Page 4 (1/1)

‘You’re cohted ‘Hazel too?’

‘No, Hazel’s refused Sophie gets ho and Hazel says she has to cook and clean, mais, franchement?’ Madeleine leaned in conspiratorially, ‘I think she’s afraid of ghosts Monsieur Béliveau has agreed to corateful Hazel has decided to cook instead,’ said Monsieur Béliveau ‘She’s made us a wonderful casserole’

It was very like Hazel, Clara thought Always caring for others Clara was slightly afraid people took advantage of Hazel’s generosity, especially that daughter of hers, but she also realized it was none of her business

‘But we have a great deal of work to do before dinner, mon ami’ Madeleine smiled radiantly at Monsieur Béliveau and touched hihtly on the shoulder The older man smiled He hadn’t smiled a lot since his wife died, but now he did, and Clara had another reason to like Madeleine She watched theh the late April sunshine, the youngest and tenderest of lights falling on a young and tender relationship Monsieur Béliveau, tall and sli in his step

Clara stood up and stretched her forty-eight-year-old body, then glanced around It looked like a field of derrières Every villager was bending over, placing eggs Clara wished she had her sketch pad

There was certainly nothing cool about Three Pines, nothing funky or edgy or any of the other things that had e twenty-five years ago Nothing here was designed Instead, the village seereen and sirown from the earth over tirant spring air and looked over at the home she shared with Peter It was brick with a wooden porch and a fieldstone wall fronting the Coh some apple trees about to bloom to their front door Fro the Commons Like their inhabitants, the homes of Three Pines were sturdy and shaped by their environment They’d withstood stor froreat kindness and compassion

Clara loved it The houses, the shops, the village green, the perennial gardens and even the washboard roads She loved the fact that Montreal was less than a two-hour drive away, and the American border was just down the road But more than all of that, she loved the people who now spent this and every Good Friday hiding wooden eggs for children

It was a late Easter, near the end of April They weren’t always so lucky with the elee had awoken on Easter Sunday to find a fresh du the tender buds and painted eggs It had often been bitterly cold and the villagers had had to duck into Olivier’s Bistro every now and then for a hot cider or hot chocolate, wrapping tres

But not today There was a certain glory about this April day It was a perfect Good Friday, sunny and warone, even in the shadohere it tended to linger The grass was growing and the trees had a halo of the gentlest green It was as though the aura of Three Pines had suddenly reen edges

Tulip bulbs were beginning to crack through the earth and soon the village green would be aith spring flowers, deep blue hyacinths and bluebells and gay bobbing daffodils, snowdrops and fragrant lily of the valley, filling the village with fragrance and delight

This Good Friday Three Pines smelled of fresh earth and promise And maybe a woro’

Clara heard the urgent and vicious whisper She was crouching again, by the tall grass of the pond She couldn’t see who it was but she realized they rass It was a wo French but in a tone so strained and upset she couldn’t identify her

‘It’s just a séance,’ a e, for Christ’s sake A séance on Good Friday?’

There was a pause Clara was feeling uncoinning to craious What can happen?’

Odile? thought Clara The only Odile she kneas Odile Montain: