A Better Man

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The two men ran along the path, the river on one side, the forest on the other.

Jean-Guy skidded once and went down on one knee in the mud. Armand grabbed his jacket and hauled him to his feet.

And then they continued on. Their flashlights bobbing wildly ahead of them, illuminating trees, path, rocks, river.

They didn’t have far to go. Just to the bend in the river.

When they’d arrived back in Three Pines, they’d taken Carl Tracey to the bistro, where they found Olivier and Gabri, now that the danger of flooding had passed.

“Keep him here,” Gamache had instructed them. “Billy will stay with you. Homer?”

“At your place,” Olivier said. “Clara and Myrna took him there hoping he’d get some sleep. They’re staying with him.”

“What time is it?” asked Reine-Marie.

“Two thirty,” said Gabri.

“That late?”

“That early,” he said. “The wee hours, as Ruth calls it.”

“Where is she, by the way?”

“She went home. Had to wee.”

Reine-Marie glanced at Tracey. He was in the far corner, where he’d been placed by Jean-Guy. Far away from the warmth and soft light of the fireplace.

Then she turned to Armand. “I’ll make sure Homer doesn’t come over here. You go.”

And Armand and Jean-Guy did.

Even though both men knew there was no need to rush, still they ran. Down the path. Beside the wall of sandbags. They ran behind the general store, the boulangerie, past the back of the bistro and the bookstore. The Bella Bella on one side, forest on the other.

And then they were there.

Gamache was panting and holding his flashlight out in front of him with both hands, like a gun. Aiming the beam, steadying it as he stood beside Beauvoir.

Their lights, pointed in the same direction, merged.

And then they saw it. Her.

Gamache had been there earlier, when he and Olivier had checked the river levels.

They hadn’t come quite this far, but still, he’d seen it then as he’d leaned out. Olivier holding on to him.

The growing dam.

He’d noted the pale tree limbs and leaves bobbing up and down in the current. Trapped in the broken ice and debris that was forming.

He’d hesitated, trying to get a closer look. But Olivier’s grip had been slipping, and he was pulled away.

Now he was back. And he saw, in the bright circle of light, his mistake.

At the logging bridge, Beauvoir had momentarily taken trees for a body. And in that moment, Armand Gamache realized he’d done the same thing, only in reverse.

He’d mistaken a body for trees.

Now he looked once again at the tangle of ice and tree limbs. Debris and detritus picked up by the Rivière Bella Bella as it rushed down from the mountains.

Here was Vivienne Godin.

This is where she’d come to rest.

Her dark hair, like leaves, floated on the surface, moving with the current. Her pale arms and legs. Limbs. Now so clearly human.

Armand Gamache crossed himself, just as Beauvoir shoved his flashlight into Gamache’s hands.

“What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Beauvoir stripped off his coat. “I’m going to get her.”

“You can’t.” Gamache placed himself between Beauvoir and the Bella Bella and reached out. “Stop.”

But Beauvoir wasn’t listening to reason. He looked at the bobbing head. At the arms.

And he saw Annie.

“Step aside,” he said to Gamache.

“Non.”

“Step aside. That’s an order.”

“Non.”

Jean-Guy then did something he’d not have thought possible twenty-four hours earlier. An hour earlier. A moment earlier.

He shoved his father-in-law. Who dropped the flashlights and took a step back, partly from the force of it, partly from the shock of it.

“Get out of my way,” Jean-Guy yelled, desperate to get to the young woman. As he hoped someone would try to save Annie, if …

This time Gamache saw him coming and wrapped his arms around Jean-Guy. Gripping him in a bear hug so tight that Jean-Guy could smell the slight scent of sandalwood and feel Armand’s heart thudding against his own.

“It’s too late,” Armand said, directly into Jean-Guy’s ear.

But still he struggled. Finally the fight went out of him. And he sagged in Gamache’s arms.

“She’s gone,” Armand whispered, his own eyes screwed shut.

“She’s pregnant,” sobbed Jean-Guy.

“Yes. I know.”

“Annie. Annie’s pregnant. Almost three months.”

Armand’s eyes opened. And he heard a sob.

One. Single. Burst of emotion. Which might have been Jean-Guy’s. Or his own. Or maybe it came from the Bella Bella as the river cried out.

And then he realized where it had come from.

Releasing Jean-Guy, he turned and looked up the path. In the darkness there was a greater darkness. A large figure, a father figure, outlined against the trees, standing silent. Rigid.

Then Vivienne’s father started forward. One. Step. At a time. Picking up speed. Until he was running down the path.

“Homer, stop!” shouted Gamache.

But Vivienne’s father didn’t. Couldn’t.

He made not a sound but ran straight for the river.

Gamache and Beauvoir just had time to step between Homer Godin and the water. But they might as well have been made of paper. Homer plowed right through them, running straight into the Bella Bella. Wading in. Breaking through the thin ice at the shore, he fought his way forward. To get to his little girl.

Gamache and Beauvoir plunged in after him.

The water was so cold their eyes watered, and their breath came in gasps. But on they lurched, toward the man thrashing through the current ahead of them.

The water churned and frothed as Godin, his arms flailing wildly, knocked them off.

He fought ferociously. Screaming now. Wailing. Baying.

Sobbing.

Gamache got an elbow in the head and was knocked backward, submerged. So cold was the water that his chest locked and he couldn’t breathe, even when arms pulled him to the surface.

It was Jean-Guy. Armand stared at him for a moment, then managed, with a great whoop, to get air back into his lungs.

Then it was back to Godin. Who, after what seemed like hours, finally tired of dragging them with him. Like some great whale, harpooned, he slowed. Slowed. Sobbing.

Then stopped. It took both of them to drag Vivienne’s father back to shore.

But Homer Godin wasn’t finished yet. Once again he tried to break free, but this time they were ready for him. And he had little fight left in him.

“Stop,” said Beauvoir softly.

And he did.

“Vivienne?”

“I’m sorry,” Armand said.

Homer looked out into the river. “Please,” he whispered. “I need to get her.”

“We will,” said Beauvoir. His teeth were chattering, and he was finding it difficult to form words.

He looked over at Gamache, whose lips were purple and trembling in the cold.

They were all on the verge of exposure. With Homer Godin also suffering from shock, it was a potentially fatal combination.

“Not you,” said Homer, his voice shaky. “Me. I have to help her. I can get to her. Let me try.”

“The water’s too cold. You’ll drown,” said Gamache through chattering teeth.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters.”

But Armand understood. He’d try, too. He’d fight, too. He’d run back into that freezing water, too. If …

Homer turned away from him, to once again face the river. And his daughter in the middle of it. Bobbing gently up and down in the current. Her body knocking against the ice.

A small sound escaped the large man.

Only then did Armand notice a figure standing farther down the path, toward the village. Even at a distance. Even in the dark. He knew who it was.

He walked toward her.

“I’m sorry,” said Reine-Marie. “I tried to stop him, but he ran out of the house so fast. He must’ve been watching from the bedroom window and seen you come here.”

Armand bent his face close to hers. “Your face. It’s bruised.”

“Is it?”

“Did he hit you?”

“Not on purpose. He didn’t know what he was doing. I reached for his arm to try to stop him—”

Armand brought one shaking finger to within a millimeter of the bruise on Reine-Marie’s cheekbone, below her eye. It was swollen, and swelling further.

Gamache could feel himself begin to tremble uncontrollably. It came in waves, sending shudders through his body.

It was, he recognized, the beginning of hypothermia. And outrage.

“My God, Armand, you’re soaked. You need to get warm.” She looked down the path and only then noticed that Jean-Guy and Homer were also dripping wet. Homer was standing on the shore of the Bella Bella, staring. She followed his eyes. “Is that…?”

“Oui.”