"I do. I work incredibly hard."

"Since you were a baby."

"Since I was a baby."

"Did you like it?"

A grasshopper bounded across the path. Rose had no idea they could jump such a distance. I've got to show Ben one of those guys, she thought. We could rent another cottage some year if Robert won't have us back next year. I wonder what Lottie sees about next summer.

"I don't remember the early stuff." Caroline's voice was freighted with emotion, always. Rose didn't know when to trust it and when not. Now seemed like a time to trust it.

"The National Velvet remake was the first thing I really recall. I liked my trailer. I shared it with my mother. She was the one who kept getting the roles for me."

"Did you want them?"

Caroline didn't say anything for a while. The walk was steeply uphill here, so maybe she didn't want Rose to see that it was an effort. Or maybe she just didn't want to talk.

"You don't read very deep on the websites, do you?"

"I don't read them much at all," said Rose.

"The eminent Dester family is congenitally weak, like the House of Usher. I did that as an HBO special, in case you're wondering. Every once in a while, we fall."

"I thought you were all rock solid. Except . . ." Rose recalled hearing stories of a Dester uncle. Embezzlement? Bigamy?

"Darling Dad basically snorted a fortune up his nose in the eighties. So my job was to build it up again. I had the face for it. Mother kept all the accounts. Even so, beloved Pa ran through it fast. That's why we moved around so much when I was little. Everywhere we went, we kept up appearances till we couldn't anymore. Wait-is that Beverly's cat?"

Rose stopped to listen to what sounded like a baby crying. "Beverly has a cat?"

"He's putting water and scraps out on the porch every night for a cat he thinks he heard. Not here, though; down on the point."

"I think that may be a seagull," said Rose. "Not a cat. Or a baby. He's an odd one, Beverly. I was so afraid of him the first week."

"Poor Beverly! He's just a teddy bear."

They were at the very top of the island now. Rose thought she had exhausted all the views on Little Lost but this was another stunner.

"Just when you think the whole place couldn't get any more picturesque," said Caroline. "What's going on with the stones here?"

There was a small tower of stones at the summit of the hill. The base was made of larger stones, and the pile got progressively narrower and more precarious as it got higher.

"I think that must be a cairn," said Rose.

"A cairn is what, exactly?"

"It's a pile of stones that people put together. To mark something significant. This is the highest point on the island and the cairn makes it higher."

"This island is the high point of my year," said Caroline. "It's been a bad year, as you so delicately pointed out this morning."

"I'm sorry-"

"I'm joking. Sort of. Do you make a wish with your cairn stone?"

Rose hadn't heard of making a wish with a stone. "Why not?" she said.

She watched as Caroline picked up a small flat smooth stone. She rubbed it once, steadied it on the top of the pile, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she smiled. "I wish I wish my wish comes true," she said. Then she turned down another path and waved to Rose as she left. "I'll head this way now," she said. "See you at supper."

You'll get your Oscar yet, Rose thought.

She consulted her map and found her way down to the library. There was a whole cluster of cottages on this side of the island she hadn't seen yet. These were the ones Lottie found that first day and couldn't find again, even with her keen sense of direction.

The path hugged the shore for a while and then led into an open field. A few more fairy houses dotted the path. The fairies were probably at a work party of their own. In the distance she could see a building that looked less like a cottage and more like a public building. LITTLE LOST LIBRARY, read the sign, without irony. She climbed the wide steps and stood under the portico for a few moments. This was not like the library in the Harbor, she could tell already. It was built of stone, not wood. And she was quite sure that when she went inside she'd find that no one had changed a pebble since the ribbon was cut in 1887, the date that was carved on the cornerstone.

The day was beautiful, so Rose imagined that most of the work party would be working out of doors. She was right: a sign on the front door read, AT WORK PARTY. COME BACK LATER.

She pushed open the door. There was a pile of waterlogged books on a long narrow table that had been covered with a blue tarp. FOR SORTING, read the sign. So Rose began.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

In the days that followed her discovery of the third floor, Caroline had been through three trunks and was delighted today to find a fourth. The island seemed more quiet than ever after the commotion of the work party. Sunday really had been a day of rest, though in the afternoon, she had met up with the kids again at the assembly room. Frozen Peter Pan was pretty much a shambles, but the kids were having a good time, and she was too.

Today's big activity was the market boat, which she was determined not to miss this week. There were a couple of hours before she'd have to head to the dock to see what it was all about. But for now, since there was a cool breeze and the third floor was calling, she was up there again.

All the instruments must be Robert SanSouci's. She'd thought that when she first went up there and knew it now, from what Rose had told her about him. A lutenist. Who knew there even was such a profession? She wondered why he didn't need all these guitars in New York. They must be his extras.

She assessed the guitars, chose one, and lifted it down from the wall. She strummed the strings: very out of tune. And it was the lute she really wanted to play.

It was quite a strange instrument. It didn't fit right in her hands. She wasn't sure how to hold it, even. The strings were strangely quiet, but loud enough for this still room. Things were quieter back then, she guessed.

She felt a little bad playing the lute. It felt too intimate. She put it back on the wall as carefully as she could. The trunks of clothing, the furniture, the rugs-she felt entitled to disturbing them. They needed it! But the lute-that was not her domain.

The garments she had already exhumed, most of them too thin and threadbare to wear, were exquisite in their making. The pin tucks were exacting; the pleats were just so; the tiny wasp waists were taken in perfectly. She planned to try them on. She wanted to be whoever it was these clothes had belonged to.

The fourth trunk was rusted and hard to open. Caroline thought about the last time she had packed a suitcase. She'd thrown together her clothes for Maine, and now that she was here she found herself wearing about 10 percent of what she'd brought. Her suitcases had rollers and were made of material developed no doubt by someone at NASA. They were ugly: zippers and handles and made to fit in the overhead bins of commercial airlines. And even on private flights she kept her cosmetics in containers of no more than three fluid ounces. Force of habit.

These trunks were made of wood and leather. Thick, hardy leather, probably from a kind of cow they don't even have anymore. A yak, or a buffalo, maybe. Each of the trunks had brass buckles and hasps and locks. This woman, the owner of these trunks, she knew how to travel in style. The initials on the three trunks were IOM, but on the fourth they were IOS.

"Imogen Olivia Monroe?" Caroline mused. She tried on a hat with a narrow brim. "Isabelle Oona Merryweather?" A small navy wool cape came out next. Caroline fitted it onto her shoulders, freckled now from two weeks in the sun.

"And then she got married," she said. "Isadora Osgood Saunderson." Probably her lady's maid packed for her back then, though maybe the young and lissome Isadora did it herself. Caroline liked to think she did.

Isadora Osgood Saunderson was not a movie star. She was not in the spotlight. She had her white linen dresses and a cottage in Maine. And she had Mr. Saunderson, the man she had married. The man she loved?

It was a little after twelve forty-five, and this market boat was apparently not to be missed, so she grabbed what cash she had and headed down to the dock. She wore her sun hat and sunglasses in case anyone was filming, although by now it seemed like an unnecessary precaution.

As she arrived on the wharf she saw a two-masted boat being tied up at the dock by a couple of teenagers in pale yellow shirts that read FAIRWEATHER FARM. On this side of the island, the breeze had disappeared. The sun was hot and there was little shade on the dock, but a number of islanders were clustered next to the boat, talking and snapping up the blueberries, the late summer squash, and most popular, the baked goods that the floating farmers market so prettily offered for sale. Max was bringing salmon tonight, and Beverly planned to put it under the broiler with a sesame ginger marinade. Caroline thought a strawberry-rhubarb pie would be the perfect complement; there was one left. She went to pick it up when an older, statuesque woman seemed deliberately to get to it first.

"Strawberry-rhubarb is a tradition in my family," she said to Caroline. Then she turned to a knot of women on the dock and spoke in a stage whisper. "People with new money will take over these islands if we're not careful. You would think the bylaws would have something in them about who exactly gets to rent here."

Thanks, lady, Caroline thought.

"You're in the minority, Kay," said another of the women. She sighed. "We've talked this one through at the Annual Meeting a number of times."

The other woman was silent for a moment. She looked over the tomatoes on the boat, found them wanting. "Ferry was late again this morning," she said to the others on the dock, turning her back on Caroline. "We should give island teenagers island jobs. Not these people from town."

The kind-looking farmer who ran the market boat gave Caroline a supportive smile through his unkempt beard. "Kay van Straaten. She's a mean old biddy," he said. "You're a movie star."

"You're right," she said.

"That explains it," he said.

"Explains what?"

"She doesn't like rich people. Or people who didn't get rich the way she did."

"She doesn't like most people, from the sound of it."

"That was about Max, the kid who drives the ferry. Kay doesn't like him. Or really, she doesn't like that her granddaughter likes him."

"You know a lot," said Caroline.

"The market boat gets all the gossip," he said, and smiled again.

Caroline looked over the lush produce and the delicious-smelling baked goods. There were some sticky buns and some biscotti, but she didn't see any more pies. "Pies all gone?" she asked.

"Kay got the last one."

"See you next week," she said. "Save a strawberry-rhubarb for me."

Caroline walked past the knot of older women on the dock and the old bat continued to hold forth. "I hope it chokes you," she said in a voice that no one except possibly Kay van Straaten could hear.

Jon woke late. There was no one next to him, and the smell of coffee was strong in the clear cool Maine morning air. Lottie must be making breakfast. He was glad he'd found them a new coffeemaker. They needed him here. He sat up in the crisp sheets and got up to check on Ethan in the little room adjoining theirs. Asleep. Sound asleep. Incredible.

It was Tuesday morning and he had told the office he had pneumonia and he'd be out all week. They sent a get well e-card and told him as long as he was back for the client meeting on Friday and covered his e-mails and called in for the daily scrum, he'd be fine.

Somebody's already taken my chair, I bet.

He couldn't leave Maine yet. He and Lottie were having a ball and the minute Ethan hit the island he got on some primeval sleeping schedule and slept through the fucking night. With fucking being the operative word.

He'd known Lottie would be happy to see him, but he hadn't anticipated how happy he was to see her. They'd had a blast in bed last night. He'd wanted to devour her and she'd let him. "I'm a greedy girl," she'd said. Jesus. It made it even hotter that they had to be so quiet, with everyone just a few thin planks away. And this morning before dawn he wanted her again and again and she wanted him. He'd missed it so much he almost thought he would break her in two.

Ethan slept through it all. A miracle.

Now Lottie was making him breakfast. Could he take her as she bent over the stove? What if Caroline Dester was there, watching?

Whoa. If he hadn't had such a good time this morning he'd run with that idea. Instead he reminded himself that Caroline Dester needed an IP attorney, not an invitation to a threesome.

Ethan wandered in sleepily from his little room next door. Jon loved how much their son looked like him, especially when he was rubbing his eyes like that. Jon was a sex-machine kraken who loved his kid and had made friends with a movie star who knew how he looked with his clothes off.

Maybe he'd skip checking his e-mails in the Harbor today. Screw real life. "That's why they call it vacation, dude!" he said to Ethan and they both laughed hard. "Lottie! Heat up the griddle!" he called. "We're making pancakes."

"Oh, hello," said Rose. "I didn't know whether you were open or closed."

Big as the cottage was, when it rained that afternoon, Rose felt restless. Lottie, Jon, and Ethan were playing bombardment chess, a game involving bombing chess pieces with other chess pieces, which she knew Ben would have enjoyed. Caroline was making a project of rearranging the furniture in the formal sitting room. When Rose had questioned whether Robert, who was scheduled to arrive soon, would want his furniture changed around, Caroline said, "This room is crying out for help and if he doesn't see it, he needs to," and that was that. Beverly had installed himself in the kitchen, and they all knew by now not to disturb him there.

So Rose took a slicker off the peg in the hall by the stairs, pulled on a pair of short rubber boots, and headed for the door. Lottie took a break from bombarding to see her off.

"It's a nice rain," she said.

Rose nodded. "I'll be back by suppertime," she said. "I wouldn't miss a Beverly meal." He was grilling swordfish tonight if the rain abated.

"Tell us if you discover anything new," said Lottie.

"Maybe there's a Walmart here and we haven't seen it yet," said Jon.

"Or Chuck E. Cheese's!" said Ethan. "There could be Chuck E. Cheese's and we could go."

"I'll let you know if I find a Chuck E. Cheese's, Ethan," said Rose. She kissed him on the head and thought of Bea and Ben. Please let them be okay.

The path from the back door led toward the north end of the island. It was true, they hadn't done much exploring there. The rain was not hard and not cold. It felt like another manifestation of the water that was all around them. She walked for some time and found herself again at the library. All roads lead here, she thought.

She had expected an elderly lady behind the desk. Or an older man, hard of hearing and peeved at being intruded upon. She saw instead a strapping redheaded teenage girl with earphones on. She hadn't heard Rose come in but then looked up, startled, as Rose walked up to the desk. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm not supposed to wear earphones in the library. My mom will kill me. Can I help you?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you. Can I just browse a bit?'

"You can browse all you want and you can also borrow anything that's not in the reference collection. If you can tell what the reference collection is." She looked around dolefully. "We had a flood here right before the island opened up for the summer. The roof leaked half of May and the place got pretty wrecked. They were going to close the library all summer and do a big revamp in the fall but people wanted it open, but now nobody comes. It even smells bad! And the Young LABs are supposed to do the cleanup but everybody's putting it off."

"The young labs?"

"The Young Ladies Association for Beautification. It's a dumb name, especially now because there are guys in it. We're the next generation of Little Losters and we're supposed to take responsibility for our shared community." She was using a lot of air quotes, but there wasn't an edge to them. "But, um, try getting everybody here on the same weekend and then when they're here try getting them to weed through mildewed books. Hashtag I don't think so."

Rose smiled. Not everyone here on Little Lost was impervious to the outside world.

"I can help," she said. "I actually did some sorting during the work party last Saturday. I don't think we've met. I'm Rose Arbuthnot." She extended her hand. The girl shook, with a good, firm grip. They all had old-fashioned manners here.