Katherine Page - The Body in the Kelp

“Most of my commissions come from churches and synagogues. I had started doing this when I was a priest, and just because I am no longer active in the church doesn't mean I should stop doing what I know best—or stop believing either.”

He was chipping away for dear life, and Faith noticed how sharp he kept his tools. The metal edges gleamed on the bench, mixing with the shavings that were flying all over the barn. He was certainly a muscular Christian.

He didn't seem inclined to talk about Bill, and she didn't feel like leaving. If she was ever going to find out anything about this man, she'd have to ask. He wasn't going to give anything away.

She plunged in. "Why did you leave the church?”

He glared at her, then turned back to his work. "I should say it's none of your business and it's not, but I'll tell you and you'll see why I think Bill has been such a fool. That girl would have brought him nothing but unhappiness. Has, in fact.”

Faith waited patiently.

“My grandfather had been an Episcopal priest, and I loved and respected him more than anyone in the world. I never had any doubt that that was what I wanted to be. He was at peace with himself and the world. And he gave that peace to others. But I lost it. And it was all because of a woman." He gave the wood a particularly violent vicious blow, and Faith drew slightly away.

“I'm not saying it wasn't my fault too, but let's just say I had a Bird. She was in my congregation and I was drunk with love of her. We were going to get married when she announced she was pregnant and we'd have to move the date up. Now I knew for a fact that baby wasn't mine, but it wasn't long before the parish got wind of it and began to agitate for my removal. Like ,a fool I still wanted to marry her, and we decided to go to the next parish, where a friend of mine would perform the ceremony. Well, she never showed up. I heard later she'd gone to Atlanta with some man. By then I'd come to my senses, but I had to leave my church. The church I had led for ten years. I wasn't at peace anymore. Not with myself, my congregation, or my heavenly Father. I've been searching for it ever since. Thought I might find it here. But it remains out of my grasp.”

He was grasping the chisel so hard, his knuckles were white. "And now Edson is breathing down my neck. How he found out I'll never know. Must steam open the mail somehow—you see, that woman is filing a paternity suit. The baby is nine years old and the mother wants all the back child support. Of course she won't win, but it's going to cost me a lot in lawyers' fees."

“Maybe Sam can give you some advice," Faith suggested. Eggleston jerked his head up. He appeared to have forgotten she was there.

“Maybe. Anyway, I'll be damned if I'll sell even an inch of this land.”

There was a large window in one end of the barn.

“I don't blame you," Faith said. "It's some of the loveliest land I've seen on the island.”

He carved in silence for a few moments, then set down his tools and ran a hand through his hair, leaving wood shavings mixed in with his own curls.

“I guess I better get up to Ellsworth. Bill's never going to be the same again. Damn that girl!" He blurted out the words vehemently.

Faith got down from the stool and followed him across the lawn. He whirled around and faced her. "Did you read his books?"

“Yes, many times."

“So you know what it means, Selega and all that.”

“It's just a made-up word, isn't it?"

“Spell it backward," he said grimly, and without saying good-bye strode into his house and closed the door.

Faith stood and looked at the shore. She could hear the gulls screech as they dropped mussels and sea urchins onto the rocks to crack them open.

Selega.

Ageles.

Ageless.

She sighed, got into the car, and drove to the Millers'. Efficient as always, Samantha and Arlene had fed the children and put them down for naps. Faith was beginning to think the two of them might do a far better job at parenting than Tom and she ever would. It might be wise simply to turn Ben over immediately. She sent them off for a bike ride and told them she would take care of things. They seemed a bit dubious, and she half expected them to leave a list of emergency numbers, but they took off and she was pleasantly reassured to hear some adolescent giggles and horseplay as they left the drive.

She made herself a sandwich. Pix seemed to go in heavily for tuna fish, so tuna it was. Hunger will do that. Then she wandered about at loose ends. She didn't want to be out of earshot and she didn't feel like reading. The mornings' events had made her edgy. She wondered what was going on up in Ellsworth. And John Eggleston's revelations had been pretty startling. A genuine misogynist. She felt somewhat uneasy as she thought about the way he was cleaving the wood sculpture.

Pix had taken the quilt books and magazines back to her house along with the photos to work on some more. Faith didn't know where Pix had hidden the pictures. Probably in her freezer, marked "mystery," but the rest of the stuff was in a pile by one of the large easy chairs set in front of the fireplace.

Faith didn't need the photos anymore. The three squares they had not yet identified were permanently etched in her memory. She was sure number eight had something to do with ripples and turned to the index to look up any references to sea, ocean, pools, anything with water. After searching through several books, she found Wild Waves, only to be disappointed. It didn't look anything like Matilda's square. Ten minutes later she had it: Ocean Wave. They had been on the right track. She found a piece of paper and sketched the other two. Maybe if she stared at them long enough, inspiration would strike. Number fifteen looked like someone had placed four squares of diminishing sizes on top of each other. It didn't look like anything. Neither did number seventeen—two large diamonds surrounding two smaller ones. She decided to try Pix's method. Seventeen was a four-patch divided in half. She started to go through the books looking under four-patch designs and was making some progress—that is, she had eliminated a whole lot of squares—when she heard Ben's familiar "Mommee! Up!" Zoë was not far behind, and it sounded like an "I'm wet and hungry" cry.

Maybe one child was enough.

She changed the baby and decided to go back to her own cottage for the rest of the afternoon and left a note for Pix telling her to call and relating Faith's success with the square.

Walking back through the woods weighed down with Zoë on her hip, the tedious job of trying to keep Ben from straying too far afield, and the cares that refused to go to the back of her mind, Faith decided to take Tom's advice and spend the afternoon playing with the children outdoors. She knew if she got into the hammock, she'd be asleep in no time, so she spread a blanket on the grass and dumped blocks, cars, whatever she could find in the middle. Maybe later, when she had regained some energy and joie de vivre, she'd bake some cookies. Ben and Zoë could bang on the pots and lick spoons. But all she wanted to do now was collapse.

Pix arrived about four.

“I'm exhausted, and I didn't stop to eat anything, but I know I've come to the right place. Please feed me."

“My pleasure. We just finished making these oatmeal cookies, but I have the feeling you need something heartier.”

Pix picked up one of the crisp, lacy cookies and took a bite. "Ummm, delicious. I'd probably finish the plate.”

Faith was busy taking things out of the fridge and putting them in front of Pix: a salad of the tiny lentils from LePuy in vinaigrette, some tapenade, tomato slices, and hard-boiled eggs. She grabbed a loaf of bread, cut a few slices, poured two glasses of an '82 Minervois, deposited the children by the large clothes basket of toys she kept in the kitchen, and sat down to listen.