Connie playfully swatted Ed on the behind with the dust rag she was holding. “You’ll tell it to anyone who will listen.” She wiped down the top of the bookcase. “The little room next to ours is a birthing room, where women had their babies so they could stay warm near the fire. And this room we’re in, this is called a keeping room.” She was happy to show off the old house, and clearly happy to finally be there. “See these tall, thin doors? They called them courting doors because of the tiny windows above them.” She pointed up. “For spying.”

Poppy opened a cabinet on the side of the large, squat fireplace that dominated the room. “They used to bake bread in here,” she said. “Check this out. This is the best part.” She walked over to a bookcase on the other side of the fireplace and gave it a push, revealing a hidden compartment one or two small people might fit in if they huddled together. “A hiding place.”

“To hide from what?” Michael asked.

“Well, as you can imagine, back in the day the natives weren’t too happy with the colonists.” Ed’s statement was innocent enough, but it hit Michael sideways, heightening his awareness of insiders and outsiders, natives and impostors.

Still, he was happy to be there. More than happy. He found the house, with its leathery smell and unexpected spaces, even more magical than he’d anticipated—as magical as he found the Gordon family with their traditions, games, inside jokes, Sunday dinners, and summer vacations “out East.”

Ann emerged from the bedroom. He looked beyond her and saw her clothing already scattered all over the twin beds in the room she and Poppy shared. She adjusted the shoulder straps of her suit with a snap. “Let’s go. I’m dying to swim.” Ann dabbed some Coppertone on her cheeks. The room smelled suddenly of coconut. He wished he could reach out and smooth out the glob of lotion next to her nose that she’d missed.

“You go ahead,” he said. “I can wait here.”

“Don’t you want to see the back shore?”

He did, he supposed, but he hated the idea of leaving. “I want to unpack.”

Ann walked toward the door. “You’ve got all summer to unpack. Come on, get changed.”

“I’ll just wear my shorts,” Michael said.

He didn’t want to tell her that he didn’t own a swimsuit.