a man. His back was to Ursula and she assumed it was Theo. People were streaming out from the house—the path was visible from where she stood—and there was a great deal of commotion. She could hear cars starting up. A great many cars. Violet kept screaming and screaming. Ursula wanted her to stop. Why couldn’t someone make her stop?



The gazebo looked bigger than it did in the daytime. She walked over toward the door. It was wide open. Someone tried to pull her away, but she kept going. The ground felt cold and hard beneath her bare feet and she started to shiver.



The other man wasn’t Theo. Theo was lying on the floor. He was on his back and his eyes were closed. He’s fallen asleep here, Ursula thought. Why is Violet screaming? And why hasn’t he woken up with all the noise?



She went in and walked over to him, kneeling down to shake his shoulder. It was then that she saw the blood on his starched white shirtfront. It was so red. There wasn’t much, but it was very red. Once he’d cut himself shaving and come to breakfast with a bit of tissue on his face; blood was still seeping through. Father made him leave. It was so very red, Theo’s blood. Running through his body. So very alive that morning.



But she knew he wasn’t alive now. He was dead. Knew the moment she’d knelt down. That’s why Violet was screaming. But why was the Professor standing over him with the stiletto from the library in his hand? The blade was glistening red. The same color as Theo’s blood. Nothing made sense.



The Professor’s face looked very different from the way it had looked earlier that night. She put her hand on Theo’s face, his lovely face. It was still warm. She took one of his hands in her other hand and held tight. And then Ursula laid her head down on his chest; she couldn’t hear his heart beating at all. Violet had finally stopped screaming. Ursula had heard a slap, like in the movies. She didn’t want to leave her brother surrounded by all these people, all these strangers, and she told the Professor to make everyone else leave. To leave the two of them alone with Theo. After she spoke, no one moved for a moment, or said anything, and then Charles Winthrop, Scooter Jessup, and some other men grabbed the Professor.



“Everyone heard your argument tonight,” Charles said. “And now you’ve killed him, Arnold Rowe. Someone call the police.”