A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(117)

“Oh, dear God,” sighed Reine-Marie, and looked away from the picture, unable to meet the eyes of Madame Valois.

“I wonder if Pierre was taking the picture,” said Gabri. “Or maybe it was their father.”

Clara took the photograph back. Was Pierre the younger son, or the oldest? Had he joined up later, to be with his brothers? Or was he already there? Did they find each other before they died? Most of the boys joined the same regiment, often the same unit. And ended up in the same battles.

Ypres, Vimy, Flanders, the Somme, Passchendaele. All familiar names now, but unknown to the three in the photo.

Clara stared and stared at the picture, with the young men and the young trees and her house, unchanged, in the background.

Had they grown up in her home? Had the telegram been delivered there? Had they fluttered out of their mother’s hand, to the flagstone floor, one after the other? Piling up. A storm of grief.

We regret to inform you …

Is that why her cottage always felt so soothing? It was used to offering comfort to the inconsolable.

Clara put the photograph on the sofa beside her and went back to the job at hand, searching through the boxes, looking for the boys in the window.

Photograph after photograph showed fields of mud where French and Belgian villages had been bombed to oblivion. Disappeared, until they were a divot in the landscape.

“Can we help?” Armand had asked when they’d changed out of their office clothes before heading to the bistro.

He’d spoken to Reine-Marie, but she was silent, staring into a shoe box on her lap. He leaned over and saw what was in there.

Telegrams.

“Look at this,” said Gabri, breaking the silence. He held a compass and was turning it this way and that. “I never did learn how to read one of these things.”

“A lost boy if there ever was one,” said Myrna, and Ruth snorted in amusement, or because she had an olive lodged in her nostril again.

“You should take up orienteering,” said Gamache as Gabri handed him the compass.

“I’m quite happy with my orientation, thank you,” said Gabri.

The glass was shattered, but as Armand turned it, the needle still found true north.

“When you stop playing with that, Clouseau, go see to your young people,” said Ruth. “They’re over at the bistro. They want to speak to you.”

“Shall we?” Gamache asked Gélinas, who nodded.

“A quiet Scotch by the fire sounds good.”

After arriving at the bistro, Gamache gestured to Olivier for two Scotches, then he and Gélinas wound their way through the tables toward the cadets. Once at the table, the cadets rose and Commander Gamache waved them to sit back down.

“Ruth said you’d like to speak to me,” Gamache said, smoothing his hair, disheveled from his tuque, and sitting down. “Is something wrong?”

The four young people looked upset. Two of them pale, two of them flushed.

“We were just arguing,” said Huifen. “Nothing new.”

“About what?” asked Gélinas, taking a seat.

“These two found Roof Trusses, or Notre-Dame-de-Doleur, or whatever it’s called,” said Huifen. “We gave up.”

“Hardly matters,” said Jacques. “There’s nothing there but snow. And maple syrup.”

“Sap,” said Nathaniel. “And there was something there.”

“What did you find?” asked Gamache, after thanking Olivier for the Scotches.

“The cemetery.” Nathaniel’s voice was eager now and his eyes bright.

“It was overgrown,” said Amelia. “But still there.”

“And?” asked Gamache.

Nathaniel shook his head. “No Antony Turcotte.”

“No Turcotte at all,” said Amelia.

Gamache sat back, surprised. Considering.

“Didn’t the toponymie man say Turcotte had been buried there?”

“Yes. It was even in the Canadian Encyclopedia.”

Gamache leaned forward again and, putting his elbows on the table, he folded his hands together and rested his chin on them. And stared out at the darkness, the snowflakes furious in the bistro light.

“Could the gravestone have fallen over or been buried?” he asked.

“It’s possible,” Amelia admitted. “But it’s not a big cemetery and most of the stones were fairly easy to find. We can go back tomorrow and take a closer look.”

“But why bother?” asked Jacques. “He’s just trying to keep us busy. Can’t you see that? How can it possibly matter? Besides, he’s not part of the investigation anymore.”

“And you’re not S?reté officers,” snapped Gamache. “You’re cadets and I’m your commander. And you’ll do as I say. I’m losing patience with you, young man. The only reason I tolerate your insubordination is because I think someone messed with your head. Told you all sorts of things that aren’t true.”

“So you’re here to reeducate me, is that it?” demanded Jacques.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. You’re very close to graduation, and then what?”

“I’ll be a S?reté officer.”

“Will you? Things have changed at the academy and you’re not changing with them. You’re stuck. Frozen. Perhaps even petrified.” Gamache lowered his voice, though the rest of the table could still hear. “The time has come, Jacques, to decide if you are going to move forward, or not.”