The sadness of the winter,

Which gloom’d our hearts, is gone:

A thousand signs betoken

That spring-time comes anon.

’Tis spring-time in our bosoms;

All strife aside we cast;

The storms were for the winter-days,

But they are gone and past.

Before us lies the spring-time—

Thank God, the time of mirth—

When birds are singing in the trees,

And flowers gem all the earth;

When a thousand busy hands upturn

The bounteous, fruitful mould,

And the heart of every poet feels

More love than it can hold.

After the ceremony, after the amazing cake—fluffed up with layers of whipped cream and flavoured with Cornish whiskey—was carried into the room and served, and while Rice was once again playing jazz on his guitar and the guests were eating and clinking glasses, Tom mentioned to Hazzley: “This matters; it really matters that we know enough to pause and honour the moments in life that are worthy of celebration.”

“You’re right,” said Hazzley. “We need these moments because they strengthen us for the ordinary times, the not-so-good and—let’s face it—the downright difficult times.”

Allam’s grandchildren had begun to clamour for a story, and his daughter joined in. “You know so many old tales,” she said to her father. “Tell us one now.”

“Ah,” he said. “Let me think.” He sat down and the others gathered round. Gwen was by his side.

Allam looked around the room at his family and his good friends. He raised Gwen’s hand to his lips.

“A story that holds love,” he said. “There is room for love in the life of every person. Let me tell you now about a wedding feast that took place a long time ago.”

And the others quieted, and leaned in.

Acknowledgements

I wish to thank my agent, Jackie Kaiser, at WCA, for her friendship and long-standing support, and my editor at HarperCollins, Jennifer Lambert, for her skill, wise comments and suggestions. Thanks to Noelle Zitzer and Janice Weaver, who, once again and with expertise, have escorted me through the production and copy-edit stages of the novel. Thank you: Jim Sherman at Perfect Books in Ottawa for long-time support; Cortez Kimble for permission to use his great story of the wedding suit; Susan Zettell, who wrote Holy Days of Obligation (Nuage Editions, 1998); Barb and Orm Mitchell; Norman Takeuchi; Marion Takeuchi for bringing to my attention the expression Das letzte Hemd hat keine Taschen (The last shirt has no pockets—or, you can’t take it with you!).

For discussions along the way, thanks to my daughter, Sam Itani; Catherine Hoogerhyde; Hazle Sokolich; Dr. John Martins; Susan Lightstone; Norman Jamieson; Dorothy Mitts; and Phyllis Bruce. Thanks to my son, Russell Itani, for information about music and the ocarina, and for the gift of an ocarina of my own—I’ll be practising! Thanks to Danielle Letourneau, who brings French expressions and cake to the table. Quelle bonne amie! And to Michel LeFrançois, who double-checks my French. For information about Syrians who have arrived in Canada during the Syrian Civil War, I acknowledge TVO’s various documentaries and discussions; these have been invaluable. Larry Scanlan, thanks for the introduction to Jamal, in Kingston. Jamal Saeed, thank you for responding to my questions about points of accuracy and helping me to understand more about Syrian culture and the experiences of Syrian refugees.