ith　dandelions　and　pink　with　crab　apple　blossoms。

It　was　the　countryside　at　its　gayest　and　most　promising。

Not　so　her　heart。　Its　sadness　was　all　the　more　poignant　by　contrast。

Pebbles　scattered　before　her　shuffling　feet。　She　kicked　a　boulder　or

two。　When　she　finally　buried　her　head　on　her　arms；　the　tears　flowed　as

fast　and　free　as　the　brook　beside　her。　But　while　the　brook's　course　was

one　of　liberation；　Anne's　was　the　opposite。　She　was　in　an　emotional

prison。　Loving　Mitch　did　that。

In　time；　she　knelt　on　the　stones　and　splashed　her　face。　The　water　was　so

cold　that　she　gasped；　but　the　pain　felt　good；　and　the　invigoration　was

wele。　She　headed　slowly　back　toward　the　cottage；　winding　in　and　out

among　the　forest　paths；　physically　relieved　from　the　cry；　if　no　closer

to　a　solution。

Under　the　warmth　of　the　high　noon　sun；　she　arrived　at　the　house　to　an

unexpected　silence。　Assuming　that　father　and　daughter　were　out　in　the

woods　themselves；　she　passed　through　the　kitchen　to　the　living　room；

only　to　stop　short　at　the　sight　of　Mitch；　standing　tall　and　lean　at　the

front　window。　His　hands　filled　the　pockets　of　his　jeans　in　a　pose　that

was　more　idle　than　she　would　have　expected；　given　the　presence　of　a

vivacious　six…year…old。

〃Where's　Rachel？〃　she　asked。

He　faced　her。　〃She's　gone。〃

〃Gone。〃　But　he　wasn't　upset。　〃What　do　you　mean　gone？〃

〃My　parents　came　by　to　pick　her　up。　They're　continuing　on　to　Montreal

for　a　few　days。〃

〃You　mean；　she's　gone？〃　The　implication　of　it　was　only　slowly　seeping

in。

〃Yes。〃　His　eyes　held　hers。　〃You've　been　crying。〃

〃No。〃　She　felt　justified　lying。　He　had　tricked　her　aga