Page 192

Below them the villagers had gathered on the green. Armand and Amelia watched as Ruth and Rosa, Olivier and Gabri, Clara and Reine-Marie and Harriet formed a circle around Myrna. Monsieur Béliveau and Sarah the baker left their shops to join them.

Myrna lit something and passed it around.

“Looks like a huge joint,” said Amelia and heard the Chief Inspector grunt with amusement.

They both knew what it really was. A sage stick.

Each villager took the thick bundle of bound-up sage and sweetgrass and wafted the smoke over themselves. Smudging themselves. Cleansing themselves of any ill spirits, in a ritual as old as the hills and forests and streams.

“Well, that’s just weird,” said Amelia.

“Glass houses,” said Armand and saw her smile.

They watched for a little longer before he turned to her.

“Thank you. You saved our lives. My life. My family’s life.”

She looked at him. Saw the terrible scar at his temple. Saw the lines down his face. Saw the hurt, the pain, in his eyes as he thought of what might have been.

But there was something else in those eyes. A bright spot. Maybe from the sun.

Below them, the villagers were just making their way to the little chapel. Once there, Myrna wafted the sage toward the white clapboard building, taking extra care with the stained-glass boys.

Only when they disappeared inside did Amelia speak.

“I know it doesn’t make us even. But maybe it helps.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make us even.” He turned to her again. “I am indebted to you. And I owe you an apology.”

She cocked her head, confused, but said nothing.

He took a breath. “When you first applied to the Sûreté Academy, I turned you down. Not because I didn’t think you’d make a good, even an exceptional, agent. But out of revenge.”

Instead of rushing his words, he spoke clearly, precisely. “I wanted to hurt you, to hurt your father.”

“Because of the death of your parents,” she said. “Because of what my father did.”

He exhaled a long, long breath. “Oui. I suspected if I turned you down, you’d remain on the streets.” He paused and gathered himself. “You would die on the streets.” He held her eyes. “I’m sorry. It was a terrible thing to do and I’m ashamed of myself.”

“Are you asking for forgiveness?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“I don’t see why. You did save me. You admitted me to the Academy.” She thought for a moment. “If you hadn’t, I couldn’t have saved you. Funny how that works.”

“Yes.” He watched the procession walk back across the village green and into the bookstore, where they would cleanse the loft. “Funny that.”

He looked down at his hands. He was clutching a book, and now he offered it to her.

“It belonged to my father. I want you to have it. I think he’d want it too. As thanks.”

She hesitated, but finally took it.

“Merci. It will be treasured. And for what it’s worth, patron, I forgive you too.”

The procession below them was now heading for the Gamache home, trailed by Henri, Fred, and Gracie. Harriet disengaged herself and approached JJ, the shining youth.

“Will you join us for Sunday dinner?” Armand asked Amelia. Who nodded.