Page 47 of All Saints Day
When I wake up to the smell of bacon, coffee, and toast in a big beam of sunshine, I’m almost convinced I’m still dreaming.
It was a little over a week of traveling by boat, stolen car, and even a singular pontoon plane to touch down on a glassy lake in rural Saskatchewan.
The five of us bonded Saints along with Frank, now our hostage, are held up in a pair of yurts one of Quentin’s old CIs kept for lying low.
Our pack has settled into the larger of the two minimalist lodgings, opting to keep Frank imprisoned and heavily sedated in the other with one of us on watch.
The first order of business has been nursing Louise back to health. Even though it had been a fraught few days on the road, after several days of feeding and re-hydrating, she regained enough physical strength to sit, speak, and walk on her own.
The emotional wounds, the psychic damage… that will take much longer to heal.
She can’t manage to sleep without nightmares. Even when Sébastien and Quentin—the two biggest, meatiest Saints—bracket her in bed or the back of the van, she wakes screaming and crying most nights.
Luckily, as soon as she wakes to our arms wrapped around her—our soothing voices, scents, and purrs—she comes down fromthe panic before she completely comes undone. Still, it’s hard to watch—to feel her pain come screaming down the bond.
“Cazzy?” her voice calls weakly from beside me in the bed, and I brush the curtain of red hair away from her face to cup her porcelain cheek.
“Yes, Louise, I’m right here,” I purr soothingly. “Why don’t we get up and get you something to eat, hmm?” I kiss her forehead, breathing in her sweet-tart-spicy scent—basking in the relief of having her in my arms again.
“Can we lie here like this a little bit longer?” She nuzzles my hand, scooting from her place—head resting on her own pillow—to wriggle through the blankets until her body is against mine, wrapped safely in my arms.
“A little bit, but you really should try to eat something,” I coo, my fingers running along the outside of her arms—her muscle tone slowly returning, but a fraction of what it was before her imprisonment. “We gotta get your strength back up.”
Before she can argue, there’s the sound of curtain rings clacking together, the thick damask curtain that separates the large nesting bed from the rest of the yurt swishes out of the way to reveal Sébastien holding a large wooden tray, filled dishes of yogurt and fruit drizzled with golden honey, a plate of bacon and eggs, a small basket of hot whole grain rolls smeared with butter and jam, a tall glass of orange juice, and a ceramic mug of steaming coffee.
“You don’t have to go anywhere,chereLoulou,” he beams, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, Quentin standing just behind him.
Louise scans each of our faces, that edge of panic like a bright flash in those cinnamon eyes as she initially registers Dennis’ absence.
It broke my heart to watch her swallow down her trauma response—seeing the micro-expressions that let me know she was doing the mental math on where he was. Of course she knew that if the rest of us were here… then Dennis was with him.
The first few days we had her back with us—she flew into hysterics the moment she couldn’t get eyes on all of us. It was remarkable, really, after nearly a week she had this much of a grip on her trauma response. Another testament to the strength and will of Louise Penny.
Now, she just looks meaningfully at all of us—swallowing the silence as we all make the silent acknowledgment.
“Alright lazy bones, scoot over so we can get in,” Quentin breaks the quiet, shooing me from the edge of the nest so that he can clamber in and scoot to the far side, allowing Seb space to set down the tray and take his own seat along with us.
I help Louise up to sitting in the tangle of sheets and blankets.
Even though it was hardly cold enough for it, she wore a pair of my gray sweatpants, one of Sébastien's tank tops layered under a sweater from Q—her hands deftly combing through her wild red hair as she plaits the scarlet tresses in a long cord down her back before she reaches beneath her pillow to reveal one of Dennis’ omnipresent baseball caps.
“Everything looks and smells delicious, Seb,” Louise gives a tired smile as she threads her long braid through the back of the ball cap, pulling the brim down low over her eyes.
While it hurts all of our hearts to see her so drawn in on herself, hiding behind our scented items of clothing like a scared little girl—we’re all just so overwhelmed with joy to have her back that we temper our sadness enough to keep it from seeping across the bond.
“You’ll have to tell me how it all tastes,” Sébastien smiles devilishly, ducking in beneath the brim of her hat to peck a kiss on her lips before she takes her first bite.
There’s little more sound than forks and knives on dishes or the clinking of glassware for a few moments as we sit quietly, encouraging Louise to eat and drink what she can. If it’s nice enough today, we can take her for another walk along the banks of the lake. She had wanted to try going for a run, but had beenhumbled when she was winded from a half-mile stroll over sand and gravel.
It was Louise who finally spoke after she’d gotten down both eggs, a few rashers of bacon and half a big seeded roll.
“I know that you’re all handling me like I’m some kind of glass figurine.” She gave a weary chuckle. “But the truth is, we can’t wait until I’m one hundred percent to…” she trails off, dipping a spoon into her fruit and yogurt half-heartedly.
Sébastien nods gravely.
“Loulou is right, of course.” He runs a big bronze hand back through his dark hair ruefully. “Dottore Perla suspects that there is a reason they haven’t released the Zeitnot virus more widely yet.”
“If the Windmill didn’t have access to the Penny’s formulas, or any of the other project records—as it would seem—and neither Louise nor Frank spilled about our discoveries, it’s entirely possible that they’re still trying to find a cure,” Q adds, pinching the point of his chin pensively.
