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hunting lodges and homes farther Down East. Based on the condition of the heads, some Gardener from a while back must have been a hunter. When I was able to take my eyes off the animal heads, I realized there also were two large fish displayed over the sideboard: a cod, of a size not often seen off the coast of Maine today, and a striped bass. None of the preserved creatures were in good condition; the bedraggled animals were missing patches of hair, and one fish was missing a tail.
    I wouldn’t have chosen them for my dining room.
    On the other hand, on the long outside wall, a series of framed needlepoint panels was hanging between the windows.
    Sarah and I both moved toward them.

Chapter 5
    Embroidery decks the canvas round and yields a pleasing view, so virtue tends to deck the mind and form its blissful state.
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    â€”Sampler embroidered by Nabby Kollock Ide (1790–1813), Wrentham, Massachusetts, 1804
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    I walked over to look at one of the large needlepoint panels more closely. “This is Haven Harbor Lighthouse,” I said.
    Skye nodded. “All the needlework panels in this room are places here at Aurora, or close by, in Haven Harbor.” She pointed at the one closest to her. “That’s the main staircase in the house. And I love the one of a moose in a field of flowers, over near the door to the kitchen.”
    Sarah walked to the other side of the room, looking carefully at each panel in turn. “Is this the fountain that used to be in front of the house?”
    â€œYes,” said Skye.
    The fountain Mrs. Gardener had destroyed after Jasmine’s death in 1970—I’d never seen a picture of it. Just as Ob had described it, the statue of a naked woman, partially concealed by a cape, was surrounded by plumes of water. The pool looked shallow—too shallow to have drowned someone. Maybe Jasmine had stumbled on the stone border and had hit her head.
    â€œIn old photos of Aurora, the fountain is beautiful,” Skye went on. “And Millie Gardener did all this needlework. More of her stitching is upstairs, but these pieces are her best. Because she’d had them framed, they were better protected than a lot of her pillows and wall hangings. I’d like them restored, if possible.”
    I was still staring at the needlepointed panel of the fountain. Why had Mrs. Gardener chosen to stitch a picture of the place her daughter died?
    â€œWe can restore these,” I said, focusing back on Skye’s question. I took mental notes: a picture of Second Sister Island, one of the three islands in Haven Harbor; the Haven Harbor Town Pier; an eagle flying over the yacht club building; the Congregational Church building; a wide view of Haven Harbor itself, filled with small sailboats and lobster boats. Sarah didn’t say anything, but pointed to mildewing in the stitching of some, to be sure I noticed it. Several of the pictures were also water-stained. I lifted one of those off the wall. The wall was stained, too. Strong winds must have driven heavy rain or snow through the clapboards onto the inside walls of the house.
    â€œThese panels are special, and were made for this house. They should stay here,” I agreed. “We won’t know how much work conservation and restoration will take until we remove the panels from their frames. We’ll need to remove the backings and replace them with acid-free cloth. Some are mildewed, some have water damage, and the yarn in several has faded or broken. The work is lovely, but the panels aren’t old enough to have value as antiques. If you’d agree, we could reinforce some of the stitching and perhaps replace some. Restore them so they’d look close to their original state.” I hoped I was right. I was still learning about needlepoint restoration.
    I must have sounded authoritative. Skye looked around the room and added, “And they should all be reframed with acid-free materials and