They’d moved into the large country kitchen and taken seats at the pine table. Antoinette cut the bread while Gabri tossed the salad.

“It’s not her, it’s him,” said Ruth, putting her glass on the table and looking at them. “He’s a coward.”

“Al Lepage?” asked Brian. “I’d heard he was a draft dodger, but that doesn’t make him a coward, does it?”

Both Ruth and Rosa glared at him but said nothing.

“They were kids themselves at the time, drafted into a war they didn’t want to fight,” said Armand. “They gave up home and family and friends to come here. Not exactly the easy option. They took a stand. I don’t think they were cowards at all. I like Al.”

“They took a stand by running away?” said Ruth. “Some other kid had to go in his place. Do you think he thinks of that?”

“This whole village was settled by people fleeing a war they didn’t believe in,” Myrna pointed out. “The three pines is an old code for sanctuary.”

“More like asylum,” said Gabri.

“I know the history of the village,” said Ruth.

“Let’s change the subject,” said Brian. He turned to Reine-Marie. “Are you going to join the Estrie Players?”

“Join?” asked Armand, looking at his wife.

“I was thinking it might be fun.”

“It is fun,” said Gabri. “Drop by the rehearsal tomorrow night and see. I’ll leave my script for you to read.”

“Great, I’ll come by. What time?” said Reine-Marie.

“Seven,” said Brian. “Wear something you don’t mind throwing out. We’ll be painting. How about you, Ruth?”

“Yes, you’d be good at it,” said Gabri. “You’ve been pretending to be human for years.”

“Though not very convincingly,” said Myrna. “I never believed it.”

But Ruth had fallen into a stupor, deep in thought.

“Let’s go into the living room,” said Reine-Marie, once dinner was finished. “Leave the dishes. Henri will lick them clean later.”

The guests looked at each other as they left the table, and saw Reine-Marie smiling. In the living room Armand tossed another log onto the fire, putting his hands, palms out, toward the flame.

“Are you cold?” Reine-Marie asked. “Getting sick?”

She put her hand on his forehead.

“No, I just feel a chill,” he explained.

Antoinette came by and nodded toward the fire. “They’re nice in September, aren’t they? Cheerful. In June they’re just depressing.”

Reine-Marie laughed and walked over to join Ruth. Antoinette turned away but Armand called her back.

“The play,” he said quietly.

“Yes?”

“Brian said it was by John Fleming.”

She grew still, her clear eyes studying him. “He shouldn’t have said that.”

“But he did. Why do you want to keep it a secret?”

“Like I said, marketing. It’s a new play, we need to do everything we can to pique interest.”