Absently, she wiped cat fur from herself.
I wish that Mom and Dad were back together again and that we'd all be happy again. That's what she had told herself she would wish if she ever got a second shot at it.
But you can't go wishing happiness on other people, she thought; you've got to make your own. People were going to be what they were going to be.
She looked down at Oliver, who looked up at her.
It'd never work. It was a stupid idea. He was a cat. People in tenth-century France had thought he was weird. How would he ever pass in twentieth-century America? Or twentieth-century France for that matter? He'd have no family, no personal history, no education. What could she say: Look what followed me home, Mom. Can I keep him? It was totally ridiculous. The problems were insurmountable.
She looked at the well.
She looked at Oliver.
She smiled.
Then again, she thought, what could she do but cross her fingers and hope for the best?
She leaned over the well and wished.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Front
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY