“Oh, so did I.” She speaks as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I’ve cried so many tears on top of this blessed hill, you can’t imagine. But it’s a beautiful place, and I didn’t want to be banished from it, so I kept coming up here until the tears were gone. It was the only way. Come, I’d like to show you one of my favorite wildflowers. It’s called buckhorn plantain. It grows very close to the ground and you can eat it if you’re hungry.”

“Buckhorn plantain. I could learn a lot from you.”

She throws her head back, laughing. “I’ve got many enthusiasms, I admit. But I swear I won’t bore you with them.”

Her hand and mine seek each other out. She turns her face to me. Her lips are warm on mine. I kiss her very gently, like the civilized, well-mannered man I strive to be. She draws away with a most glorious smile. We walk on, our fingers still interlinked.

“Tell me more about your enthusiasms, Ellen. Books? Music? Baking?”

She laughs. “All those things. I like making clothes, too. And sometimes I do fine repairs for the jumble sales. If we get some lovely piece that’s a bit worse for wear, I smarten it up. You should be glad I do. A lot of the money goes toward the church roof.”

We are walking easily up the steep side of the hill, taking slow steps as if going upstairs. I’m listening, but so absorbed in her, in the fact that her hand is in mine, that I don’t immediately register what she’s just said.

“Do you remember a scarf with a train on it, and a cow?”

“Yes,” she says immediately. “Althea bought it. Silk, it was. My mother taught me how to darn silk when I was six years old. Back when we had silk clothes to darn. Why?”

The wind is singing about my head, filling me with an enormous energy.

“It belonged to Bridie Moore. It had gone in the jumble sale by mistake when she moved to Redwood House.”

“Goodness, Bridie Moore . . . Did you ever solve her riddle, by the way?”

“Yes, in the end.”

“What was the answer? . . . Oh!” She clutches my arm. “It was about the scarf, wasn’t it! Smoking, and the square! That’s what she was trying to tell you! She wanted her scarf back! Well, it’s in much better shape now. I remember each and every one of those tiny burn holes, they took me hours . . . That scarf must have meant a great deal to Bridie.”

“Yes. It belonged to her dear friend.”

We’re at the summit now. The sun is settling on the sea. Ellen looks up at me. “It’s not often that a man notices the design of a woman’s scarf.”