So they ate—Isabelle as quickly as she could. Rocky, who had uprooted the potted plant and had tossed it aside, dug joyfully. No one seemed to care, so Isabelle didn’t scold her.
Hurry up and eat. Hurry up and eat.
FINALLY, just when Isabelle thought she couldn’t sit a moment longer, the time came. Walnut unbuttoned his plaid jacket and swept his long white hair behind his shoulders. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. He began like any good storyteller, with a first line certain to capture a listener’s attention.
“Earthworms were especially fond of your mother.”
Isabelle leaned forward. “Did you say earthworms?”
“I did, indeed. Even when she was a baby, whenever she sat on the ground, all the earthworms would migrate toward her. Such a fantastic gift for a tender. She was a superb composter. Compost is derived from the Latin compositus or compostus, meaning to convert plant debris into dirt. Composting is a skill that all tenders must learn in order to condition the land for planting and to…”
Isabelle fidgeted. Sage cleared his throat.
“Oh.” Walnut paused. “I guess you don’t want to hear about that. You want to hear about your parents.”
“Yes. Please.”
Tears pooled on Walnut’s lower lids. He wiped them away with his dirt-stained hands. Something had sprouted beneath one of his fingernails. “This subject always upsets me. I miss my niece so very much.”
Sage busied himself in the kitchen, keeping his back turned as if to give Walnut and Isabelle a bit of privacy.
Walnut took a dingy handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “You’d better sit down, my dear. The story is difficult to bear.”
“I am sitting down.”
“Then you’d better sit still. All that wiggling is very distracting. A story this terrible requires a great deal of concentration.”
Isabelle sat stiff, her jaw clenched, preparing herself for what was sure to be the saddest story she had every heard—even sadder than Grandma Maxine’s story about how Sunny Cove had become Runny Cove.
“Your mother’s name was Daffodilly because she was born in March, the time when daffodils bloom here in the north. She was a beautiful, healthy baby, and did all the usual baby things, like sleeping in trees, tunneling underground, and floating.”
Isabelle wasn’t certain, but those didn’t sound like usual baby things.
“When Daffodilly turned ten, the time came to send her away for schooling. Mrs. Fortune chose to send her to Madame Pungent’s School for Girls in Switzerland, her own alma mater. It’s always difficult for tender parents to send their children into the outside world, but a good education is of the utmost importance. Daffodilly received excellent grades and came home for winter and summer breaks. All went well until her seventeenth birthday, when two terrible things happened.”
Isabelle caught her breath. Even the marmot stopped digging to listen.
“Firstly, her mother, Mrs. Fortune, died. Mrs. Fortune had been born with a weak heart and one morning, while she was pruning Camoflauge Creepers, her heart stopped beating. Daffodilly rushed home for the funeral and brought a young man with her. His name was Henry, a student who attended Madame Pungent’s School for Boys. They were each in their final year of school. She introduced him as her husband, for they had eloped over a long weekend, and she begged Nesbitt to give him a job as a farmhand.”
“Was he my father?”
“Yes. He’s the second terrible thing that happened, by the way.”
Walnut blew his nose again and tucked his handkerchief into his pocket. “When a tender chooses to marry, the spouse must pass a series of loyalty tests before stepping foot on the farm. That’s how it must be done. Daffodilly broke the rules and Nesbitt was livid.”
“Is that why he’s angry?”
“Partially, but there’s more.” Walnut leaned on the table. “You see, your mother was madly in love and love has a way of making people act, well… stupidly. Only those who have been in love can truly understand this. Have you ever been in love?”
“Never,” Isabelle replied loudly, to make certain everyone in the room could hear her.
“Well, your mother loved your father so much that she entrusted him with many of our secrets. She couldn’t imagine that he would ever, or could ever, be disloyal to her family.” Walnut shook his head sadly.
Sage brought a pot of tea to the table and handed out three big mugs. His brown eyes caught Isabelle’s for a moment. His lips turned up ever so slightly, just enough to say I’m sorry you have to hear all this.
“What happened next?” Isabelle asked as Walnut sprinkled sugar into his mug.
“Henry tried to convince your grandfather to start a seed company and to sell the magical seeds all over the world so we’d become the richest family on the planet. But Nesbitt dismissed Henry’s idea, of course. Selling magic to the highest bidder is a risky proposition, for what if the highest bidder turns out to be a madman? Or a dimwit?”
Walnut paused to stir his tea. “Henry was relentless in his desire for wealth and one morning he and Nesbitt got into a terrible argument. Daffodilly took her husband’s side, telling her father that he was narrow-minded and backward. The next morning, Daffodilly and Henry left the farm and the moment they passed through the tunnel, we knew that Daffodilly had broken her solemn promise as a tender.” His eyes welled up with tears again. “Oh, you tell her, Sage.”
Sage sat down and folded his hands. “A massive crack appeared in the dome. I wasn’t here, that’s just what I’ve been told. The spell was weakened because she took magical seeds off the farm. And the dome has been weak ever since. New holes and cracks appear all the time.”
Isabelle felt a rush of shame.
“It is unimaginable for a tender to do such a thing,” Walnut said, sniffling. “I knew that love had befuddled Daffodilly’s mind but it broke my heart, all the same. And it broke Nesbitt’s heart too. Each passing year has driven him deeper into despair until this year when he decided to give it all up. He stopped believing in our future. The world does not deserve magic, he said. We will let the farm die.”
The sky had darkened. Stars appeared. Sage lit some candles.
The truth about her parents slowly sank into Isabelle like a skipping stone sinking to the bottom of the sea.
“Where did my parents go?” she asked.
“We don’t know all the details but we’ve deduced that your father took all the magical seeds and abandoned your mother the moment they stepped off the farm. Fortunately, magical seeds are very temperamental, and since Henry did not have the skills to take care of them, most perished. But a few survived and he sold them to the highest bidder, a man with whom you are familiar.”
“Mr. Supreme,” Isabelle hissed.
“Exactly. Your father celebrated his new wealth by buying the world’s largest zeppelin and, befitting his reckless nature, proceeded to crash it into a volcano. He perished.”
Isabelle didn’t feel too sad about that. Her father sounded like a terrible person. “And my mother?”
“Prepare yourself, my dear,” Walnut said. “This is the part I dread telling.”
The room fell silent, broken only by Rocky’s wheezy breathing. Walnut closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then looked deep into Isabelle’s eyes. “Your father told Mr. Supreme all about the Fortunes. And all about Daffodilly, who was homeless and wandering on her own, afraid to return to the farm. Mr. Supreme began to search for her, greedy for the farm’s secrets. He almost caught her a few times but she always managed to escape, even though she was heavy with child. Yes, my dear. With you.”
Isabelle imagined her mother running from Mr. Supreme, down dark alleys and muddy lanes. Running and running until she ended up in the place called Runny Cove.
“That’s why she left me on the doorstep,” Isabelle realized, seeing it all clearly. “She was trying to protect me. She was trying to protect the farm, too. Because
Mr. Supreme would have used me to get inside.”
“Exactly.”
Then came the dreaded question. Isabelle took a deep breath. “Where is she now?”
“I found her body just outside the tunnel. I think she knew that she was dying and wanted to see us one last time, but the spell had turned against her and wouldn’t let her back in. It was evident that she had recently given birth, but we didn’t know where to find the baby. I buried her in Tender’s Cemetery.”
“Ten years have passed,” Sage said. “But Supreme’s gyrocopters still search. I can keep patching the cracks and holes but if one more tender breaks the vow…”
Isabelle’s mind raced. Sage and Walnut had brought her to the farm, hoping that she could change Nesbitt’s mind about letting the farm die. That she, being the last tender, would give him hope. But how…
“How did you know where to find me?”
“I knew that a tender, even if she did not know that she was a tender, would influence her environment simply by being alive,” Walnut explained. “We sent Rolo out to cover as much territory as possible. He knew immediately when he saw the cloud bogs.”
“The cloud bogs?”
“Yes, the wetlands that surround Runny Cove. They are not naturally occurring. The plant growing in them is called Cloud Clover, a highly invasive species that turns dry land into mush. While most plants release oxygen into the air, Cloud Clover releases clouds. You see, the only seeds that survived long enough for Henry to sell were Cloud Clover seeds. In an evil attempt to get more people to buy umbrellas, Mr. Supreme planted Cloud Clover in sunny parts of the world.” A sapling shot up from the table where Walnut’s hand rested. “Anyone can grow the clover. It germinates and does quite well on its own. But the Cloud Clover growing in Runny Cove is seven times taller than it should be. When Rolo reported this, we knew that a tender had to be living in that horrid village. Rolo continued his investigation and discovered that there were three ten-year-old children. And then Sage delivered the apples, and, well, here you are.”
Isabelle’s shoulders fell. “I am the reason that it always rains in Runny Cove?”
“It’s not entirely your fault. You didn’t plant the seed. But you are the reason the cloud coverage is thicker than porridge and why the sun can never break through.”
“That’s terrible.”
No one said anything for a long while. The marmot went back to digging. Isabelle could barely believe it. She was the reason for so much of the misery in Runny Cove. The clouds didn’t part because of her!
“What are we going to do about Nesbitt?” Sage asked under his breath.
Walnut frowned. “What’s that? Did you just call me a twit?”
Sage yanked a mushroom from Walnut’s ear. “I said, Nesbitt. What are we going to do about Nesbitt?”
“I shall speak to him again. This time I will demand that he allow Isabelle to stay. This time I’ll…”
“WHY IS SHE STILL HERE?”
Isabelle almost fell off her chair. The booming question ricocheted off the walls and rattled the teapot.
Nesbitt Rhododendrol Fortune stood in the kitchen’s entryway, so tall that he had to stoop to fit through. His wrinkled face blazed as furiously as his orange streaks. Isabelle began to tremble.
“I TOLD HER TO GO!”
Now Nesbitt,” Walnut said calmly, “there’s no reason for all this shouting.”
“I don’t want her here. I never wanted her here. Can’t you see? She’s just like her mother.”
Sage stood. “I’m the one who brought her here so if you’re going to get mad at someone you should get mad at me.”
“I told Sage to bring her,” Walnut defended, also rising from his chair. “This was all my idea.”
“You both disobeyed my orders?” The question hissed slowly from Nesbitt’s mouth, like steam.
Horrible silence filled the room. No one took a breath. Isabelle didn’t budge. She could feel her grandfather’s stare burn right through her. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide. The marmot, however, found a pebble in the potting soil and threw it right at Nesbitt. Bonk!
Stunned, Nesbitt rubbed his forehead.
“I’m s… s… sorry,” Isabelle stuttered. “She likes to throw rocks.”
For a moment, the old man’s expression softened. Would he change his mind? What could she do to convince him that she wasn’t like her mother, that she wasn’t going to hurt the farm?
But his eyes narrowed. “The child leaves tomorrow,” he ordered. “You will take her back to where you found her. If you don’t obey me this time, you can both go with her and never return.” He stomped over to the kitchen table. As his hand flew through the air, everyone flinched. But the hand simply landed on the cast iron soup pot. “I’m hungry,” he murmured, lifting the pot off the table. As he made his exit, he sneered at the marmot. “And that rodent goes too!”
He stomped down the hall and slammed the door marked “N.”
Sage smacked his hand on the table. “Why won’t he listen to us?” He kicked a cupboard door. “Why is he so stubborn?”
“Pride, my dear boy,” Walnut explained. “He may never recover from Daffodilly’s disloyalty.”
“But why did he say I was just like her?” Isabelle asked. “He doesn’t even know me.”
Walnut sat with a weary sigh. “Because, except for the green hair, you are the spitting image of her.”
“It’s so unfair. We worked so hard.” Sage kicked the cupboard again. “All for nothing. For nothing!”
Isabelle’s mouth fell open. Is that what she was—nothing?
“Why are you so mad?” she demanded. “You’re not the one who has to go back. You don’t have to work in a factory or sleep in a rented room, or spend the rest of your life doing dish duty because your landlady called you a thief. You get to stay here and eat hot soup and wear dry clothes. You get to see the sun every day.” A panicky feeling flooded Isabelle’s body. Like a water bottle filling with seawater, the feeling swirled and bubbled as it moved from her toes all the way up her neck. “You should never have brought me here!” she yelled. She picked up the marmot and ran down the hallway and into her bedroom.
“Isabelle,” Sage called.
“Isabelle,” Walnut called.
She plopped the marmot onto the bed, then locked the door. She didn’t want to talk to Sage or to her great-uncle. She didn’t want to see them either, so she locked her window and closed the curtains. Then she threw herself onto the colorful quilt, buried her face into the pillow, and released the tears of a lifetime.
Sometimes a person cries for just one thing—a fall from a bicycle, a failed grade, or perhaps a ruined potato bug palace. But Isabelle cried for so many things that her tears soaked the pillow. She cried for her grandmother and for all the people she missed back in Runny Cove. She cried for the mother she would never know and who had done such a bad thing, and for the grandfather who obviously hated her. She cried because the world was full of mean and rotten people who cared only about making money. She cried because she was the reason for Runny Cove’s rain. And she cried for herself and her sorry predicament.
In an instant, Isabelle’s dream had been squashed like a bug under Mama Lu’s big foot.
“Isabelle?” Sage called softly from the other side of the door. “Isabelle?”
“You lied to me,” she said, spitting the words at the door. “You should have told me that I wasn’t welcome here. Go away!” The crying had stuffed up her nose. She stuck her head under the pillow to muffle her sobs. The marmot joined her, puffing warm breath onto Isabelle’s cheek.
“We needed to try. We thought that if Nesbitt saw you…”
“You lied to me. You said my family was waiting to meet me.” She threw the pillow at the door.
“Okay, so I didn’t tell you the whole story. If I had told you, you might not have come. I thought I was doing the right thing. Can’t you understand?”
“Can’t you understand? When a gi
rl has never seen the sun she doesn’t yearn for it. When a girl has never felt dry she doesn’t know what she’s missing. But now I know.” Every vibrant, colorful, glowing inch of Isabelle knew what she had been missing.
Sage tapped on the door. “Isabelle, please let me in. There’s something else I didn’t tell you.”
“Go away! I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.” She curled into a ball, the way a potato bug does when it wants to protect itself from predators. From liars!
The floorboards creaked as Sage slunk away.
Something else he didn’t tell me. What else could there possibly be? That she’d be expected to pay for her dinner? That the elephant seal was taking a vacation so she’d have to swim back to Runny Cove? That, come morning, she would be fed to a Piranha Plant?
As night passed, Isabelle lay on her bed like the unhappiest lump of nothing in the entire world. She fell into a fitful sleep. Her dreams churned with angry voices.
You’ll have to pay for my apple. Dish duty at my house for a whole month.
She’s dead, ya hear me? Dead.
So, little girl, when I tell you that you must work extra hours, I expect gratitude.
There’s nothing out there fer ya. Yer just a stupid factory worker.
I DON’T WANT HER HERE!
Isabelle awoke, covered in sweat. She opened the curtains and the window, seeking a cool breeze.
Back in Runny Cove, if Isabelle felt lonely at night and her Grandma Maxine was sleeping, she would look out her fourth-floor window. Even if she couldn’t see Gertrude’s Boarding House through the rain and fog, it comforted her to know that Gwen slept nearby. But other than the marmot, who sat on her foot, nothing comforted her that night.
“I won’t go back,” Isabelle whispered. “I won’t work for that horrible Mr. Supreme.” Besides, who knew what other magical plants might grow if she returned? Maybe one that sucked up oxygen or one that turned rain into ice daggers. She had to run away and she had to do it before the others awoke.
She glanced at the clothes in the closet. That kelp suit would be perfect for her trip, and it wouldn’t be stealing because Great-Uncle Walnut had said that everything in the room belonged to her. So she changed into the suit.