by Leslie Meier
"Now, when you see the pumpkin you want, don't hesitate to holler. We can stop as often as you want," advised Brad.
"We want a perfeck pumpkin," piped up Sara.
"Well, you've come to the right place," said Brad. "We've got twenty acres of pumpkins. This is the biggest pick-your-own pumkin patch in the state of Maine, maybe in the entire United States."
"I don't doubt it," said Lucy. "What do you think of that one, over there?"
"Ick," said Elizabeth. "I want a round pumpkin. That's a tall pumpkin."
"There's a nice round one," said Sue. "See it?'
"That's too small," said Toby.
"I don't know if we have room in the car for a really big one, Toby," reminded Lucy.
"That's it!" shrieked Sara. They followed her little pointed finger, and spotted a lovely, round pumpkin.
"Stop!" Toby bellowed, jumping off the wagon and leaping over pumpkins and vines. He hoisted the pumpkin in triumph, and then dropped it. "Uggh," he exclaimed. "It was all squishy."
"Sometimes they get that way," Brad admitted.
"What about that one next to it?" Lucy asked.
Toby approached it cautiously. "It looks okay."
"Knock on it," Lucy said.
Toby gave it a rap; it sounded like he was knocking on a door.
"Bring it over," Lucy ordered, with a wave. Seeing Toby struggle, Brad jumped down to help him lift the pumpkin and hoist it onto the wagon.
"That looks good, what do you think? Besides, it's getting cold."
"Hot chocolate, cider, and donuts inside," Brad recited, climbing back onto his seat and setting the tractor in motion. "Also, don't miss the chance to visit the House of Horror. Today, we also have a pumpkin carving seminar with lifestyles expert Corney Clark."
"Sue, don't you want to get a pumpkin?" Lucy asked.
"I'm going to get a white one. They have them inside."
"I never heard of such a thing."
"I saw them in a magazine," Sue explained. "You carve them with an Exacto knife. Something a little different, more like a lantern."
"Really r Lucy was skeptical, as she climbed down from the wagon and followed Brad to the cashier's counter. "I guess we'll stick with the traditional version. How much do I owe you?" She asked the cashier.
"Sixteen dollars and forty-two cents."
"Are you sure?"
The cashier nodded her head. "Yes. It weighs thirty-three and a half pounds, at forty-nine cents a pound."
"Okay," Lucy agreed. This was highway robbery, but she couldn't disappoint the kids. "Will you take a check?"
"Certainly. We also accept Visa, Mastercard, and American Express."
"Cancel that sale," said Andy Brown, materializing behind the cashier. "Bill Stone's money isn't any good here," he said, with a big smile and a wink.
"What do you mean?" asked Lucy, puzzled.
"A free pumpkin's the least I can do for my buddy Bill," said Andy. "Just to let him know there's no hard feelings because he voted against my sign."
"Oh," said Lucy, as the light dawned. Andy was offering a small bribe because Bill was on the commission. "There was nothing personal in his vote. Bill will always vote his conscience, you know." She reopened her checkbook. "Now, how much was that pumpkin? Sixteen forty-two?"
Andy shrugged, and nodded to the cashier, who rang up the sale.
"I'm hungry," Elizabeth said, with a meaningful glance at the snack bar in the corner.
"Here's five dollars," Lucy said. "You guys get what you want. I'm going to watch this demonstration with Sue."
She waited a minute to make sure that Toby and Elizabeth didn't run off without Sara, and then joined the group of women clustered around Corney Clarke.
"We don't need to carve pumpkins a certain way, just because we've always done it that way," advised Corney, with a flip of her blond pageboy. "Pumpkin carving is yet another opportunity to explore our creativity, to express ourselves, each in our own unique way."
Zoe was getting restless in the pouch, so Lucy began rocking her back and forth, while she listened to Corney.
"You might choose to express your feminine side, your love of lace and crystal, with a white pumpkin like this." Corney displayed an intricately carved creation that looked more like a piece of delicate porcelain than a pumpkin. The women oohed.
"Or perhaps you'd like to express your whacky sense of humor," said Corney, grinning mischievously. She uncovered an enormous blue hubbard squash, with B-O-O carved in it. The last O contained the small figure of a ghost. The women chuckled.
"Or, perhaps you really want to scare someone." Corney paused dramatically, then uncovered a pumpkin with a spider carved into its side. Little black plastic spiders had been artistically placed to augment the effect. The women squealed.
"As you can see, there is no right way to carve a pumpkin." Corney leaned forward and nodded reassuringly at the women. "There is only the way that is right for you. You must reach deep down inside yourself and find the wellsprings of your creativity. Then, you must look at your pumpkin. Go beyond the surface. Release the spirit within your gourd."
A wail from Zoe broke the awed silence with which the women were receiving Corney's every word. Lucy decided it was time for a strategic retreat.
"Catch you later," she told Sue, and headed over to the snack bar.
"Coffee, black," she told the girl behind the counter. Then, carrying her cup over to a table, she joined the kids, discreetly lifting her sweater so Zoe could have a snack, too.
"Whaddya think, guys," she observed, taking in the elaborate decorations and the frenzied commercialization of Farmer Brown's farmstand, "Is it me, or is Halloween getting out of control?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Later that evening, after supper, Lucy wondered if she had been too hasty when she encouraged Bill to go to Shelburne Village. Maybe I should have fallen on my knees and begged him to stay home, thought Lucy, plunging her arm up to the elbow in pumpkin guts.
"It's a shame Dad's missing this," she told the kids, who were gathered around the newspaper-covered kitchen table. "He would've loved it."
"We didn't wanna wait," Toby said. "It's almost Halloween."
"Only four more days," Elizabeth said.
"I can't wait," Sara squealed. "Trick or treat!"
Propped in her baby seat, Zoe did not seem very excited about pumpkin carving, or Halloween. If anything, her expression seemed to indicate some internal discomfort. She gave a little hiccup, and then started to cry.
"I have to feed the baby. Toby, can you finish cleaning out this pumpkin?"
"Sure." He started to reach into the pumpkin.
"Roll your sleeves up," Lucy advised.
"Oh, yeah."
Lucy kept an eye on him as she rinsed her hands, dried them, and picked up the baby. "No funny stuff," she warned, just as he picked up a handful of stringy seeds and hurled them at Elizabeth.
"That's it," she told Elizabeth, who was scooping up a handful herself in order to retaliate. "It stops here."
"That's not fair! He gets away with everything!"
"He's not getting away with it. I'll punish him later. Right now, let's concentrate on finishing up this pumpkin."
"How are you going to punish himr asked Elizabeth, as Lucy settled Zoe at her breast.
"I don't know. I'll think of something."
"You should ground him," Elizabeth suggested with a malicious grin.
"That's not fair! You get grounded for something real bad, like stealing," Toby protested.
"I haven't decided, yet. Just remember, you owe a debt to society, young man. So, what kind of eyes are you going to give it?"
"Two triangles," said Sara.
"You don't have to make triangles. You can be creative. How about big, spooky circles?"
"Triangles," Toby said.
"Triangles," Elizabeth agreed.
Lucy sighed. "Okay, make triangles." Sometimes Lucy wondered about her children. They were so conservati
ve. They never wanted to try anything new. "Be careful with that knife, Toby."
"How do you want the noser Toby asked. "Triangle?'
"Triangle," Sara said.
"Triangle," Elizabeth agreed.
"You know, I saw somewhere, how they made the pumpkin seeds dribble out of the jack-o'-lantern's mouth, so it looked like throw up," Lucy suggested, propping Zoe on her shoulder and patting her back. "It looked kinda neat, if you like that sort of thing."
"Yuck," Toby said, grimacing.
"That's disgusting," Elizabeth observed, as Zoe upchucked all over Lucy's shoulder.
"It's only spit up," said Lucy. "I hope she isn't coming down with something."
"She sure knows how to come up with something," volunteered Toby, pleased at his cleverness.
"Make the mouth smile," Sara said.
"A big grin with lots of teeth," Elizabeth added.
"What did you think of Mrs. Finch's white pumpkin?" Lucy asked, gently rocking Zoe.
"It's just not Halloween," said Elizabeth. "This pumpkin's right for Halloween."
Toby placed a flashlight inside the pumpkin and turned it on. Then he switched off the kitchen light, and they all admired the jack-o'-lantern. It had two triangle eyes, a triangle nose, and a big toothy grin. It was perfect.
"Okay, Toby. For punishment you can clean up. I'm going to put Zoe in her crib and see if she'll go to sleep."
"Aw, Mom, do I have to?"
"Yes, you have to. If you throw stuff around and make a mess, you get to clean it up. That's how it works, and I don't want to hear another word about it."
Surprised at her tone, Toby glanced at his mother. Lucy raised her eyebrows, and he decided that further argument would not be in his best interest. Instead, he reached for a sponge.
Coming back downstairs, Lucy listened to Zoe's crying and wiped up the table. Toby had done his best, it was just that when Toby cleaned up, somebody had to clean up after him. The baby wasn't really wailing, her crying was more in the nature of a complaint. Lucy decided to wait a bit and see if she'd go to sleep, so she opened the refrigerator and pulled out the salad greens.
Even after she'd made the salad, and boiled the water for the macaroni, Zoe was still crying.
"Elizabeth, could you get the baby? I'm making supper."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes. You can sit in the rocking chair with her."
"What if she throws up on me?"
"Then we'll clean you up. Do you want to eat tonight? I can cook, or I can rock the baby."
"I have to do everything around here," Elizabeth complained, mounting the stairs.
"Right," said Lucy, mixing up the cheesy sauce. "She has to do everything."
"Mom, the baby feels hot," Elizabeth said, when she returned to the kitchen with the baby.
"She's been crying," said Lucy, bending down to kiss Zoe's forehead. "Maybe she has a little fever."
"What if she's sick?"
"I'll get a cool washcloth. You can wipe her face, see if she cools down."
All through supper, which they ate in front of the TV as a special treat, Lucy laughed along with the kids at a silly sitcom rerun and refused to admit how worried she was about the baby. Zoe wasn't interested in nursing and only stopped wailing when Lucy held her against her shoulder. Finally, Lucy gave her a tiny dose of fever medicine, and she drifted off to sleep.
Returning to the kitchen, Lucy loaded the dishwasher and wiped off the counter. Then, deciding she still had a tiny bit of energy left, she mixed up another two dozen cupcakes and set them in the oven. While they baked, she thought about calling the doctor.
No point, she decided, at this hour she would only get the answering service. Zoe probably had a little cold, nothing to worry about. She was well-nourished, well-hydrated, full of maternal antibodies. If she wasn't better tomorrow morning, Lucy decided, she'd call the doctor then.
By the time Lucy got the older kids settled down, and had changed into her nightclothes herself, it was ten o'clock. Zoe kept waking and fussing, nursing a bit and spitting up. Lucy tried bathing her to bring down the fever, but Zoe cried so much she abandoned the idea. Dressing her only in a diaper and shirt and wrapping her in a light receiving blanket, Lucy held her against her shoulder, and sat in the rocking chair. Rocking was the only thing that seemed to soothe the baby, which meant going to bed was out of the question.
Lucy rocked back and forth. She listened to the dishwasher go through its cycle. She listened to the hum of the refrigerator. She heard the click of the thermostat, and the whoosh of the fur¬nace. She closed her eyes and told herself that resting was almost the same as sleeping.
A second later the phone rang.
Startled, she jumped to her feet, clutching the baby. She picked up the receiver.
"Hello," she said, expecting to hear Bill's voice.
She didn't hear anything, just the sound of someone breathing. That was followed by a hoarse, male voice. "You can't stop me."
Then, far away in the distance, she heard the fire horn, and the wail of sirens.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Had he made a fool of himself? Driving back home the next afternoon, Bill wasn't sure. This consultant stuff was harder than he had expected. He hoped the Shelburne Village people weren't disappointed in him.
He'd done his best. The door was atypical. Quite unique. He'd never seen anything like it. Some features were eighteenth century, others nineteenth. Faced with the curator's puzzled expression, he'd finally ventured a guess that it was made in the nineteenth century by a very old craftsman using his father's tools.
It wasn't that far-fetched, he told himself. Even today, in remote pockets of New England, there were people repairing chairs and building stone walls and making baskets just the way their parents or grandparents had taught them.
Turning onto Main Street, he sighed. No use crying over spilt milk. What was done was done. Either they were impressed withhis honesty and frankness, or they figured he was a fool. In the big scheme of things it hardly mattered. He had plenty of work to keep him busy and put food on the family table.
Slowing for a traffic tie-up, Bill was surprised to see a cop directing traffic. Given the time of year, Tinker's Cove only had traffic problems in the summer, this was unusual. Curious, he pulled over and got out of his truck. He had only gone a few feet down Main Street when he saw the blackened remains of Doug Durn- ing's real estate office
.
"What the hell," he said under his breath, joining the group of curious onlookers along the yellow tape.
"Our arsonist at work again," said Ted Stillings, returning his camera to its case.
"When did it happen?"
"Last night. It was some blaze. Chief called for mutual aid from companies as far away as Gilead and Wilton. Twelve engines, thirty-five firefighters, it was quite a show. Where were you?"
"I had business over in Vermont. I'm just getting back." Bill shook his head. "This is an awful shame. That was a nice old house."
"Yeah. Was is the operative word. Chief says it's a complete loss. There's Doug, now. Excuse me, I've got to get a statement."
Bill watched as Ted approached Doug, notebook in hand.
"I'm sorry to bother you at a time like this," he began. "I just wondered if you have anything to say for The Penny saver?"
"I sure do," Doug began. "I'm mad as hell." His face was red and his gestures were choppy. Bill wondered if he'd been drinking; he wouldn't have blamed him if he had. "What's it gonna take? How many buildings have to burn before they catch this guy? Is he gonna burn the whole goddam town down before they get him?"
Suddenly deflated, Doug paused for breath and staggered. Ted took him by the arm and steadied him.
"This was my life," he said, shaking his head. "I took some hits in the recession, but business was picking up. I was one of the survivors—I thought. Now it's all gone. I've lost everything."
"Was the building insured?" asked Ted, scribbling away.
; "Yeah, but not enough. Not near enough. I'd cut back, trying to save money."
"That's too bad," said Ted, momentarily at a loss for words. He always found it hard not to identify with the people he interviewed, and this cut close to the bone. He could put himself in Doug's place all too easily, and knew how devastated he'd be if the Pennysaver Press burned. "Hang in there, man," he said, giving Doug a pat on the shoulder.