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  “Don’t get me started on sisters,” Faith said, then shook her head at Zoë. “I understand why you did what you did, but I’d never have the courage to do something like that.”

  “You should have stood up to your mother-in-law while your husband was alive,” Zoë said. “You shouldn’t have let her beat you down until you exploded.” Zoë stopped when Amy’s look reminded her that they weren’t supposed to know how serious Faith’s attack on her mother-in-law had been—or the consequences.

  “Yeah, sure I should have,” Faith said, her eyes not meeting Zoë’s. She got up and went to the sink.

  Amy looked at Zoë. “Even after all that, you still didn’t find out what happened just before your wreck?”

  “No,” Zoë said. “I spent a few days in jail, then had to do some community service, and—”

  “In your hometown?” Amy asked.

  “No.” All the humor left Zoë’s face. “That’s what the judge wanted, but the mayor refused to have me. I ended up working at an old-age home.”

  “I bet you drew for them,” Faith said.

  “Sure did. It was better than cleaning bedpans. I took the photos of their grandkids and made portraits. It was through them that I met their rich kids and started my job as an itinerant portrait painter.”

  “Destiny,” Amy said, and Zoë groaned. “No, maybe it was your destiny to meet those people and draw their grandchildren, and through them—”

  “Yesterday you said that my destiny had been changed and that’s why I was so angry.”

  “What do I know?” Amy said. “The only destiny I’m sure about is my own. I was supposed to marry Stephen and have three children. There’s a little girl’s spirit just waiting for me to make a body for her.”

  Faith smiled at Amy. “I wish I had your conviction,” she said. “I’ve never been sure about what I was supposed to do.”

  “Murder your mother-in-law,” Zoë said quickly, then looked at Amy. “If Stephen is your destiny, then why are you having these fabulous dreams about another man?”

  “I don’t know,” Amy said.

  “Maybe it’s what Zoë said about past lives.” Both Amy and Zoë looked at Faith in puzzlement. “What if Stephen is your destiny in this life and this Hawthorne is your destiny in a past life?”

  “I’m not sure I believe in past lives,” Amy said, but she was thinking about what Faith said.

  “I think you should find out as much as you can about this man Hawthorne, and if you have another dream about him, you should do what you can to change his fate,” Faith said.

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” Zoë said. “If she changed what happened to the man, would the books change? The print? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know,” Amy said, then put her hand to her face in pain. “If it weren’t for the physical evidence, I’d think I’d made it all up.” She looked from Faith to Zoë and smiled. “I want to thank both of you for not making fun of me. If I’d told anyone else what was happening to me, they’d—”

  “Think you’d hurt yourself and send you to therapy,” Zoë said quickly. When Amy and Faith looked at her, she said, “Not that I know about self-mutilation. But, anyway, Amy, I’m glad you’re telling us all this because they’re great stories. I think that today I might add some paint to these pictures of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s English cousin or whoever he is.”

  “What about you, Amy?” Faith asked. “Any plans for today?”

  The way she said it made Amy know that Faith wanted to do something on her own. But that was good for Amy because she had her own plans. “I didn’t buy those sheets I owe Jeanne,” she said, “so I think I’ll get them. Thank heavens she has good mattress pads on the bed or it would have been soaked last night.”

  “If that had happened, Jeanne would ask you so many questions that you’d end up telling her about your dreams,” Zoë said.

  “She’s that persuasive?”

  “Yes and no. If you work at it, she can be got around,” Zoë said.

  “Okay,” Amy said, standing up. “I’m going to go exploring on my own today. I’ll get sheets and…” She shrugged. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, but she wasn’t going to tell them.

  Thirty minutes later, Amy was dressed and the bruises on her face were covered as best she could. She’d taken two pain tablets to dull the ache. When she left, Zoë was bent over her sketch pad and Faith was on the Internet. They hardly looked up when Amy said goodbye.

  As soon as she was outside, Amy looked again at the card in her hand. Madame Zoya, 333 Everlasting Street. She didn’t remember seeing the street but she was determined to find it. She didn’t want to ask directions from anyone for fear they’d laugh at her for going to the local psychic.

  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