But fate, and a hunger pang, had intervened. In no hurry and taking the picturesque back roads Myrna had been on her journey for only an hour or so when she suddenly felt peckish. Cresting a hill along a bumpy dirt road she’d come across a village hidden among the hills and forests. It came as a complete surprise to Myrna, who was so taken by the sight she stopped and got out. It was late spring and the sun was just gathering strength. A stream tumbled from an old stone mill past a white clapboard chapel and meandered around one side of the village. The village was shaped like a circle with dirt roads running off it in four directions. In the middle was a village green and ringing it were old homes, some in the Québecois style with steeply sloping metal roofs and narrow dormers, some clapboard with wide open verandas. And at least one was fieldstone, built by hand from stones heaved from the fields by a pioneer frantic to beat the oncoming murderous winter.

She could see a pond on the green and three majestic pine trees rising at one end.

Myrna brought out her map of Quebec. After a couple of minutes she carefully folded it up and leaned against the car in amazement. The village wasn’t on the map. It showed places that hadn’t existed in decades. It showed minuscule fishing villages and any community with two houses and a church.

But not this one.

She looked down at villagers gardening and walking dogs and sitting on a bench by the pond reading. Perhaps this was like Brigadoon. Perhaps it only appeared every number of years, and only to people who needed to see it. But still, Myrna hesitated. Surely it wouldn’t have what she craved. Almost turning round and heading for Williamsburg, which was on the map, Myrna decided to risk it.

Three Pines had what she craved.

It had croissants and café au lait. It had steak frites and the New York Times. It had a bakery, a bistro, a B. & B., a general store. It had peace and stillness and laughter. It had great joy and great sadness and the ability to accept both and be content. It had companionship and kindness.

And it had an empty store with a loft above. Waiting. For her.

Myrna never left.

In just over an hour Myrna had gone from a world of complaint to a world of contentment. That had been six years ago. Now she dispensed new and used books and well-worn advice to her friends.