Page 235 of All the Devils Are Here

“A letter from the bank.” She ripped it open. “That’s strange.”

“What? Are they calling our mortgage? That’s all we need.”

“No.” She stepped onto the terrasse and showed him the paper. “This says the mortgage had been paid.”

Sure enough, the balance owing was zero.

“I wonder who did that?” he said.

Armand put on his coat and hat and, opening the door, he called to the dogs. And Gracie. Who might, or might not, have been a ferret. Though it didn’t matter. She was family.

The animals ran out the door, skidding slightly on the snow-covered porch.

The children had been fed and put to bed. Stories were read to them as they drifted off to sleep, snug and warm under their duvets as a cool breeze puffed out the curtains.

Daniel stood beside his daughters’ beds in the dark, and looked through the window at his father walking around the village green.

Then he put his hand in the pocket of his cardigan and brought out a scuffed envelope. On it, in his father’s hand, was written, For Daniel.

It was what his father had slipped him that day, years ago, on Mount Royal. Daniel, assuming it was money, and a not-very-subtle message that he couldn’t provide for his own family, hadn’t opened it.

He’d told his father he’d thrown it away, but had actually shoved it to the back of a drawer, and only found it again when they were packing up.

Now he tore it open. There was a short note inside, and something else.

Tipping the envelope up, out slid a thin silver chain, and a tiny crucifix.

Dearest Daniel. This was what your grandfather, my father, wore throughout the war. He always said it protected him. He gave it to me on my ninth birthday. The last, and most precious, gift he gave me, besides, of course, the gift of his love. He said it would keep me safe. I’ve worn it since. And now, I want you to have it.

Love, Dad

Closing his fist around it, Daniel watched as Jean-Guy sprinted across the snow to join his father. Then, after kissing his sleeping children and whispering that he loved them, Daniel went downstairs to join Stephen, who was nodding by the fire.

“What’ve you got there?” Stephen asked.

“You’re ninety-three and were run over by a truck, shouldn’t you be blind or demented by now?”

Stephen laughed. “Unfortunately for you, that truck seems to have knocked some sense into me.”