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She waited, but all she sensed was peace. And calm. And safety. There were spirits here, yes. But no demons.
Opening her eyes, she noticed a new painting. It was Clara’s latest.
The wild, exuberant, vibrant swirls of colors seemed to spill out past the unframed canvas and tumble into the room.
Reine-Marie couldn’t help but smile. She knew immediately what it was. Who it was.
She turned to her husband. Armand was searching her face. She reached out and placed her palms on his chest so she could feel his heartbeat.
“Welcome home.”
A few minutes later, as she embraced Clara, Reine-Marie whispered, “Merci. The painting is magnificent.”
They sat down and enjoyed breakfast together as the friends brought the Gamaches up to speed on village life.
The play Gabri was organizing.
The cooking course Olivier had decided to offer.
“I need to show you the new bedroom,” said Myrna. “Harriet’s room.”
“It’s finished?” asked Armand. “So quickly?”
“We all helped,” said Ruth.
They looked at her. Rosa had been more help than the old poet.
“There is one more thing we need to do,” said Clara. “But we’ve been waiting for you.”
“First, though, I have some questions.”
“For God’s sake, Ruth,” hissed Gabri. “We agreed not to ask.”
“You did. I never agreed to anything.”
“You did so,” said Clara.
This went on for some minutes while Reine-Marie finished her Croque Monsieur, the melted Gruyère and béchamel sauce dripping out of the crispy croissant and onto her plate. Armand poured more maple syrup over his blueberry pancakes until they looked like islands in a sweet sea.
“Just one question then,” said Ruth. She turned to the Gamaches. “What happened?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Olivier.
Armand opened his mouth, then started laughing. “That is the question, Ruth.”
With that, the levee broke.
Clara leaned forward. “It started when we realized there was a hidden room, right? What would’ve happened if we hadn’t? I mean, it’s been there, bricked up for more than a century.”
Armand was shaking his head. “It all started—”
“With the letter,” said Billy. “From Pierre Stone. Was it real, or did Fleming forge it?”
It was one of the first questions Armand asked too.
“It was real, and you’re right. That’s where it started. John Fleming was in the SHU, but determined to get out. He knew how, and he knew he’d pay me back for what I did to him. What he needed was a plan. He spent years researching me, researching all of us. Working out our desires, our triggers, our core beliefs, our fears. All those details became the building blocks—”
“The bricks,” said Harriet. She’d been staring at the young man building the bonfire, but now turned to meet Armand’s eyes.
