Fortune's Magic Farm

by Suzanne Selfors

  “No other girls?” He must have misspoken. “But what about my mother?”

  Walnut let Isabelle’s hand drop. “Ah, your mother.” He looked away. “I’m sorry to tell you, dear Isabelle, but it’s just your grandfather and me. We are all the family you have.”

  “What do you mean?” Isabelle leaned against the caravan, feeling faint. “I don’t have a mother or father?”

  “Not any longer. Are you terribly disappointed?”

  No mother? No father? Of course she was disappointed! She wanted to cry but she held back the tears. She pressed her lips together to keep the disappointment inside. After all, a grandfather and a great-uncle were more relatives than she had ever had in her entire life. So, she put on a brave little smile. “I’m not… terribly disappointed. But what happened to them?”

  Walnut sighed. “We can talk about that later. Right now we both need some breakfast. Fortunately, there’s plenty to eat right here.” He spread his arms. “You’ve come at the peak of fruit season.”

  Aside from the occasional apple at the factory store, the only fruit Isabelle had ever seen came in a tin labeled FRUIT COCKTAIL. Mama Lu served the treat to her tenants once a year, on her birthday. Before serving, she would inspect each bowl and pick out the cherries. “Them’s fer me,” she’d shout. “I’m the birthday girl.” Then she’d pick out the green grapes and the pears. “You all can have the peaches. I hate them peaches.”

  Fruit in all shapes and sizes crowded the branches of the orchard trees. Some were golden, some orange, some striped red and white. Rocky sank her big front teeth into a purple fruit that had fallen to the ground. Isabelle’s spirits lifted as she pointed down the lane. “Are those Love Apples?”

  “Yes. Help yourself.”

  Isabelle’s mouth watered as she hurried to the tree, remembering the last juicy bite she had taken, which seemed like a lifetime ago. Dozens of red apples hung between shiny green leaves but the twisted branches grew too high for Isabelle’s reach, even on tiptoe. “How do I get one?”

  “You’re a tender,” Walnut said, pulling a root out of his nose. “All you have to do is ask.”

  Ask? But hadn’t he already given her permission to take one? “Great-Uncle Walnut, may I…”

  “No, no.” He chuckled. “Ask the tree.” He wandered back to the caravan, leaving Isabelle to ponder this latest mystery.

  Considering how much she wanted an apple, asking rather than taking did seem like the polite thing to do. Isabelle stepped closer to the knotted trunk. She didn’t know exactly what to look for—a face maybe, or a pair of ears sticking out of the wood. “Um, hello, tree.” She felt a bit silly. While she had had long conversations with barnacles, potato bugs, and slugs, she had never before spoken to a tree. This was not a prejudice on Isabelle’s part—trees simply did not grow in Runny Cove. “I was wondering if I could have one of your apples for breakfast?”

  You may. The voice, wispy like a cloud, floated through the leaves. A little shiver ran up Isabelle’s neck.

  The tree gracefully lowered a branch until it hung at Isabelle’s shoulder. She smiled and gently plucked an apple. “Thank you.”

  You’re welcome, Tender. The branch retreated.

  Isabelle took a hungry bite. Just as tasty as the one that had traveled in Neptune’s nose.

  Walnut stepped out of the caravan and held up a little bag. It swayed in his hand. “Look what I found,” he called, hurrying over to Isabelle. He untied the bag and humming burst forth, louder than before and much more urgent. “The little fellow is angry. Thinks we forgot him.”

  Isabelle had forgotten all about the seed. But who could blame her with all the distractions? The tree began to shake all over, rustling its leaves excitedly. Walnut pinched the seed between his fingers. The root, which had doubled in size, wiggled like an earthworm. “That’s a mighty fine seed,” Walnut said, pushing the glasses up his nose. “Mighty fine. Best get it planted.”

  He took a small trowel from his coat pocket and dug a hole. The tree leaned over to get a better view. “You should do the honors,” Walnut told Isabelle. “It’s your seed, after all.”

  Isabelle squatted next to him. “What do I do?”

  “Let your instincts guide you.” He smiled confidently. “You may be uneducated in our ways but instinct is a powerful source of knowledge.”

  She carefully laid the humming seed in the hole. The moment its root touched dirt, the seed released an enormous sigh, as did the tree. Isabelle filled the hole and patted the dirt into place.

  “No need to water,” Walnut said. “Our rain cloud passes over at noon each day.”

  For much of the morning, Isabelle followed her great-uncle around the orchard, eating everything the trees offered. Walnut rattled off names—Klondike Kumquat, Forever Fig, Angelic Apricot, and Passion Plum—but Isabelle was too caught up in the feast to keep track. She ate and ate until she thought her kelp pants might split. Rocky ate until all she could do was clutch her bloated yellow belly and groan.

  “This is a Magnetic Mango,” Walnut said, handing Isabelle a yellow fruit. “Comes in handy on lengthy journeys because it takes so long to digest. Eat one before setting out. The mango will buzz when your stomach points north so you’ll never get lost.” He stopped beneath a tree covered in little red fruits. “Oh, you must eat these. Tree, may we have some of your cherries?” The tree obliged and Walnut handed one of its fruits to Isabelle. “This is the Curative Cherry. It cures the common cold and serious secondary infections such as Pneumonia Stubbornia. Go on. You’ll feel better immediately. It will clear that stuffy nose and get rid of that cough.”

  Isabelle had no idea what a clear nose felt like, or what it meant to be rid of a cough. The only way to get rid of a cough in Runny Cove was to die. She was so eager to find out if it worked that she almost broke a tooth on the hard round seed.

  “Nibble around the pit,” Walnut advised. He demonstrated, spitting the pit onto the ground. It instantly took root. “I have to be very careful with fruit. Most tenders can eat seeds but not me. Did you ever hear the story about the boy who ate a watermelon seed and a watermelon grew in his stomach?” Isabelle shook her head, finishing the rest of her cherry. “People will tell you not to believe such stories but I’m afraid it’s true. You see, I was that boy.” He lifted his coat and shirt. A silvery scar lay across his belly. “Don’t want to go through that again.”

  Isabelle’s nose tingled. She sniffed. “What’s that?” She sniffed again. “I smell something. What is it?”

  Walnut spat out another pit. “I imagine you’re smelling everything.”

  Until that moment, only strong odors had been able to fight their way up Isabelle’s nose—like the saltiness of the cove, the sourness of Mama Lu’s cabbage soup, or the spiciness of Sage’s cinnamon tea. But there, in the orchard, softer scents drifted in—warm, sweet, drowsy scents.

  But that was not all. Isabelle’s lungs, which had always felt heavy and wet, also cleared. She took a long, deep breath. The scratchy sensation that had always been in her throat faded away. She smiled. How great the villagers of Runny Cove would feel if they each ate a Curative Cherry. Gwen wouldn’t have that runny nose anymore. Mr. Limewig wouldn’t wake up everyone with his coughing. “Can I give these to my friends?”

  “I’m afraid that’s problematic. You see, we have the only Curative Cherry tree in the world. It’s one of our most guarded secrets. If certain people found out about the Curative Cherry they’d set out to destroy it. There’s far too much money to be made with the common cold. Why, think of all the tissue factories, and nose spray factories, and throat drop factories that would be put out of business.”

  “But couldn’t I take just a few? I wouldn’t tell my friends about the farm.”

  “You’d have to get the Head Tender’s permission—your grandfather. But he’s not much for giving permission these days and we hardly ever see him. We…” Walnut stopped talking. “I think I’m seeing things.” He cleaned his g
lasses on his coat hem, then perched them back on his nose. “I’m not seeing things,” he whispered, staring at her.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Walnut excitedly led Isabelle through the orchard to a blue bridge, where a creek widened into a still pool. “Look into the mirror pond,” he said, pointing at the pool.

  Isabelle knelt at the bridge’s edge. The water below reflected the blue sky above. She leaned as far as she could until a face stared back at her. She gasped. “There’s a girl in the water.”

  “There’s no girl in the water. Look again.”

  It took Isabelle a few moments to recognize her own reflection. She had never seen herself with smooth skin, or green eyes, or pink cheeks. Nor had she ever seen herself with anything but gray hair. “My hair!” she cried.

  “Yes, your hair.” Walnut clapped gleefully. “No tender has had hair that color since the very first tender.” He danced a little jig. The bridge shook as he kicked up his feet. “It’s a sign. A verifiable, delightful, wonderful sign.”

  Isabelle stared at her hair, once thin and lifeless, now thick and green.

  Walnut twirled, almost falling off the bridge in the process. Then he gave Isabelle a mighty hug. “If this doesn’t cheer your grandfather up, I don’t know what will.”

  Her belly bulging, her skin shining, and her hair glowing, Isabelle followed her great-uncle to the thatched roof cottage. Just as he reached for the knob, the door burst open and Sage hurried out. “Got to do my rounds,” Sage said, throwing some rope over his shoulder. Then he did a double take. “Isabelle? Is that you?”

  “Yep.” As proud as she felt of her new colors, she held back her smile, wondering what Sage’s reaction would be. Would he make fun of her? Green hair is a bit unusual, after all.

  He shuffled in place for what seemed a very long time before saying, “You don’t look half bad. See ya in a few days.” He hurried off.

  “Be careful,” Walnut called.

  “Where’s he going?” Isabelle asked. A few days was the length of time she had known Sage, and she realized that she would miss him.

  Walnut waved as Rolo the raven flew in Sage’s direction. “Off to do security rounds, to make sure the perimeter is secure. One hole in the dome and Mr. Supreme’s hooligans could find their way in.”

  “You have a dome?”

  “Not just any dome. An invisible dome. It’s a magical barrier that keeps outsiders from wandering onto the farm.”

  “I see,” Isabelle said, but she didn’t, really. Just another amazing fact she’d have to accept, and she expected that the day would provide many more.

  Walnut showed Isabelle to a room, tucked away at the end of a crooked hall. It was about the same size as the room on the fourth floor of Mama Lu’s Boarding House, except that streaming sunlight illuminated its far wall, making it seem much bigger. “This will be your room.”

  “My room?” Those words sounded so strange. “Just mine?”

  “Certainly,” Walnut replied, tapping his dirt-stained fingers together. “It belongs to you.”

  Isabelle thought that maybe she had ferns growing in her ears. “An entire room belongs to me?”

  “Of course. And everything in it belongs to you, too.” Everything included a small bed covered in a bright quilt made from cotton gardening gloves, a stand of dusty shelves that waited to be filled, a cluster of candles, and a box of matches on a bedside table. Except for the rain slicker and boots she had purchased with her factory wages, nothing had ever belonged to Isabelle. Her clothes were hand-me-downs, on loan until she outgrew them.

  The marmot crawled under a pillow. “I guess you’ve got a roommate,” Walnut said.

  Suddenly, Isabelle panicked. Could this be too good to be true? “How much is the rent?” Her great-uncle probably didn’t realize that she didn’t have any money. The few pennies she had saved and had hidden beneath her mattress now belonged to Mama Lu.

  “Forgive me, my dear.” Walnut poked his finger in his ear. A few bits of dirt tumbled out. “Did you ask about the rent?”

  “Yes. How much is it?”

  He frowned. “You don’t pay rent. You’re family. However, you will be expected to do your fair share of chores. And there are lots of chores to do around here. Too many, in fact, ever since your grandfather fired all the farmhands. The whole place is falling apart.”

  “Well, I’m a real good worker,” Isabelle said proudly. “I can work for eight hours without taking a break.”

  “Why would anyone work eight hours without taking a break? Breaks are mandatory around here, as are naps, daydreams, and occasional episodes of goofing off.” He opened the closet. A few pairs of pants and some shirts hung on wooden pegs. “There are some old clothes of Sage’s in here, worn before his last growth spurt. They belong to you now. I’m afraid we don’t have any girl clothes. My brother got rid of all your mother’s belongings after… Well, not to worry about that right now.” Walnut looked away.

  Isabelle didn’t need to be a rocket scientist—or any kind of scientist—to deduce the following: that the subject of her mother was a delicate one, perhaps an unpleasant subject. Had something horrible happened to her? And to her father? Though Walnut tried to avoid the answers, Isabelle was determined to know. She needed to know. She’d ask again, when the moment seemed right.

  “There’s a bathroom in here, just for you.” Walnut opened a blue door.

  Isabelle nearly tripped over her own feet as she rushed into the brightly painted bathroom. “Just for me?” No waiting in line behind the Limewigs and Wormbottoms in the cold hallway, wondering if they’d left any paper. No stumbling down two flights of stairs in the dark.

  Walnut pointed to a sink shaped like a flower. “There’s a towel over there, and some soap.”

  Would the wonders never cease? Not a ball of smooshed-together bits and pieces from Mama Lu’s old soaps, but an entire bar of brand new soap, just for her.

  “Why don’t you change out of that kelp suit and clean up. Then you can explore the farm.” Walnut gave Isabelle a big hug. “You have no idea, my dear. No idea how much you are needed. I thought that all was lost but here you are. You’ve made an old man very happy.” His eyes misted. “I’m so glad that Sage found you.” He hugged her again, then closed the bedroom door on his way out.

  “I’m glad he found me, too,” Isabelle whispered. Then she spun around, twirling like a seed in the wind. Her very own bedroom, her very own bathroom—rent-free!

  Isabelle’s little bathroom contained a shower that worked by pumping a handle. She peeled off the kelp suit and sighed as warm water cascaded over her new skin. The shower’s basin turned gray as the final remnants of Runny Cove washed away. My old self, she thought, as gray swirled down the drain.

  She dried herself with the fluffy towel. Not a dishrag like the ones at Mama Lu’s, but a towel that reached from her nose to her toes. She dressed in a pair of tan cotton pants that fit well, a white cotton shirt, and a pair of soft boots. She found a comb and ran it through her new, thick hair. Gwen wouldn’t even recognize her.

  Poor Gwen. She’d be working in the Handle Room, attaching handles to the new colorful umbrellas. And Leonard would be working in the Testing Room, dumping buckets of water onto each umbrella to make certain it worked. Didn’t they each deserve a warm shower, a fluffy towel, and a brand-new bar of soap?

  I don’t want to feel sad, Isabelle thought. I can’t help them right now but I will help them. Right now I just want to feel happy. So she pushed the sad thoughts from her mind and looked out her bedroom window.

  A grassy yard dotted with daisies stretched between her room and the red barn. Someone had parked the caravan next to the barn. Chickens made their way across the yard, clucking and pecking, and a pair of milk goats rested in the sun.

  Fortune’s Farm is the happiest place on earth, Isabelle thought. Her head filled with music and, right then and there, she made up a song. The chickens picked up the song’s rhythm as they scratched t
he dirt.

  The Fortune’s Farm Song

  I never thought that life could feel

  warm and dry and bright.

  I never knew that things could smell

  sweet and clean and light.

  But now I know and it’s clear to me

  that Fortune’s Farm is the place to be.

  Sunshine shining down,

  songbirds flying round,

  seedlings in the ground,

  magic to be found,

  here on Fortune’s Farm.

  I always hoped one day I’d find

  a place to call my own.

  I always prayed for a sign

  to tell me where to go.

  But now I’m here and it’s clear to me

  that Fortune’s Farm is the place to be.

  “Come on, Rocky,” Isabelle said, opening the door. “Let’s go explore.”

  The marmot crawled out from under the pillow and followed Isabelle down the crooked hall. They passed a door with a large “W” painted on it. Then they came to a door with a large “N” painted on it. Isabelle didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the voices behind the second door thundered.

  “I don’t believe you,” said a man.

  “You must believe me.” That voice sounded like Walnut’s. “We have a future now. We have hope.”

  “Why do you persist with this futile fantasy? We have no future. There’s nothing more to be said.” Sadness hung in the unknown voice. “The end has come. Now leave me in peace.”

  “But Nesbitt…”

  “Enough!” he hollered. “I just want to be left alone. Go away.”

  Isabelle thought she might be reprimanded for listening and the last thing she wanted, on her first day in her new home, was to get into trouble. She hurried down the hall but as she did the unknown voice said, “The end has come.”

  “But Nesbitt…”

  “THE END HAS COME!”