ath。 The view was spectacular from several points where
the forest door opened to the village below； its tall white church
steeple catching the afternoon sun。
As she followed the dirt road back to the house； the climb steepened。
She stopped to rest a time or two。 All was peaceful。 The murmur of the
breeze was a wele switch from the grating sounds of the city； the
lush ferns on the forest floor were a far cry from stone sidewalks； the
chipmunk skuttling through the brush was far better than a guard dog on
a leash by the curb。
Accustomed to the gray of the pigeon； she smiled at the chickadee's
black cap and white bib and the red breast of the robin。 She watched the
play of the sun through the boughs of thick； healthy trees。 The
crispness of the air； sharp without chill； invigorated her。
When she finally returned to the house； Mitch was nowhere about。 No car；
no man； no note。 Exhausted from fresh air and lack of sleep； she
stretched out on her quilt and fell into a deep and restful sleep。
The tension of the past weeks took its due。 When she awakened； it was
dusk。 After freshening up in the bathroom； she fixed a supper of soup
and crackers； then settled before the fire to finish the mystery she'd
started。 But the story's momentum had been broken。 She never quite got
back into the terror of it。
When she finished the last page； she sat b