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Not because of the scholarship, but because Harriet was walking across the stage. She’d made it this far. She’d made it so far.

Myrna knew how close Harriet had come to turning down the scholarship. Because she could not face this moment.

But here she was, facing it.

Myrna rose to her feet, followed closely by Armand and Reine-Marie, Jean-Guy. Clara and Olivier and Gabri. And then the rest of the auditorium.

Ruth Zardo was not there. She’d stayed behind saying someone had to look after the village. They expected to return to cinders. Still, worth it.

Myrna wiped her sleeve across her eyes so she could better see the girl she’d helped raise. Who’d stayed with her for weeks every summer.

When Harriet had first visited, it was all Myrna could do to get her out the door. And now, here she was.

Harriet accepted the bouquet, and turned to face the standing ovation, and knew she was a fraud. The scholarship was created in honor of the young women who’d dared and who’d died. She was as far from them as it was possible to be. Barely the same species.

She thanked Madame Provost, then turned and walked stiffly off the stage, not saying another word.

Harriet Landers knew if she was the future, they were all fucked.

“She’s coming back with us,” said Clara, at the reception after. “Right? The party’s all organized.”

“For a few days, yes,” said Myrna. She was holding hands with Billy Williams, who’d taken the day off from spreading compost to be there.

“Does she get to keep the robes?” asked Gabri. “Do you think she’d let me buy them off her?”

“Why in the world would you—” began his partner, Olivier, then stopped. Not wanting to know the answer.

Armand and Reine-Marie were across the room, talking with the Chancellor. Then, seeing Fiona Arsenault standing alone, they excused themselves and walked over to her.

Jean-Guy had left a few minutes earlier, but not before reassuring Armand that Sam Arsenault had left the building as soon as the ceremony was over.

“I saw him off. I suspect he wants to meet you even less than you want to meet him.”

Armand knew that was not true but left it at that.

“Merci,” he said. “Did you speak with him?”

“Briefly. He won’t be back.”

Gamache nodded. He didn’t want, or need, to know more. The fact was, he’d kept tabs on the young man and was far more aware of his movements, his life, than Jean-Guy. He’d expected Sam to be there that day, and he was.

What Armand had not expected was to feel that frisson, that sharp spike of anxiety, when their eyes had met. Now he turned his mind from that young man to his sister.

Reine-Marie hugged Fiona, while Armand stood back and watched. Smiling.

He’d never have thought, never have guessed, on that cold November day so many years ago, in that horror of a house, that this could ever happen. Once again, he reflected on the folly of assumptions.

“Merci, Monsieur Gamache,” said Fiona, looking down at the scroll and small box in her hands. “I know this was because of you.” She turned to Reine-Marie. “You both.”

“You put in the work,” said Armand, looking her straight in the eye. “I’m proud of you.”

And he was. Not many could turn their lives around. After what happened.

“You’re coming down to Three Pines with us, right?” said Reine-Marie. “We have your room all ready.”

“Can’t wait.” Fiona looked at the small box, then held it out to Armand. “Would you?”

His smile widened, and without a word he opened the box and brought out the thin iron ring. It was simple, unadorned except for the marks where it had been pounded into shape. Not a ring anyone would choose at a jeweler’s. But it could not be bought, it had to be earned.