Amy thought she was doing well around Faith and Zoë because she wasn’t letting them see how much the dreams were beginning to upset her. The idea that she was living these dreams to the point where she woke up with signs of them on her body was enough, but there was more than that. They were disturbing her inside, in her mind. The man Hawthorne seemed to mean something to her. Yes, he resembled Stephen, but it went deeper than that. She felt something between them.
She told herself it wasn’t love. Now, in the bright sunshine of a Maine morning, all she could see was Stephen and her love for him and their children. She had no love for any man other than her husband. But when she was in the dreams, it was almost as if she were another person. She could remember Stephen, yes, but he seemed far away. When she was there, when she was looking at the dark man, all she could really see was him.
She hadn’t told the other women, but in the second dream she’d felt a longing for the man that she hadn’t felt since when she’d first met Stephen. A lot of people laughed at Amy when she told them that she’d known since she was a young child that she and Stephen were going to be married and spend their lives together. “How boring,” said a young girl at their church. “If I thought I was only going to meet one man in my life and stay with him forever, I’d shoot myself.” Amy wanted to tell the girl that she had no romance in her soul, but she didn’t.
In all the years she’d been with Stephen, Amy had never felt as though she were missing something. She’d been to bed with one man and she’d never wanted more.
But now that she’d been having these dreams, something was happening to her. Not in her present world, but in his. In his world she could feel herself changing, being pulled to this man who wasn’t her husband.
As she puzzled over what was going on in her life, she walked about the town, and when she saw the sign for Everlasting Street, she went down it. Immediately, she was surrounded by beautiful forest. Turning, she looked back to see the shops and the cars, but the farther she walked, the trees closed in around her.
Abruptly, the road turned right and there was the prettiest Victorian house that Amy had ever seen. It wasn’t overpoweringly large, but every bit of it was exquisite, and the painting was art. It was done in three colors of green, brown, and a neutral taupe. The pretty porch was draped with blooming wisteria and a tall hedge of lilacs ran along the side. Amy could smell the flowers.
The numbers were in shiny brass on the side of the house, and she knew it was the place she’d needed to find. She wanted to talk to a woman who claimed she could rewrite a person’s past. Of course Amy knew that couldn’t true, but she hoped that maybe the woman had talked to enough people that she could answer some of Amy’s questions. Maybe the woman had heard of other people who dreamed as realistically as Amy had.
She stepped onto the porch and noticed how clean and neat it was. She pushed the button for the doorbell and within seconds it was opened by a pleasant-looking little woman. She was short and round and could have posed for a portrait of Mrs. Claus.
“Are you Madame Zoya?” Amy asked.
“No,” she said sweetly, holding the door open. “I’m Primrose, her sister. Do come in. Maybe you’d like some tea.”
As Amy couldn’t resist see
ing the interior of the house, she stepped inside. She was glad to see that there was no hard, uncomfortable Victorian furniture. Instead, it was English country, which she loved so much. In her opinion, John Fowler, the famous English interior designer, should be canonized.
“Beautiful,” she breathed. The walls were covered with fabric, a grayish silk that made the room look rich and comfortable at the same time. Truly beautiful. This room and the one in the bookshop, she thought. That’s what I’d want for my own office.
“I thought you’d like this room,” Primrose said. “It suits you. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll make us some tea.”
“Yes, thank you,” Amy said absently as she went into the living room. She always carried a little notebook with her and she couldn’t help making notes about the colors and patterns of the fabrics. She sat down on the pretty sofa and made a sketch of the layout of the furniture and the placement of the windows.
Just when she’d finished, Primrose returned with a big tray with a pretty porcelain pot, cups, and a plate full of warm cookies. She set it on the coffee table, then took a seat across from Amy on the chintz-covered chair.
“Now, what can I do for you, dear?” Primrose said as she poured the tea.
“I…” Amy wasn’t sure where to begin. “I found a card from your sister, Madame Zoya, and I…” She what? She wasn’t sure what to say.
“You want to go back in time and change your life,” Primrose said knowingly.
“No!” Amy said quickly and much too loudly. “I mean, no, I don’t want to change even one day of my life.”
“Then why were you given a card?”
“Given a card?” Amy said. “Oh no, I wasn’t given your sister’s business card, I found it by accident. It was in a book that I bought at the bookstore.” She tried to remember the name of the store but couldn’t. “The store down the alleyway.”
“I know which one,” Primrose said with a smile. “But, you see, my sister doesn’t allow just anyone to get her cards. They must need them.”
“Need them? I don’t understand. Don’t you need to…” How could she put this delicately? “You need to run a business, don’t you?”
“Oh, I see. Money. You want to know how we support ourselves if we just give out a few cards.” Primrose smiled. “We have money from our father. He provided for us, so we don’t have to worry. But I’m curious. If you were given a card, but you don’t want to change your life, why are you here?”
“I wanted to talk to someone about something odd that’s been happening to me and I thought that maybe a psychic might understand things better than I do.”
“But my sister isn’t a psychic,” Primrose said. “She doesn’t read minds.”
“I’m not asking anyone to read my mind. I just…” Amy hesitated, and when she tried to talk again, there were tears in her eyes and her throat was closing. “I’m sorry. I’ve been through a lot in the last few months and I’m not myself.”
Primrose poured Amy another cup of tea. “Why don’t you tell me everything? Starting from the beginning.”