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more hand-knit items each year.
Tams in fluffy pastels with oversized pom-poms. Boldly striped
scarves with foot-long fringes. And mittens, always silly, childish
mittens to match.
    I’d never been able to bring myself to tell
her that for shoveling snow and chopping wood I preferred my sturdy
work gloves and a plain toque. The sweater was the only thing I’d
worn. The rest I’d passed on to kids on holiday I met over the
summers, or to Odette for her church bazaar. But I was touched by
Vera’s offerings, and always grateful to know she was out there
thinking about me.
    The Wembles were the only foster parents I’d
ever stayed with, the only ones who never kicked me out. I lived
with them just over four years. When I left at eighteen, although
they didn’t understand, they accepted that they couldn’t expect to.
They didn’t disown me. And Vera had faithfully written me her
little notes ever since, always ending with something like, “Come
visit anytime. We’d love to see you. God Bless.”
    One thing I knew for certain. If I did take
Nick’s offer, I could never, ever, tell the Wembles. They’d be
horrified, and I had no desire to hurt them any more than I already
had. But as I headed down to the kitchen I felt a twinge of
pleasure at the thought of scandalizing certain other people. Say
Jay Williams, the man who’d chosen his daughter over me.
    “Sorry I’m late,” I called to Odette, seeing
she was already busy scrubbing down counters. I usually helped
clean the kitchen in the evenings, even though that wasn’t part of
my job anymore. There’s something soothing about performing
monotonous tasks when you’re not obliged to, and I always found the
hour or so we spent together at the end of the day comforting.
    Odette, dressed in her usual combination of a
frilly apron over a sweatsuit, merely nodded towards the oven, her
mouth an odd, loose pucker, which indicated she didn’t have her
dentures in. I took the plate she’d kept warm and started eating
the hearty veggie pie to please her. I knew she’d made it just for
me, even though she didn’t approve of my vegetarian diet.
    I wanted to ask if there was any news of
Claude, just in case he’d changed his mind about taking over the
lodge. But if Odette didn’t have her teeth in, that meant she
didn’t want to talk, which must mean she had nothing new to say. So
I just enjoyed being there with her.
    My relationship with both the Rivards had
always been one where little was said, but enough was understood. I
could help Odette chop vegetables for a stew, or sling supplies off
the truck with Baptiste, and say next to nothing. They were
comfortable with my quietness and I was comfortable with their
mostly incomprehensible country French.
    I knew they’d been planning to keep living at
Auberge Ciel with Claude, and wondered now for the first time where
they’d go if I couldn’t take over. They usually spent January in
Florida, but I knew they didn’t want to retire there. My plans for
a camp had always included the two of them staying on, working as
much or as little as they liked. I’d pictured Odette supervising
the kitchen, or teaching crafts, Baptiste guiding hikes and canoe
trips.
    But if that didn’t work out, what would
happen to them? Where would they go? The Rivards were just one more
reason I had to buy the lodge. Clearly, the time had come to make
my move.
    First I called Vermont, using the phone in
the lounge so Odette wouldn’t overhear me. She adored Jay, and I
didn’t want to upset her.
    Becky answered right away, mid-ring, throwing
a hissy fit. “God Lucienne, what’s going on? Why didn’t you show
up? Dad’s been out of his mind, not that you care. I mean, he’s
been frantic!” Pretty emotional, for her.
    “Oh, really?” I traced the whorls of a
braided rug with my foot, not about to explain myself to Becky. Let
Jay do that. “Can I talk to him please?”
    “You sure you want to? You’ve only been
refusing to take his