That night, the storm clouds burst, tapping out a tinny rhythm of raindrops on our roof. As I burrowed into the cushions of our tired old sofa, I considered my actions. What I’d done and what I might do yet. And I considered some other things, too. Like, how the starlight that twinkled through the living room window shone from the very same stars that had once shone down on Gram in her girlhood, and even on my wish-fetching great-gram. My ma had also wished on those stars, shining her own special light on the strangers of Ardenville.
On the other hand, they were the same stars whose wishing power had destroyed the once-great city of Fenn.
Maybe Penny Walton’s friends had heard that story, too.
Our house mouse, Scooter, darted across the floor. I sighed. Repairs on the house. Food. Heat. We needed those things. Desperately. And with no job in sight for Pa—nor even a whiff of hope that he was trying to find one—I was coming to believe I was the only one who could save us.
“Sorry, Gram,” I whispered, flinging my blanket aside. “You’ll just have to trust me to make things right.”
I went to the kitchen table and lit a candle. Then, while Gram slept and Pa snored, I crafted three letters.
Dear Handyman Joe
or Miz Tromp
or Chickenlady Snopes,
Genuine Sweet here, and thank you kindly for reading this letter.
The reason I am writing is to inquire whether you might be interested in a trade. I am offering real wishes (good-hearted ones, not things like wishing something bad would happen to someone who wronged you) in exchange for items like food or house repairs.
I know this might seem too good to be true, but I am in fact a real wish fetcher, descended from a line of wish fetchers. I am only just learning to use my shine, but I promise it’s real and I’ll do my very best to fetch the thing you wish for.
To sweeten the pot, I’ll allow you to pay me ONLY AFTER you’ve seen with your own eyes that I’ve truly fetched your wish.
If you are interested, you can visit me at Ham’s Diner this afternoon, 3:30 to 6:30 p.m.
Most sincerely,
Genuine Sweet
On the way to school the next morning, I put each of the letters in their respective mailboxes.
That’s when things really started cooking.
6
Invitation
AFTER SCHOOL, I RACED TO HAM’S DINER TO SEE IF my wish-trade letters had gleaned any interest.
The bell jangled as I swung the door open.
Ham greeted me from the kitchen. “Well, if it ain’t Sass’s very own wish fetcher!”
I wasn’t real surprised. In a place like Sass, word does get around. The diner’s two patrons turned in their seats to give me a gander.
A few seconds later, Ham emerged from the back with a plate of fresh apple fritters.
“Hey, Ham,” I said with a little wave.
“One of these has your name on it.” He held out the fritters, wafting some of those tasty fumes my way.
Oh, but they smelled good! “Not today, thanks. Actually, I was wondering if you’d mind if I borrowed one of your booths.”
“Take your pick.” He waved a hand at the empty tables.
No sooner had I sat than an apple fritter appeared on a plate in front of me.
“On the house,” said Ham.
“Thank you!” A little hesitantly, I added, “I wonder . . . would you mind if I wrapped half to take home for Gram?”
He smiled kindly. “I’ll get you a little bag.”
I looked out the window to see if any of my invitees were on their way. Not yet, but I did glimpse Penny Walton walking down the street, stopping off at one shop, then another, leaving stacks of real estate brochures.
At 3:45, the door chime jangled and Miz Tromp came walking in. I sat up taller in my seat so she could see me. She came right over.
Miz Tromp looked a lot like Travis, with all the same dark hair and eyes and everything, but she wore regular colors like a normal person, so it was easy to forget she had such a peculiar son.
“I received your note,” she said to me.
“I thought that might be why you come,” I replied happily. “Wanna sit?”
She set her purse on the table and joined me. “I was excited to get your letter, Genuine.” Leaning in, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “See, I have a really big wish. I don’t suppose you can do really big wishes?”
I wanted to be forthright, but I was also fairly desperate to make the trade, so I said, “Big or little, a wish is a wish, I’d think. But of course, if for some reason I can’t do the job, I wouldn’t expect you to pay me.”
She dipped her head. “Fair enough. Now. Since it’s a very big wish, I’d think you’d deserve a right sizable payment. How would you feel about a bag of fresh veggies every week until the garden peters out, and then a box of canned after that?”
My eyes went wide. “For how long?”
“Let’s say . . . a year.”
“That’s a very generous offer, ma’am. Are you sure that seems quite fair?” I asked, feeling I had to inquire, even though a big part of me said to just hush up and accept the windfall.
“It is a very big wish,” Miz Tromp said.
“Well, all right. What is it?” I asked.
She looked over her shoulder, but of course the only thing she could see behind her was the back of the booth.
“As you might know,” she said, still whispering, “Travis’s father left us when Travis was seven. Truth be told, I wish he’d left sooner. That way, at least, Travis wouldn’t remember him.” She squinted at the harshness of her own words. “I don’t mean that Kip was a bad guy. He was just . . . a visionary. And he thought big dreams and small towns didn’t mix.” She sighed. “Anyhow, Travis is pretty angry about his dad taking off—about everything, really.”
“I noticed,” I told her.
“It’s not Travis’s fault. It hurts to have your own father set you aside.”