Page 78 of The Grey Wolf
Backing up a pace, the pilot stepped right into the Chief Inspector. And gave a little yelp.
“Steady,” whispered Gamache. “It’s all right.”
The pilot, taking no chances, crossed himself.
They stood in complete darkness now except for the glow, which was getting brighter.
Closer.
Then a single monk, hood up, appeared. He brought with him a candle and a low, rhythmic chant.
Then another voice, another monk, another steady light. And another, and another. Until the empty space was filled with their clear voices, and the darkness was broken.
The bells stopped, but the chanting continued, prayers sung by men who believed with all their heart and soul that what they did was divine.
And it was hard to disagree. Even the pilot, frightened moments earlier, seemed overcome. His eyes caught the candlelight and glistened as he watched the solemn, simple procession.
The monks, in single file, walked across the stone floor and took their places at the front, facing each other.
The singing ended. They sat. And silence descended.
The only light came from the candles that wavered and flickered.
Armand, Jean-Guy, and the pilot sat on the hard benches and watched as the monks of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups held vespers, one of the canonical hours of the monastic day. “Vespers” translated literally as “shadows.” It signaled the end of day. When light became shadow, and shadow became night.
One of the lights rose, and the silence was broken by a single voice, pure and strong. Lifting and falling, it was joyful and mesmerizing and hypnotic. Then the others stood as one and joined in as one. At once. Filling the huge space with song. With prayer that swooped and swirled and rode on robust notes. It whirled around the men, the monks and those watching. It entered them, embraced them, filledthem. Kept them company so that they knew they were not, were never, alone.
Armand glanced at Jean-Guy and saw that his eyes were closed and his face tipped slightly back, as the younger man let the words, the music, the peace wash over him.
But the Chief Inspector’s eyes were wide open, taking it all in. What he saw was less important than what he did not see.
Dom Philippe was not there.
“Maman, what is it?” asked Annie.
She was making a potato salad, while Daniel and Roslyn shucked corn on the cob and Isabelle’s husband shaped burgers for the barbecue.
Reine-Marie could wait no longer. Annie and Daniel had a right to know. They’d be furious if they found out that their mother was keeping this information about Annie’s husband and their father from them.
Still, she’d waited. Staying in, hiding in, the study. Staring out the window, then checking her phone. Then staring again. Until the shadows lengthened in the little village and twilight became night and she was standing in complete darkness. Except for the light that came from her phone when she checked. And rechecked. And checked again.
Nothing.
Before leaving the study, she’d called Isabelle, who confirmed there was no news.
“I was just about to call you. It’s too dark to send search planes and there’s a heavy fog. The local Sûreté commander said he would organize boats to go look at first light, along with the search planes. There was no emergency beacon, so that’s a good sign. And we know where they were headed. If they landed on the water, well, it’s a float plane. There’s every reason to hope.”
“Oui.Are you coming down?”
“No. I’m staying here. I want to go up at first light with the planes.”
Reine-Marie hung up and turned once again to the window, staring at the village. At the three soaring pines. She tried to sense it. Armand alive. She could not. But neither did she feel he was dead. She thought she’d know. Surely she’d know. Wouldn’t she?
Finally, she knew it was time.
Reason to hope, reason to hope, she repeated as she walked slowly toward the kitchen, where she could hear Annie and Daniel teasing each other.
“Maman?” said Daniel, who spotted her first and saw his mother’s face.
