The Dream-Maker's Magic by Sharon Shinn

Author:Sharon Shinn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2006-12-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

We knew, because Raymond warned us, that we might have some weeks to go before we learned the outcome of Juliet’s suit. But it was one of the topics all of us talked about—Gryffin, Betsy, Sarah, and me, as well as a few of our more familiar customers—whenever we had an idle moment. Whenever Raymond or Juliet passed through Thrush Hollow on the way to or from Merendon, we asked a dozen questions. I was so hopeful, and so afraid. And it was strange to me that I could care so much about the fates of virtual strangers.

But life went on unheeding as we awaited the verdict. The weather turned bitter as Wintermoon approached. I discovered, to my delight, that the Parmers planned to build a big bonfire behind the restaurant, and that Gryffin and I were welcome to join them as they burned the wreath. And what a wreath it was. For three weeks before the holiday, Sarah had set out a basket by Gryffin’s desk and invited customers to contribute any small items they’d like to see burned at the bonfire. I had not thought the basket would fill up very fast, but I was wrong. Apparently there were all sorts of folks who didn’t have the time or the place or the energy to weave their own greenery, but they liked the idea that their wishes could be tied to some big communal wreath and sent on their way with a burst of flame. Into the basket went ribbons and buttons and buckles and candle bits and quill pens and goose feathers and mismatched shoes and baby’s clothes and lace caps and smooth stones from the river and so many other items I almost could not count them all.

I was also surprised to find that a number of guests scrawled their wishes on scraps of paper, rolled them into scrolls, tied them with ribbon, and dropped them in the basket. Juliet had even come through one day, leaving a piece of paper on which she had boldly written LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT. You could hardly get less subtle than that, I thought.

“So you mean, you can just write down what you want and ask for it?” I demanded from Sarah. I had always thought the wish had to be bounded by metaphor.

Sarah laughed. “I have seen many people do so,” she replied. “I don’t know if the direct request is more likely to be answered.”

Josh and his sons took a day to weave the wreath. Gryffin and I spent the next day attaching all the customers’ contributions to its springy green branches. Now and then we would stop and hold something up—a carved wooden horse, a child’s broken flute—and wonder aloud what sort of wish it was supposed to represent. Sarah came by late in the day and wrapped a length of white tulle around the bottom curve of the wreath, tying it in a huge white bow.

“There,” she said, with a somewhat embarrassed smile. “That’s for a wedding.

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