In her mind’s eye, a blur of water rushed past. She could hear voices: the voices of hundreds of people, thousands of people, all making wishes.
First she heard Daniel’s, and then the little girl’s. The voices came faster and faster, tumbling over each other, hopes and prayers pouring into the fountain from the lips of the people of Esperance: wishes for the earthquakes to end, for a sick child to get well, a longed-for baby to arrive, a pair of lovers to reunite.
The wishes ran on and on. The language changed, but somehow Esme could still understand the requests. A mother struggling with a difficult pregnancy; others who begged for no more children—ten was too many mouths to feed; and hundreds, thousands of wishes for the end of a terrible war. They came faster and faster, jumbling toge
