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Kneeling in the fragrant reen Clara Morrow carefully hid the Easter egg and thought about raising the dead, which she planned to do right after supper Wiping a strand of hair frorass, ht not be ers wandered with their baskets of brightly colored eggs, looking for the perfect hiding places Ruth Zardo sat on the bench in the h occasionally she’d haul off and peg someone in the back of the head or on the bottoood ai tonight?’ Clara asked, trying to distract the old poet fro? Live people are bad enough; ould I want to bring one back from the dead?’

With that Ruth whacked Monsieur Béliveau in the back of his head Fortunately the village grocer earing a cloth cap It was also fortunate he had great affection for the white-haired ramrod on the bench Ruth chose her victims well They were al pelted by a chocolate Easter egg wouldn’t be a big deal, but these weren’t chocolate They’d made that e of Three Pines first decided to have an egg hunt on Easter Sunday, there’d been great exciteers met at Olivier’s Bistro and over drinks and Brie they divvied up bags of chocolate eggs to be hidden the next day ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aaaaahs’ tinged with envy filled the air Would that they were children again But their pleasure would surely coe children Besides, the kids ht not find them all, especially those hidden behind Olivier’s bar

‘They’re gorgeous’ Gabri picked up a tiny oose, delicately sculpted, then bit its head off

‘Gabri’ His partner Olivier yanked as left of the goose from Gabri’s massive hand ‘They’re for the kids’

‘You just want it for yourself’ Gabri turned to Myrna and muttered so that everyone could hear, ‘Great idea Gaychocolates to children Let’s alert the Moral Majority’

Blond and bashful, Olivier blushed furiously

Myrna s herself, black and oval and wrapped in a brilliant purple and red caftan

Most of the tiny village was at the bistro, crowded around the long bar of polished wood, though some had flopped down in the comfortable old armchairs scattered about All for sale Olivier’s was also an antique shop Discreet tags dangled fro Gabri when he felt under-appreciated and under-applauded

It was early April and fires crackled cheerily in the open grates, throarht on the wide-plank pine floors, stained ah the bea drinks and soft, runny Brie froé’s fare, sitting as it did on the edge of the green On either side of it and attached by connecting doors were the rest of the shops, hugging the village in an aged brick eeneral store, Sarah’s Boulangerie, then the bistro and finally, just off that, Myrna’s Livres, Neufs et Usagés Three craggy pine trees had stood at the far end of the green for as long as anyone re for Outward froe, dirt roads radiated and meandered into the e forgotten Time eddied and swirled and so and never left e had nestled in the paled Canadian mountains, protected and hidden and rarely found except by accident So do, like Shangri-La, the welco circle of old ho the land of deeply rooted trees and back-breaking stones Others were red brick and built by United Empire Loyalists desperate for sanctuary And so metal roofs of the Québécois hoables and broad verandas And at the far end was Olivier’s Bistro, offering café au lait and fresh-baked croissants, conversation and cootten But it was only ever found by people lost

Myrna looked over at her friend Clara Morroas sticking out her tongue Myrna stuck hers out too Clara rolled her eyes Myrna rolled hers, taking a seat beside Clara on the soft sofa facing the fireplace