Fortune's Magic Farm

  Like the kitchen, the depository was a mess. Boxes lay everywhere, some overturned, others stacked. The box closest to Isabelle read: LUNAR MOSS. COLLECTED WINTER, 1453. USED FOR LOVE ELIXIRS AND TERMITE MANAGEMENT. The box lay open and empty.

  “Everything’s out of order,” Walnut said, throwing his hands in the air. “My seeds used to be alphabetized, but those squirrels keep moving everything around.” He took two cotton gloves from his pocket and slid them onto his hands. Then he started picking seeds off the table. Isabelle realized that with his warm hands and his special ability to make everything grow quickly, he had to wear the gloves to keep the seeds from sprouting.

  “Great-Uncle Walnut? My grandfather? Remember?”

  Walnut sighed and dropped the seeds. “What’s the use?” he asked. He pushed aside a box and sat on a stool. “New seeds are going to waste in the garden because I can’t collect them fast enough. And old seeds are fattening up the local rodents.” He hung his head over the table. “How can I do everything without any help? It’s too much for an old man, I tell you. Too much.”

  Isabelle knew, all too well, what it felt like to be overwhelmed with work. She cleared away some boxes and sat on a stool next to her great-uncle. “I know lots of people who would love to come here and help you. Gwen and Leonard would make great farmhands. And so would Boris and Bert, but…” She stopped, remembering the tombstones and the horrible ways that some of the farmhands had died. “I don’t want any of them to get eaten or squished.”

  “That hasn’t happened since the turn of the century,” he assured her. “But that’s beside the point. No one can work here without the Head Tender’s permission. And your grandfather is the current Head Tender. He’s the one who decided that we didn’t need farmhands any longer. He’s the one who fired them.”

  “Why did he fire them?” she asked.

  Walnut stared wearily at the far wall. “We can talk about that later.”

  “Later?” Isabelle couldn’t take it any longer. All her life, her questions had gone unanswered. She wanted to know! She gripped the edge of the stool angrily. “Why did you bring me here if he doesn’t want me? Why did Sage say that I might be the last tender?” Her voice rose with frustration. “Why won’t anyone tell me anything about my parents?”

  Walnut slowly removed his gloves and rested his hands on his knees, looking at Isabelle with a mixture of melancholy and confusion. “I’m not sure where to begin. There is so much to be told.”

  Just begin somewhere, Isabelle wanted to shout. “How about telling me why Sage brought me here?”

  “Very well.” He lifted a bucket from the floor and set it onto the table. Reaching in, he scooped out a handful of dirt. “Do you know what this is?”

  “It looks like dirt.”

  “Exactly so. A tender couldn’t do his or her job without dirt. It’s one of the most important things on this planet.”

  Isabelle had never considered dirt important before. It was just something that she tracked in on her boots, or something that turned to mud in the rain. And Mama Lu was always yelling, “Get that dirt out of here, ya dimwit!”

  “Sage brought me here because of… dirt?”

  “I’m getting to it.” He held out the handful of dirt. “Each evening before going to bed, a tender should always give thanks to the dirt.”

  Isabelle furrowed her brow. “Mama Lu said we should give thanks when she gets her cheese delivery. She says, ‘Thank God for the cheese.’”

  Even though it wasn’t a joke, Walnut’s face lit up and he chuckled. But Isabelle didn’t feel like laughing. He still hadn’t answered her question. Dropping the dirt back into the bucket, he continued. “I tell you this because while the rest of the world may have grown to hate dirt, you must always, always revere it. For once Nesbitt and I have passed on, you, Isabelle Fortune, will be the last tender. And if there is any hope for magic to return, it lies with you and you alone.”

  “With me?” She anxiously slid off the stool. “I don’t know anything about magic. Are you sure there aren’t any more tenders? Have you looked everywhere?”

  “We don’t need to look. The Fortunes have always been the only tenders. There is no reason to believe that any other tenders exist outside the family.” He motioned for her to sit again and she did. “You see, there once was a time when magic was as accepted as, well, as cheese is accepted. While this Mama Lu person gets her cheese delivered by a delivery truck, the people of long ago had their magic delivered by a sorcerer. Sorcerers were powerful manipulators of magic, and as it happens with most things, some of them went bad.”

  “Cheese stinks when it goes bad.”

  “So does magic, figuratively speaking. The people turned against it and the sorcerers died off. Well, some were murdered. Some just drifted away.” He leaned forward. “The very last sorcerer, a good sorcerer, upon realizing her fate, cast a spell over her farm to protect it from the hostile world. Her farm is this very farm we live on today. Thanks to her spell, our farm looks like solid mountain and feels like solid rock to outsiders. In fact, whenever a group of climbers come this way, they walk right overhead.”

  “That’s amazing,” Isabelle said, imagining looking out the window and seeing a group of people trekking across the sky.

  “Before she departed, the last sorcerer entrusted the care and keeping of her magical plants and creatures to her gardener, a man named Wilhelm Fortune. He was the first tender, my dear. Your distant relation.”

  “The one with the green hair?”

  “The very one.”

  “And she never came back? The sorcerer?”

  “Never.” Walnut leaned even closer, his green eyes twinkling with candlelight. “But we have always believed that one day she will return, and magic will take its rightful place in the world again. So we tenders continue to do what we do best, while keeping the farm a secret from the world.”

  The table lightly shook and some dirt fell from the ceiling. “What’s happening?” Isabelle asked.

  “It’s another Supreme Gyrocopter,” Walnut said. “Flying overhead. Don’t worry. The dome will protect us.”

  “How does Mr. Supreme know about the farm?”

  “Ah.” Walnut’s face fell into sadness. “That is the reason your grandfather is so angry. It’s time I told you about your mother.”

  But just as Isabelle’s heart revved up with expectation, Rolo flew in and dropped something on Walnut’s head.

  After bouncing off Walnut’s head, a wooden spool landed on the table. The raven landed beside it. Walnut examined the spool. “Oh, I see that Sage is out of thread. I’m not sure how much I have left.” He hurried across the depository and opened a basket, searching through its contents.

  Mrs. Wormbottom owned a spool of thread. She shared it with the other tenants when they needed to mend holes in their shirts or pants. Why would Sage need thread? “I thought Sage was doing a security check,” Isabelle said.

  “He is. Aha, I found one.” Walnut offered a new spool to Rolo but the bird turned away. “What? Not big enough? It’s a big hole, is it?”

  Rolo nodded.

  Walnut sighed. “Oh dear, that’s terrible news.”

  So what if Sage had a big hole in his pants? No way was that as important, or as interesting, as finding out about her mother. Isabelle fidgeted impatiently, wishing that the bird would just take the spool and fly away. But Rolo waited while Walnut rummaged through another basket.

  “Terrible, terrible,” Walnut mumbled. “Bigger and bigger holes. We never get a moment’s peace around here.” He presented an enormous spool, bigger than a marmot. Rolo hopped excitedly in place. “Isabelle, this spool is too heavy for Rolo to carry. Will you take it to Sage? I’ve got to get these seeds into storage. They’re Snowfall Sweet Peas and if they’re exposed to air for too long, we’ll have snow in the middle of summer. Holes and snow. Don’t want that.”

  “But you were going to tell me…”

  “Yes, yes, about your mothe
r. That can wait. Sage needs the thread. Hurry.”

  Isabelle grabbed the spool of black thread. It seemed absolutely ridiculous to rush off just because Sage had a stupid hole. In fact, it seemed… stupid!

  “You must hurry,” Walnut said, gently pushing her toward the stairs. “A hole is not to be messed around with.”

  “But I don’t know where Sage is.”

  “Follow Rolo. Don’t stray or dawdle, no matter how many interesting things you see along the way. Here.” He pulled a sandwich from his pocket. “I made it this morning. Cucumber-butter.”

  Isabelle took the sandwich. “Will you tell me about my parents when I get back?”

  “Yes. Now go.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, yes.” He flapped his hands in the air, urging her up the stairs.

  Great-Uncle Walnut did not seem like the sort of person who would break a promise. Even so, Isabelle scowled. She had come so close to learning about her mother and now she had to run a ridiculous errand. She shoved the spool under her arm and followed Rolo up the stairs, under the Belchiferus Bamboo, and down the hacked greenhouse path.

  A little cloud hovered outside the greenhouse door, dropping rain onto a barrel in which red flowers grew. Then the cloud moved to a barrel of yellow flowers. It was the cloud that Walnut had mentioned, the one that watered the farm, for no other clouds hung in the mid-day sky. Isabelle stood outside the greenhouse, her bad mood instantly washed away by the sun’s warmth. Would it always take her by surprise? Even after years of living on the farm would she still marvel at it? She began to hum, Sunshine shining down, songbirds flying ’round, seedlings in the ground, magic to be found, here on Fortune’s Farm.

  She wanted to share the sun with Gwen and Leonard. Would all the gray wash off their bodies? What would they look like with smooth skin? Would they love her new home as much as she did? Of course they would. Who wouldn’t love dry clothes, floating fronds…

  … and a grumpy old man who was opening the tower window?

  “I told you to go away!” He leaned out and shook his fist.

  “Bu… bu… but I’m your granddaughter,” she stammered.

  “I don’t care who you are. The end has come, so go away!” He popped his orange-streaked head back inside and slammed the window shut.

  Raindrops rolled down Isabelle’s face. The little cloud hovered over her head. She walked to the right, it floated to the right. She ran to the left, it quickly floated to the left. Just great. It had mistaken her for a green shrub. As the cloud watered Isabelle, her heart sank. If her grandfather didn’t want her to stay, he certainly wouldn’t welcome her friends. All her life she had wanted to find Nowhere and there she stood, smack dab in the middle of it. But she couldn’t call it home—not yet. There had to be a way to change his mind. If only she knew why he was so angry.

  Being “special” didn’t mean squat when it came to getting questions answered.

  Rolo circled, cawing for Isabelle to follow. The sooner she delivered the spool to Sage, the sooner she could get back and continue the conversation with her great-uncle. “Rocky,” she called. Where was that marmot?

  Rocky hung over the side of a trough, drinking water. A bearded goat nibbled on the marmot’s stubby tail. “Come on, Rocky,” Isabelle called.

  Finally, the cloud moved on to a patch of brown grass.

  Rolo led Isabelle and Rocky past the signpost to a trail that headed into the mountains. While Isabelle was used to climbing to the fourth floor, by the middle of the hike she felt as if she had climbed to the forty-fourth floor. Even Rocky grew tired and lay on her belly, panting wheezily. They took a break, sharing the cucumber-butter sandwich as Rolo pruned his feathers in a treetop.

  Her strength renewed, Isabelle perched the marmot on her shoulder and set off again. Each step took her further away from her great-uncle and his promised answers. With each step she grew more and more annoyed that Sage hadn’t come to get the spool of thread himself. So when she finally found him, sitting on the ground with his satchel at his side, she was all scowls and irritation. “Here.” She shoved the spool in his face.

  “Thanks,” he said. His gaze traveled over her face and hair. She readied herself for him to say something mean like, What took you so long? or I never gave you permission to wear my old clothes, or You look even worse than you did before. But he surprised her.

  “I like your colors.”

  Isabelle stopped scowling. “You do?”

  “Yeah. Green hair is kind of nice. Well, it sure beats gray. And your eyes don’t look so sad. You’re not so… so…” He rolled the spool between his hand. “I mean, you look kinda… kinda…” His voice changed, like he was fighting with each word. “Well, you know, you’re… you’re…” He cleared his throat. “Not ugly.”

  What a nice thing to say. Isabelle’s face went hot and she felt bad about shoving the spool at him. “Thanks.” She ran her fingers through her thick hair. “They won’t even recognize me when I go back to Runny Cove.”

  He began to unwind the thread. “Why would you go back to Runny Cove? It’s the most horrible place I’ve ever seen.”

  Isabelle scratched the marmot’s head. “Well, I think that there are plenty of Curative Cherries in the orchard. I could give one to everybody and they wouldn’t be sick anymore. And then I’ll bring my friends back with me. There’s plenty of room and Great-Uncle Walnut said that he can’t get all the work done without some help.”

  “You can’t do any of those things without the Head Tender’s permission. You made the solemn promise not to tell anyone about the farm and not to take anything from the farm. You have to speak to the Head Tender. Have you spoken to him yet?”

  “No, not really.” She shuffled her feet, embarrassed by what she was about to admit. “He yelled at me. He told me to go away. Why doesn’t my grandfather like me? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Not you. Someone else.” He stopped unwinding and tucked a rope of hair behind his ear. “Your grandfather has given up, Isabelle. He fired the farmhands because he thinks there’s no future for magic or the farm. He’s waiting to die and for the farm to die. That’s why all the plants are overgrown and why the garden is filled with weeds. That’s why the seeds are rotting and why the squirrels are getting fat. But Walnut and I don’t want the farm to die. Walnut believes that magic will have a place in the world again, and I… well, this is the only home I’ve ever had. So we went to find you, hoping that if Nesbitt met you, he’d believe in our future again.”

  “But he doesn’t want to meet me. He told me to go away.”

  “We’re hoping that you’ll be able to change his mind.” He threaded a silver needle. Then he stuck the needle into the air, pulled it, and stuck it into the air again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There’s a hole in the dome,” he said.

  She leaned forward and looked at the place where he held the needle. “I don’t see a hole. It’s just air. How can air have a hole?”

  “You can’t see the hole because you aren’t trained to see it. But I’ve been doing this for five years now, so trust me. It’s right there and it’s big. If I don’t fix it, it will get bigger and then someone could slip through and find the farm.” He chewed on his lower lip, concentrating on his task.

  “Can I help?”

  “I only have one needle. But thanks.”

  Isabelle sat nearby, wishing she had another sandwich. “How come there’s a hole?” she asked. “And don’t tell me that I should know.”

  Sage’s tangled hair hung down the back of his yellow shirt. His long legs didn’t look so skinny in regular pants. “It goes back to that promise.”

  “Not to tell anyone about the farm and not to take anything from it.”

  “Yep. Every tender has to make that solemn promise. The sorcerer set it up that way. If a tender breaks the promise then the spell that protects the farm is weakened and you get holes. Walnut didn’t have the Head Tender’s permis
sion when he told you about the farm, but that didn’t weaken the spell because the sorcerer’s magic recognizes you as a rightful heir to the knowledge. You’re supposed to know the secret. You’re supposed to be here. Besides, the holes started appearing a long time ago.”

  “Oh.” Isabelle thought she saw a stitched seam hover in the air in front of Sage’s face, but then it disappeared. “Then who broke the promise?” Silence followed her question. She threw her hands up. “Oh great. I suppose you can’t tell me. Of course not. No one tells me anything.” She folded her arms. “If I’m supposed to be the last tender and the only hope for magic, or whatever, then shouldn’t I know what’s going on?”

  “Yes, you should.” He tied a knot and broke the thread with his teeth.

  “Then tell me who broke the vow.”

  “I can’t. Walnut wants to be the one to tell you.”

  Isabelle stood. “Then I’m going back. He said he’d answer my questions when I got back.”

  “Dusk will come before you’re halfway down the mountain,” Sage said, tucking the thread and needle into his satchel. “You could get lost. I’ll go with you. Hey, wait for me.”

  Though her legs were tired and the marmot’s claws dug into her shoulders, Isabelle ran down that mountain. She was going to learn the truth about her parents, once and for all, and the reason why she was the only person in Runny Cove to ever have been left on a doorstep.

  As the farm’s songbirds tucked themselves into their nests, and the pantry mice curled by the fire, Isabelle, Great-Uncle Walnut, and Sage sat at the kitchen table. Walnut dipped a ladle into a cast iron pot, filling three bowls with steaming potato stew. Sage sliced through a yellow round of cheese, handing Isabelle a wedge-shaped chunk. Mama Lu had never shared her cheese. It crumbled in Isabelle’s mouth, then melted into creamy deliciousness.

  “You promised to tell me about my parents,” Isabelle said.

  “We will eat first,” Walnut told her, blowing on his stew. “A tale of sadness is better endured on a full stomach.”