Bedtime Stories from the Universe

Today on my way out to work, I found a book in our doorway, no package, no note. "The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane," by Kate DiCamillo, which looks to be a dark, modern "Velveteen Rabbit," with gorgeous illustrations by Bagram Ibatoulline.

I picked the book up, put it on the table without really looking at it, and left, assuming that maybe one of Sophie's friends left it for her. When I got back from work though, Sophie confronted me, mystified, saying the book was perfect, just the thing since we'd been talking about reading bedtime stories to each other. I had to swear several times (and she still doesn't quite believe me) that I had nothing to do with the book's appearance. Talking it over, we realized that only a handful of people know where we live, and of those only one or two might have left the book, but with no note? And it's highly unlikely our crazy neighbors would have had anything to do with it. Very mysterious indeed, as if the Universe had wanted us to have a good befuddlement before bed.