Fortune's Magic Farm

by Suzanne Selfors

  “Oh, how nice.”

  Rolo flew overhead as Neptune wove between rocky reefs. Back on the island, a chorus of marmot chirps filled the air. Isabelle sensed it was a song of farewell, but if the marmot felt sad about leaving, she didn’t show it. She nestled her face against Isabelle’s neck and fell asleep.

  Isabelle supposed that a barnacle-filled tide pool was a great place for her barnacle to live. But an overpopulated island was a horrible place for a marmot, just as a boardinghouse run by Mama Lu in a town where it never stopped raining was a horrible place for a person. She and her new friend were not so different, each looking for a better home. Perhaps, before falling asleep, the marmot had made the same promise that Isabelle had made—to return one day and help her friends.

  Maybe, just maybe, they would both fulfill their promises.

  Once they reached the outer edge of the Tangled Islands, the sea lay wide and calm. Isabelle tried to get comfortable, though getting comfortable in a saddle with a drooling marmot stuck to one’s back is not an easy feat.

  The journey to the Northern Shore took most of the day. Sage continued to withhold information. Pestering and poking didn’t work on him. “You’ll have to wait,” he grumbled.

  “I don’t want to wait,” Isabelle said. “I just want to know more about being a tender.”

  “If you poke me one more time, I’ll turn this seal around and then you’ll never know.”

  “Fine! I’ll wait.”

  Isabelle had spent her whole life waiting—for the sun to shine, for Mama Lu to make something decent to eat, for the next box to wind its way to her station. “Waiting is a waste of time,” Grandma Maxine had told her. “Because in the end what you’ll probably get is one big fat disappointment and then what do you have to show for all that waiting? You should be doing, not waiting.”

  But what was there to “do” on the back of a seal other than ask questions? And as hard as she tried, no new songs popped into her head. What if, at the end of this journey, being a tender turned out to be one big fat disappointment? What would she do? Where would she go?

  It was late afternoon when a cacophony of barking woke her from a troubled and slightly nauseated nap. Neptune had stopped swimming and the water around them churned and frothed. A sharp stench shot up her nostrils. The marmot tightened her grip around Isabelle’s neck. “What’s going on?” Isabelle asked.

  “It’s Neptune’s harem,” Sage explained.

  In every direction seals poked their heads from the water, blinking large brown eyes and snorting through flared nostrils. Their noses weren’t pendulous like Neptune’s. Here and there smaller heads poked up—Neptune’s children. Their gray shapes darted beneath and above the water line, somersaulting and rolling as gracefully as waves. Neptune surveyed the welcome party with a proud smile. How nice, Isabelle thought, to have such a large family.

  “TO THE SHORE!” Sage called, kicking Neptune urgently.

  The Northern Shore stretched out before them—speckled beach, clay banks, and fir trees as far as the eye could see. Rolo took flight, disappearing over the treetops. The marmot crawled from the kelp shirt and stood on Isabelle’s shoulders, draping her body over Isabelle’s head for a better view. Neptune caught the face of a wave and slid onto the beach.

  As soon as the seal came to a complete stop, Isabelle scrambled off his back and carefully meandered between the other seals that mingled at the water’s edge. The marmot scampered up the beach, squatting to pee beside a log. Thank goodness she didn’t do that in my shirt, Isabelle thought.

  Sage removed the saddle and flung it onto the beach. He patted the seal’s head. “GOOD JOB, NEPTUNE!” The seal nodded, then nose-butted Sage’s legs. Sage shoved back. Neptune followed with a flipper swat, Sage followed with a slap, until the two were playfully punching each other like brothers. The battle ended when Neptune pinned Sage to the ground. “OKAY, OKAY! I GIVE UP!”

  Sage scrambled to his feet. “Best say goodbye,” he told Isabelle.

  “Neptune’s not coming with us?”

  “Of course not. Have you ever heard of an elephant seal climbing a mountain?”

  Isabelle didn’t know whether seals climbed mountains or not, but she didn’t say so. She’d never seen a mountain but she didn’t mention that either. Sage would just tell her, again, that she didn’t know anything.

  Isabelle knelt in front of Neptune’s thick head and looked into his dark eyes. So much had happened since that night on the beach when she had thought he was a sea monster. “THANK YOU FOR THE RIDE! AND THANKS FOR THE APPLE!”

  Neptune roared softly, his fishy breath warming Isabelle’s face. Then he pulled himself back into the depths. His family followed, churning the water like porridge bubbling in a pot.

  “Will we see him again?” Isabelle asked. Despite how bad he smelled and how seasick she got when she rode on him, she had come to like the big guy.

  “I can’t think why you’d ever see him again. You’ll be living on Fortune’s Farm from now on. No need for you to travel by sea.”

  “But what about when I go back to Runny Cove? Will Neptune take me?”

  Sage opened the satchel, freeing Eve the cat, who shook herself, then scampered off. “Go back? Why would you ever go back to that stink hole?”

  “To get Gwen. She’s an orphan and my best friend. She could come and live on the farm with me.”

  Sage straightened his long body and stared down at Isabelle. “I’d get that idea out of my head if I were you. Things don’t work that way.” Before she could say anything, he handed the satchel to her, then hefted the saddle over his shoulder. “Don’t start in with the questions. Let’s just go.”

  How could he expect her not to ask questions? That was as ridiculous as expecting a slug not to ooze a trail of slime. Or expecting Mama Lu to bake a birthday cake for someone other than herself. Isabelle tightened her grip on the satchel as she followed Sage up the beach. “Then who is going to answer my questions? That’s what I’d like to know, because I’m still very confused.”

  “And I’m very tired. I found you, didn’t I? I’m taking you to Fortune’s Farm, aren’t I? All I ask is that you stop asking questions that I’m not supposed to answer. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Fine!”

  The late afternoon sky, though cloud-covered, shone brighter than Isabelle was used to. She had taken to squinting since leaving Runny Cove and her cheeks ached because of it.

  They walked through a grove of pine trees, passing over a forest floor of dappled shadows and moss. Eve strutted proudly, her tail sticking straight up. While the cat walked a straight, determined path, the marmot zipped up and down, over and under, occasionally stopping to sit on her hind legs and look around.

  Isabelle grumbled to herself. She wanted to tell Sage that he was rude, and rotten, and mean for not answering her questions. But each time a question rolled onto her tongue, she clamped her lips tight to keep it from escaping. She’d know soon enough.

  “Here we are,” Sage announced.

  They stepped out of the forest and into a little meadow where a wooden caravan sat. It resembled a yellow house on wheels, with windows on the side and a door in back. A creek meandered through the meadow, sparkling as it trickled past.

  “What are those?” Isabelle asked, stopping in her tracks.

  Two creatures stood beside the creek, their heads bowed as they drank water.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen oxen before,” Sage said, dumping the saddle in the grass.

  Okay. I won’t tell you.

  Sage knocked on the caravan’s door. “I’m back.” He opened the door and stuck his head in. Eve leapt into the caravan. Sage cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “Walnut! Where are you?” The oxen raised their horned heads but did not offer an answer.

  “Who’s Walnut?” Isabelle asked, dropping the heavy satchel.

  “He’s going to drive us to Fortune’s Farm.” Sage put his hands on his hips and walked i
n a slow circle, surveying the surroundings. “He’s probably fallen asleep again. I just have to look carefully… there he is.” Sage walked over to a mound of shrubbery. “Yep, that’s him.”

  A shrub was going to drive them to Fortune’s Farm? Isabelle held back the question, knowing full well that Sage’s response would be, “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a shrub that can drive.” The marmot tapped on Isabelle’s foot to be picked up, then draped herself over Isabelle’s head to get a better view. Certainly, that marmot was the heaviest and wheeziest hat that Isabelle had ever worn.

  “He’s under here somewhere,” Sage said. “He’s a tender, just like you.”

  Isabelle gasped. “You mean, I’m going to turn into a shrub?”

  “No.” Sage pushed back the shrub’s branches, snapping some off in the process, until a curled-up old man came into view. “This always happens when he falls asleep. When he touches things they grow extra-fast. If he stays in one place for too long, whatever he’s sitting on or lying on starts to grow. Hey, Walnut. Wake up.”

  The old man yawned. He scratched the bald spot at the top of his head. His long white hair grew in a ridge above his ears and hung past his shoulders. “Where am I?” he asked, spitting out a leaf.

  “The Northern Shore,” Sage replied. “You fell asleep.”

  “Oh. Why, hello, Sage.” He sat up and his wrinkled face folded into a smile. He had a gentle face that reminded Isabelle of the twins, Boris and Bert. But unlike the twins, the Walnut fellow had a full set of teeth.

  Sage held out his hand and helped Walnut to his feet. “I’ve just returned from Runny Cove,” Sage told him.

  “What’s that you say?” Walnut pushed back his hair and pulled a fern out of his ear, roots and all. “Fernicus Splendiferous,” he mumbled, examining the plant. “Native only to the Northern Shore. Prefers moist soil, filtered light and, so it would seem, ear cavities.”

  Sage rolled his eyes. “Walnut, I’ve brought the tender.”

  “Oh?” Walnut stuffed the fern into his pocket and pulled another fern from his other ear. “Say again?”

  “The tender. The one we’ve been looking for.”

  “Why yes, of course. Where is he?”

  “Behind you.”

  The old man pulled a pair of glasses from the pocket of his plaid jacket and perched them on the ridge of his nose. Then he turned and looked at the front of Isabelle, then walked around to her back, then back to her front again. Isabelle stood very still. She had been inspected many times before. Mr. Supreme’s assistants always inspected the workers to make certain no one tried to sneak an umbrella out of the factory, and Mama Lu inspected her tenants for hitch-hiking slugs.

  Walnut furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I don’t think this is a boy, Sage. I think it’s a girl.”

  Sage rolled his eyes again.

  Was Walnut the person who would answer all of her questions? It didn’t seem likely, if he had been expecting a boy. He stood about the same height as Isabelle so when he leaned close they were nose to nose. He blinked eyes as green as moss. “She doesn’t look anything like a Fortune. Are you certain?”

  “She made the Love Apple seed sprout. She’s got it with her.”

  Walnut pushed his glasses further up his nose. “But whatever is the matter with her head? She’s got another set of eyes right at the top of her head. Is she… deformed?”

  Isabelle pushed the marmot onto her shoulder. “It’s my marmot,” she explained.

  Walnut scratched his nose with a dirt-stained fingernail and peered at the furry creature. “Yellow-bellied Marmoticus Terriblus, a rock-throwing rodent native to the mountainous regions of the north. Impressive frontal fangs.” Then he turned his attention back to Isabelle. “You don’t look very healthy. Are you dying?”

  “I don’t think so.” Isabelle stifled a cough.

  “It’s just that you’re so pale and thin. You look like you’ve been living in a hole.”

  “I’ve been living at Mama Lu’s Boardinghouse.” The cough overtook her and she turned away, her lungs rattling with each breath.

  “Living in Runny Cove is like living in a hole,” Sage told Walnut. “There’s no sun.”

  “No sun?” Walnut gasped. “How can a tender live without sun? Well, all that will soon change. She’ll soak up the sun like a banana tree. What’s this?” He peeled a piece of lichen from Isabelle’s hair. “Lichen Itchycus.” He smiled. “How wonderful. I wasn’t able to grow Lichen Itchycus until after my twentieth birthday. What else can you grow?”

  Isabelle cleared her throat. “Mushrooms. But only after I’ve been walking in the mud and my socks get all wet.”

  “Between your toes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Delightful! Fungus Amongus, a toe-loving mushroom with culinary aspirations. I have known a few people who were squeamish about eating toe mushrooms but I can assure you that the soup is to die for.”

  “Now do you believe me?” Sage asked. “She’s the missing tender.”

  “Indeed.” The old man clapped his hands. “Indeed, indeed, indeed.” Then he grabbed Isabelle’s hand and shook it. “Welcome. My name is Walnuticus Bartholomew Fortune, but you can call me Great-Uncle Walnut.”

  “Great-uncle?” Isabelle’s entire body stiffened. This was it. The it she had dreamed about. “Really? You are my great-uncle?”

  “None other.” He let go of her hand and freed a bit of shrubbery from his sleeve. “And what might your name be?”

  “Isabelle.”

  Walnut frowned. “Isabelle? That’s not much of a name, is it? Not the sort of family name we usually have. Would you be amenable to changing it, say perhaps to Floribundy, or Violabombola?”

  Isabelle shrugged. “I’ve always been Isabelle.”

  “We should get going,” Sage interrupted. “I’ll hitch the oxen.” He strode over to the creek.

  Walnut pointed the bit of shrubbery at Isabelle. “What about Horticulturina? She was your great-great-great-great-grandmother. Truly one of the finest tenders the world has ever known. Her spit could quench a plant’s thirst for months at a time—most convenient during a drought. But Isabelle? Who could possibly have chosen such a plain name as Isabelle?”

  Isabelle didn’t want to hurt her great-uncle’s feelings, having just met him. But her Grandma Maxine had chosen the name and it had always seemed like a fine name. And the names Uncle Walnut had mentioned were long and difficult to pronounce.

  “Are you really my great-uncle?”

  “Indeed. Brother to your grandfather.”

  “I have a grandfather?” Her voice rose excitedly. It was all coming true, just as she had hoped. She had a family.

  Walnut cleared a few more branches from his clothing. “What about Petuniarium? That was my mother’s name. Or Larkspuria? That was the name of my first love.” He sighed, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, I know. Why not change your name to Vanillabeanly since you are so pale. I think that suits you. Vanillabeanly Fortune.”

  Luckily, Isabelle didn’t have to tell her great-uncle that she thought all those names were a bit weird, because Rolo the raven swooped from the sky, filling the meadow with his cries.

  Sage, who had been leading the oxen toward the caravan, stopped and craned his neck. “Where?” he called out.

  The raven replied, circling frantically.

  Sage grabbed the oxen by their collars. “We must leave immediately,” he cried. “Did you hear me, Walnut? Right now.”

  Walnut removed his glasses and slid them back into his jacket pocket. “Dear boy, why are you in such a hurry? This is a family reunion. Surely we have time for a cup of tea?”

  “No, we don’t. According to Rolo, we’ve got trouble.”

  Trouble? What kind of trouble?” Isabelle asked. But neither Walnut nor Sage answered, for a flurry of activity had erupted. Sage hitched the oxen while Great-Uncle Walnut ran around the caravan, gathering up personal belongings. He threw Sage’s satchel and the saddle into the bac
k, patted Eve on the head, then bolted the door. Then he hoisted himself onto the driver’s bench.

  “Come on, Isabelle,” he called, holding out a hand.

  Isabelle grabbed the marmot and climbed onto the cushioned bench. Walnut flicked the reins and the oxen began to pull the caravan from the meadow. “Where’s Sage?” Isabelle asked.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Walnut said. “He ran ahead to look for danger. It’s his job to protect the tenders.” He flicked the reins again but the oxen appeared to have only one speed—lumbering.

  “Protect us from what?”

  “I don’t wish to worry you, dear, but we must keep our voices quiet. There are people who would like to get rid of us tenders.”

  Isabelle shivered. “Get rid of?”

  “Kill us, to put it bluntly.”

  “Kill?” Isabelle nearly shrieked the word.

  “There are others who would like to kidnap us and imprison us. Some would torture us for our secrets, even enslave us. That’s why we must always keep the location of our farm a secret. But I do not wish to worry you.” Not a twinkle to be found in his eyes, nor a smile hidden at the corners of his mouth. He was dead serious.

  Why would Sage want to be a tender if it meant getting kidnapped, tortured, or killed? After all her waiting, being killed would be far worse than being disappointed. At least no one in Runny Cove wanted to kill her!

  “But why would someone want to kill me?” The marmot squeezed onto the bench, curling into a nap between the two tenders. “Is it because I grew things inside? Mama Lu said I wasn’t supposed to grow things inside her house. She got really mad. But I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “Ah, I see that Sage hasn’t told you much.” Walnut kept his voice low. “I asked him not to. Thought it best to come from a family member.” He leaned in close. “What we tenders do is grow magic.”

  “Magic? But magic’s not real.”

  “ ’Course it’s real. As real as this sapling.” The back of the driver’s bench, against which Walnut leaned, had sprouted. He pulled out the sapling and tossed it onto the trail. “You do know what magic is, don’t you?”