Fortune's Magic Farm

  Isabelle’s confusion began to clear. “You mean, you like me after all?”

  “Like you? We adore you,” Walnut sang, twirling so hard that he bumped into Sage.

  “We love you,” Nesbitt said softly.

  “You… love me?” Only one other person had ever said those words to Isabelle. She took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief, the marmot perched on her shoulder. “You don’t think I’m just like my mother?”

  Nesbitt’s knee creaked as he stood. “You’re like your mother in all the ways that your mother was good, and kind, and special. But because you were raised as an outsider, I had to put you through a test,” he explained. “Before Sage became the farm’s protector, he also had to pass a test. But he proved himself trustworthy, just as you have.”

  Sage hadn’t said anything. He kept his distance, avoiding Isabelle’s gaze. Nesbitt leaned over and whispered in Isabelle’s ear. “The lies were entirely my doing. Sage does not deserve your anger. He is the truest protector this farm has ever employed.”

  “Does this mean that you want me to live on the farm?”

  “We want that more than anything in the entire world!” Walnut cried.

  “And Rocky?”

  “Rocky can stay too,” Nesbitt said.

  “But you seemed so mad,” Isabelle said to her grandfather, not quite ready to believe. “You yelled so loudly.”

  “That, my dear, was acting.” Nesbitt bowed as Walnut enthusiastically applauded. “Had I not been born a tender, I’m certain I would have joined the theatre. When I was a schoolboy, I had the lead role in Madame Pungent’s production of Prince Arthur and the Land of Half-witted Trolls.”

  “I played the part of the Land,” Walnut called out. “I grew my own costume.”

  “You’re not going to let the farm die?”

  “Never,” Nesbitt said. “Though I’ve felt sad for a very long time, I could never let the farm die. A true tender could never do such a thing.”

  The farm wouldn’t die. She and Rocky could stay. But confusion still clouded the moment. “So what is true? Is my grandmother alive or not?”

  Nesbitt patted the marmot’s head. “She’s very much alive and very well. One of our ravens just returned from checking on her.”

  A smile burst onto Isabelle’s face. “She’s alive? She’s well? Sage was telling the truth about giving her a cherry?”

  “Yes,” Nesbitt replied. “It looks like we have a happy ending.”

  “Happy, happy, happy,” Walnut chanted, kicking up his short legs.

  Isabelle laughed and all the bad feelings from last night washed away like gray water down the drain. She could barely contain her excitement. She started dancing around like Great-Uncle Walnut. The marmot scampered between their feet, nearly tripping them. Sage leaned against a tree, watching with amusement. A happy ending for a skinny factory worker from the most miserable place on Earth.

  “Wait.” Isabelle stopped dancing. “It’s not a happy ending. What about Runny Cove? What about my grandmother and my friends and the rain and the factory?”

  “What about your grandmother and your friends and the rain and the factory?” Nesbitt asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I still want to go back. I… need to go back.”

  “Whatever for?” His eyes twinkled in a teasing way.

  “I want to give Curative Cherries to everyone in Runny Cove and get rid of all the Cloud Clover so the sun can shine.” She waited for his reaction. Only he could give permission to take things from the farm. Would he get angry again? She folded her arms. “I’m going back. Even if you won’t let me take some cherries, I still have to try to get rid of the clover. I’ll do it by myself, if I must.”

  Nesbitt, Walnut, and Sage exchanged knowing looks. “I think that giving everyone in Runny Cove a Curative Cherry and digging up all the Cloud Clover is a grand plan,” Nesbitt said. “What do you think, Sage? Can we risk another trip to Runny Cove?”

  Sage stepped forward; his usually brooding face had softened. “I’ve covered the caravan in Camouflage Creepers so it can’t be seen by gyrocopter.” He lifted some vines to reveal the oxen. “And I loaded the cherries into the back just as you ordered.”

  “You ordered?” Isabelle asked.

  “Sage told me about your plan,” her grandfather said. “He also told me that he wanted to help you. So I gave him permission to collect some cherries.” Sage, Walnut, and Nesbitt threw off their capes. Each wore a bright green kelp suit.

  Even though he tried to escape before she reached him, and even though he looked about as unhappy as a barnacle without a shell, Isabelle gave Sage a great big Vice Vine hug.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Walnut asked. “Let’s go.”

  Farewell, Isabelle, the trees whispered. Safe journey to you.

  “Goodbye,” she replied, waving to the swaying pines.

  Nesbitt looked around. “Who are you waving at?”

  “The trees,” she explained. “They have whispery voices, don’t you think? They sound kind of like the wind.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Nesbitt said, smiling and stroking his chin. “No one’s had the power to hear the trees since the first tender. Dear, dear Isabelle, what a surprise you’ve turned out to be.”

  Nesbitt gave Eve the cat instructions to watch over the farm. She rubbed against his leg again, then she pranced through the tunnel, her tail held high and proud. The vines closed behind her.

  As Nesbitt and Walnut climbed into the camouflaged caravan, Isabelle smiled at Sage. He actually smiled back.

  “It’s going to be a happy ending,” she whispered.

  Long before they reached the beach, Isabelle knew that Neptune had arrived because it smelled as if she had stuck a fish up each of her nostrils. At the shore’s edge, Sage unhitched the oxen. “They will take care of themselves until we return,” he told Isabelle as the mighty creatures wandered back to the forest.

  “GREETINGS, KING NEPTUNE,” Nesbitt yelled, bowing to the seal. “IT IS AN HONOR TO BE IN THE COMPANY OF YOU AND YOUR IMPOSING NOZZLE. WE HUMBLY REQUEST YOUR SERVICES AGAIN.”

  Sage and Walnut removed the caravan’s wheels, then pushed the caravan into the shallows. Neptune and two of his wives arranged themselves as Sage attached ropes around their middles. Then Sage jumped onto the driver’s bench, ropes in hand, with Rolo on his shoulder.

  Walnut pulled a jar from his kelp suit pocket. “These are Ocean Motion Olives,” he told Isabelle, dropping one into her hand. The little sphere undulated. “It mimics the ocean’s movement inside your stomach so your stomach doesn’t become confused by the motion outside.”

  “Tenders are people of the land, so sea travel usually disagrees with us,” Nesbitt added, eating an olive. Recalling the dizziness and upchucking, Isabelle eagerly ate hers.

  Walnut pulled his knit hat over his bald spot and climbed into the caravan. “I’d better get my beauty sleep. Might meet myself a single lady or two in Runny Cove.” He pulled some moss from his nose, then curled up in the corner.

  “Ocean Motion olives tend to make one sleepy,” Nesbitt explained, helping Isabelle into the caravan. “You’ll find yourself dozing in no time at all.”

  He spoke the truth. Isabelle’s eyelids drooped. Exhausted from her night of bad dreams and her plans of running away, she curled into a corner and drifted to sleep.

  “NEPTUNE! AWAY!” Sage cried. And off they went.

  Evening’s first stars popped into the sky as the caravan reached the Tangled Islands. The marmot woke the sleepy travelers with a robust string of chirps. She pressed her nose against the caravan’s window.

  Isabelle stretched her arms, then slid next to Rocky. “That’s her island. Sage said that because marmots reproduce so fast, they’ll probably run out of food.”

  Nesbitt yawned, then peered out the window too. “It does look like a small place.”

  As the island neared, Rocky trembled with excitement, wiggling her stubby tail. Was she remembering
her promise?

  “Could we help them too?” Isabelle asked. “Could we take them someplace where there’s lots of food?”

  “I’m not sure where that would be. Let’s ask my brother. He knows more about rodents than I do.” A few of the olives from Walnut’s jar had spilled into his pocket and had sprouted into young trees. Nesbitt pulled the branches aside, looking for his brother. “Walnut, wake up. What do marmots eat?”

  “What about my feet?” Walnut asked, sitting up and wiping a speck of drool from his chin. “Do they stink again?”

  Nesbitt pulled an olive leaf from Walnut’s ear. “Eat, not feet. What do marmots like to eat?”

  “Yellow-bellied Marmoticus Terriblus or flat-bottomed Marmoticus Faticus?”

  Isabelle held Rocky in the air, exposing her yellow belly.

  “Oh, that kind. Well, the Marmoticus Terriblus is a vegetarian by nature, preferring nuts and leafy greens. Their favorite food, however, is clover. A marmot will travel miles for a sweet patch of clover. One marmot can eat three times its body weight in clover in a single day.”

  Nesbitt turned to Isabelle. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Cloud Clover!” Isabelle cried.

  Saving an entire town is no easy task. A person who sets out to save an entire town will probably be judged, by future historians, as having lacked common sense or as being downright loony. But Isabelle had traveled across the ocean and back, had grown green hair, and had spoken to trees. She had almost been killed by a ship, had escaped would-be kidnappers, and had passed a test of loyalty. She wasn’t about to let little things like common sense or sanity stand in her way.

  But first they stopped at the Island of Mysterious Holes, where Isabelle explained her quest to save Runny Cove. One mention of the abundant Cloud Clover and the marmots raced across the muddy beach and piled into the caravan. Isabelle counted fifty-three, but they wiggled around so much, she could have been off by four or five. After tracking mud everywhere, the critters dug holes in the pillows, cavorted beneath the table, and threw olives at each other. Fortunately, Sage had locked the Curative Cherries inside a small rodent-proof chest. Rocky, after tiring of nose-kissing, joined in the digging.

  “I never knew marmots were so rowdy,” Nesbitt said as a baby marmot burrowed in his sock. “I think I’ll go sit on the driver’s bench with Sage.”

  “He’s not fond of rodents,” Walnut added after Nesbitt had left.

  The night passed slowly and since Walnut seemed to prefer sleep to conversation, Isabelle had lots of time to think. Despite being told so many times that she was just a stupid factory worker, that she was nothing special, that she was unwanted, Isabelle had always listened to the little voice inside. For it is often a little voice that speaks with more wisdom than a big booming voice. And so she thought about all that had happened, and what better place to think than beneath a blanket of sleeping, wheezing marmots?

  “Runny Cove!” Sage hollered.

  The seals slowed and Walnut opened the door. Gray seeped into the caravan like plague seeps into its victims. Isabelle inhaled a lungful of despair. The marmots huddled fearfully, only their noses wiggling. Nesbitt poked his head inside, rain dripping off his hair. “We’re here.”

  Walnut picked up the cherry-filled chest and stepped out into the shallow water. Rain soaked through his knit hat. “How terrible,” he whispered. “I feel so sad. I think I might start crying.”

  “I swore I’d never come back,” Sage said, jumping from the driver’s bench. “I must be crazy.”

  Isabelle waded to the lifeless shore. The rain beat its familiar rhythm on her head. Nesbitt and Sage unhitched the seals and pulled the caravan onto the beach where the marmots disembarked. The Camouflage Creepers worked their magic, blending the caravan into the wet driftwood. Rocky followed the other marmots as they scurried off into the fog.

  “Rocky?”

  “Don’t worry. They can smell the clover,” Walnut explained, wrinkling his nose. “But I don’t see how with that stench in the air.” He pointed to the distant hill where the factory sat, a multicolored plume snaking from its chimney.

  “THANK YOU, KING NEPTUNE,” Nesbitt said, bowing to the seal. “WE WOULD BE FOREVER GRATEFUL IF YOU AND YOUR PROMINENT PROBOSCIS WOULD AWAIT OUR RETURN.” Neptune nodded and rolled onto his back for a belly scratch. “And thank you, lovely ladies,” Nesbitt said to the wives, who had perfect hearing. “May I add that both of your rumps are looking plumper than usual.” They batted their lashes at him.

  The wind stung Isabelle’s face and her lower jaw began to tremble. Sadness swooped down and covered her like a blanket. Can I do this, or have I made a terrible mistake? she wondered. For sadness can make a person feel small.

  Her grandfather, sensing her doubts, placed his hand on her shoulder. His strong, steady grip eased her fear. She wasn’t alone. She had two tenders, a protector, and an army of rowdy rodents on her side. The happy ending was at hand.

  Sadness only makes you feel small if you let it.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  As dawn’s faint rays filtered through the ceiling of clouds, Isabelle led her companions across the driftwood forest, up and over the sand dunes to the edge of the gravel road, midway between the village and the factory.

  “How do you wish to proceed?” Nesbitt asked.

  “Me?” Isabelle strained her neck to look into his eyes. “You’re the Head Tender. Shouldn’t you make that decision?”

  “My dear Isabelle.” His back creaked as he bent close to her. “You have chosen to use magic for its very best purpose—to improve the lives of your fellow human beings. And you made that choice, not after years of study and training, but simply by using your heart. Today, you are the honorary Head Tender.”

  “Congratulations,” Sage said.

  “Wow. Thank you.” Isabelle’s mind raced. What should she do next? “We can’t deliver the cherries to the boardinghouses because the landladies will take the fruit for themselves. Believe me. They take everything.”

  “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

  Nesbitt folded his arms. “We are not here to find you a wife, Walnut. Go on, Isabelle.”

  “We can’t take the cherries to the factory because we don’t want Mr. Supreme to know about them. Or to know about us.”

  “Right,” Sage agreed.

  BAROOO!

  Walnut almost dropped the chest. “What was that? It sounded like a dragon’s fart. Are there dragons around here?”

  “That was the factory’s horn,” Isabelle explained. “It’s time for the workers to leave the boardinghouses.” Then it dawned on her. “Almost everyone works at the factory. We can hand out the cherries right here in the road, before they reach the factory. Then Mr. Supreme and his assistants won’t see us.”

  “That seems an excellent plan,” Nesbitt said.

  And so they waited. The sound of coughing was the first thing to emerge from the fog bank—lots and lots of coughing. Next came the sound of marching feet. Isabelle’s feet began to march in place, entirely of their own volition, matching the marching rhythm of the workers. The morning march was as much a part of her feet as her toes and toenails. Then pasty faces and yellow slickers emerged. Row after row of workers walked up the road, with eyes half-closed and faces void of expression, their puckered skin as translucent as the fog. Isabelle brushed her fingers over her smooth, sun-kissed face. No wonder Sage had called her ugly.

  “Sadness,” Nesbitt said quietly. “They are shrouded in sadness.”

  As the front of the crowd drew closer, Isabelle stepped into the middle of the road. “Hello,” she called out, waving. “I’ve come back.”

  One might think that the sight of the four strangers in kelp suits would have stopped the factory workers dead in their tracks. One might think that they would have noticed a skinny boy with tangled black hair, a short old man with long white hair, a tall old man with orange-streaked hair, and a girl with hair as green as a
blade of grass. But they continued their steady march up the road, sloshing through the potholes and mud.

  “Wait,” Isabelle cried.

  “We can’t wait,” a worker said. “If we wait then we’ll be late.”

  “But it’s me, Isabelle. I’ve come back. I’m here to help you.”

  Walnut pulled his glasses from his pocket and slid them onto his wet nose. Then he nudged Isabelle. “Who is that woman with the gray hair and prune-like face?” Of course, he had just described every woman in the crowd. “The one pushing her way to the front? Look how strong she is, how forceful, like a plow. Is she married? I like a woman with spunk.”

  “Let me through!” Grandma Maxine elbowed her way out of the crowd. Her long braid fell free as she pushed off her slicker’s hood and held out her arms. “Isabelle! I heard your voice. Look at you. You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

  The very worst part of the last few days was laid to rest as Isabelle hugged her living, breathing grandmother. Grandma Maxine squeezed so hard she lifted Isabelle right off her feet. She had grown so strong, she could probably beat Mama Lu in a game of tug-o-war.

  After wiping away tears of happiness, Isabelle took her grandmother’s hand. “Grandma, look who I’ve brought. This is my grandfather, Nesbitt Rhododendrol Fortune.”

  “It is an honor to meet you,” Nesbitt said with a bow. Even when bowing, he still towered over most everyone. “Thank you for taking care of Isabelle. I will be forever in your debt.”

  Grandma Maxine’s smile fell. “Yes, you will,” she replied sternly, shaking a finger. “Terrible thing to leave a baby on a doorstep. What kind of people are you?”

  “They are good people, really they are,” Isabelle said. “This is my Great-Uncle Walnuticus Bartholomew Fortune.”

  “Please call me Walnut, madame.” He also bowed. Even when bowing, he was still squatter than most everyone. “I can’t help but notice that you are not wearing a wedding ring, dear lady. Are you, by any chance, looking for a husband?” He smiled eagerly, his drenched hat clinging to his round head.