Fortune's Magic Farm

  “Good luck,” Mrs. Wormbottom said, a tear in her eye.

  “Take care of yourself,” Mr. Limewig said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  Isabelle wanted to hug and kiss each one of them but there was no time. Mama Lu’s footsteps thundered close behind.

  “Nothing leaves this house without my permission. She’s a thief! Someone call Mr. Hench!”

  “You’ll get arrested if you take that,” Boris said, pointing at the aquarium.

  “I won’t let her kill my barnacle. Grandma taught me all about barnacles.”

  “Then we’ll try to slow her down,” Bert said. “Hurry.”

  “Thank you. Goodbye,” Isabelle called as she flew down the last two flights.

  “Stop! Ya’ll go to jail, ya moldy little thief! Get out of my way!” Mama Lu screamed. “Ya stupid dunderheads is blocking the stairs!”

  Rain poured as Isabelle leapt off the front porch. Oh, how she wanted to tell Gwen that she was leaving, but she couldn’t risk slowing down. “Goodbye, Gwen!” she yelled as she passed Gertrude’s Boardinghouse, hoping her friend might hear. “I’ll send word as soon as I get there.”

  Water splashed into her boots as she ran up Boggy Lane. Kitchen lights reflected in the ankle-deep water. Mama Lu would soon ring Mr. Hench and he’d come looking for her. “Goodbye, Leonard,” she called as she passed his boardinghouse.

  At the edge of town she stopped running. Out of breath and coughing, she set down the aquarium and rested her hands on her knees. Which way should she go? The gravel road stretched before her, its right fork leading to the factory, its left fork winding through miles of dangerous bogs and swamps. Only the heavy-duty headlights of Mr. Supreme’s delivery trucks could cut through the bog’s thick fog. The older villagers often said that the few who had tried to leave Runny Cove on foot either drowned in swamp mud or got eaten alive by swamp frogs.

  Isabelle looked over her shoulder. No one had followed. Not yet. She tried not to think about her grandmother. She tried to focus on her escape. But again and again the words repeated: She’s dead. Ya hear me? Dead.

  Suddenly, Isabelle ached to see her grandmother one last time. But the cemetery would be an obvious place to search for Mama Lu’s thief. Grandma Maxine wouldn’t be able to hear the goodbye anyway. All that remained was her body.

  “A body is just a container,” Mrs. Wormbottom had once told Isabelle. “When we die, our body is left behind but our soul goes on a journey to a wonderful place.”

  If Grandma Maxine’s soul had gone on a journey to a wonderful place, then it would certainly have gone as far away from Runny Cove as possible.

  Isabelle took a deep, decisive breath. Hugging the pickle jar, she started across the dunes. The factory’s yellow lights cast an eerie haze upon the sand. The rain poured as she negotiated the slippery driftwood, but both she and the barnacle reached the beach without injury.

  The wind stung with needles of icy seawater as Isabelle scurried down the beach. With each step the factory’s lamplight faded and the abandoned fishing boats took on eerie shapes. She had never walked beyond the cove and when she reached its edge, fear crept over her. She rounded the rocky bluff and stared into total darkness. Not even Runny Cove eyes can cut through total darkness. She’d have to wait for morning light.

  A boat lay up the beach, half-buried in the sand. The cabin door had long fallen free. With an outstretched hand she found a corner bunk, its wooden slats still strong enough to hold her. Suddenly, sadness weighed down every part of her body. She set the aquarium onto the sandy floor, then lay on the bunk and tucked her knees to her chest. She tried to keep the bad thoughts away, tried not to think of Mama Lu, or the undertaker, or holes in the ground where dead bodies are buried. She shivered as dampness seeped into her clothing. She trembled as grief took hold. For the first time in her memory, Isabelle had no one.

  No one to answer her questions. No one to tell her stories of the old days. No one to say, “Good night, Isabelle.”

  And that’s when the apple seed began to hum again. Not like a trapped insect, but a sort of melody, as if it were making up its own little song. She picked the seed out of her sock. The melody traveled up her arm. It spread over her chest and down her other arm until it had covered her entire body like a blanket. The song continued, soft and comforting, like a grandmother’s sweet humming. As Isabelle held the seed between her palms, her eyelids grew heavy and the bad thoughts drifted away.

  Many hours later, Isabelle opened her eyes. She thought at first that she was dreaming because she saw the following things: a small fire flickering in the center of the boat’s cabin, an orange cat lounging beside the fire, and a black bird nibbling on a piece of bread.

  And last but not least, a figure wearing a hooded cape, stirring a cup of something that smelled wonderful.

  The stranger sat so close that Isabelle could hear the liquid swirling inside his mug. She clamped her eyes shut and pretended to still be asleep, then slowed her breathing and snored a few times, for good measure. She had hoped to see him again, to ask him if he had come from Nowhere, but now that he sat nearby she felt a bit afraid. Grandma Maxine had told her never to trust a stranger. “Sometimes,” she had said, “strangers are dangerous.”

  The bird squawked.

  “I know,” the stranger said, not in a deep, scary voice as one might imagine would come from a cloaked person, but in a youngish, soft voice. Who was he talking to?

  The bird squawked again.

  “I heard you,” the stranger replied. “I know Isabelle’s awake. She’ll speak to us when she’s ready.”

  Isabelle opened her eyes and sat up. The stranger kept his back to her. If he tried to hurt her, the cabin entrance was just a quick dash away. Only the cat lay in her path, stretched out as limp as an orange scarf. Isabelle slid to the edge of the bunk. The black bird squawked again and flew across the cabin, landing beside her leg. It cocked its head and pecked at her hand. “Hey,” she cried as it tried to snatch the seed from her palm. The bird pecked again, this time pinching her skin. “Stop it.”

  The stranger turned. “Leave the seed, Rolo.” Then he pushed off his hood.

  Isabelle gasped. “You’re just a kid.”

  “A kid?” He glared at her, clearly insulted. “I’m twelve. I’m not a kid.”

  “Oh. I’m not a kid either.” She tried to sound tough.

  “Well, you look like a kid. Look how short you are.” He, on the other hand, wasn’t one bit short. And his skin wasn’t translucent, but as brown as wet driftwood. His hair wasn’t normal either, for it hung in long tangled ropes and was black rather than gray.

  “Were you talking to that bird?” Isabelle asked.

  “Yep. We talk to each other all the time.”

  “That’s kind of weird.”

  “Not as weird as carrying a barnacle around in a pickle jar.” He offered the mug to her. “You can have some of this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Cinnamon tea. Go on. It’ll help you wake up. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”

  How did he know about her journey? Isabelle’s mouth felt dry. Too bad she hadn’t grabbed a water bottle just before her escape from Mama Lu’s. But maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to drink tea from a stranger. “I don’t want any tea. I mean, no thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” He tucked one of the tangled ropes behind his ear, then took a long sip from the mug. “I don’t really like tea that much. But it’s easy to travel with.”

  The seed started vibrating so fast that it stung Isabelle’s hand. She winced. The bird stared intently, clicking its beak.

  “Your apple seed is ready for planting,” the boy said. He reached into a green satchel and removed a small fabric bag. “If you put it into this light-proof bag it will sleep.”

  Isabelle cautiously accepted the bag and dropped the seed inside. Sure enough, it stopped vibrating. She tied the string and tucked the bag into her slicker’s pocket.

  B
irds can talk and seeds can sleep. How very interesting.

  “How did you know I had an apple seed?”

  “Because I delivered the apples.” The boy took another sip.

  “No you didn’t.” Aha! She had caught him in a lie and liars shouldn’t be trusted. She folded her arms, waiting for his explanation.

  “Okay, well, technically an elephant seal delivered your apple. But I’m the one who told the seal to deliver it.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out some bread. Isabelle’s stomach growled at the sight of the golden loaf. He tore the bread in half. The inside looked soft and fluffy. The bird flew onto the boy’s shoulder and accepted a morsel of crust.

  Isabelle had never tasted fluffy bread. She tried to ignore her moaning stomach. “An elephant seal? Is that what the sea monster is called?”

  “Actually, his name is Neptune.”

  “He has a name?”

  The boy stared, bewildered. “Everyone has a name. Don’t you know that? My name is Sage. The raven’s name is Rolo and the cat’s name is Eve.”

  At the sound of her name, the cat began to purr. She raised her head and winked lazily at Isabelle.

  Sage held out one of the halves, offering it to Isabelle. “It’s not poisoned or anything. I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to collect you. Go on, eat this. You’ll need food in your belly.” He took a bite. “See. It’s good.”

  Her willpower dissolved. She grabbed the bread and sank her teeth into its airy center. She took another bite and another.

  Sage smiled. “Don’t they ever feed you in that boardinghouse?”

  “Not enough,” she replied with a full mouth. A crumb fell to her feet and was quickly pilfered by the raven.

  “I suppose you have a lot of questions,” Sage said, adding a piece of driftwood to the fire. The smoke trailed out the open doorway.

  Isabelle nodded, her stuffed cheeks bulging like two apples, but the questions could wait for just a few more bites, surely. She stuffed, chewed, and swallowed, eating as ravenously as Mama Lu and Gertrude after one of their failed diets.

  Sage drank the last of his tea. “I can’t explain everything because there isn’t much time. Dawn will be here soon and we need to leave on the morning tide. But I’ll tell you what I can.”

  As the fire flickered and the rain fell on the cabin’s roof, Sage spoke quickly. “As I told you, my name is Sage. I traveled down the mountains and across the ocean to find you. All I knew was that ten years ago a baby was left in this awful place but I didn’t know if the baby was a boy or a girl. So I sent Rolo to scout around. He learned that there were only three kids in Runny Cove who were ten years old. So I brought the three apples and Rolo, Eve, and Neptune helped me deliver them to the three kids. Then I waited to see which one of you was the tender.” He stopped, as if he had explained everything.

  Isabelle wiped her mouth, more confused than ever. “Was the what?”

  “The tender. Turned out to be you. You’re a tender.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. One day, you might be the last tender in the whole world.”

  Nothing he had said made any sense. Maybe he was crazy like Mr. Morris, the man who sometimes danced naked in the rain.

  “I’m sorry but you’ve gotten me mixed up with someone else. I’m just Isabelle. I’m a box labeler. I work at the umbrella factory.”

  Sage shook his head, his expression somber. “There’s no mistake. The apple seed is living proof. Only a tender can make the apple seed grow. It’s an odd sort of apple.”

  Isabelle leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a Love Apple,” he said, stroking the cat’s back. “Only someone with a pure heart can eat a Love Apple. That’s why it turned black when Mama Lu and Gertrude tried to eat one and when Mr. Hench tried to eat one. Love Apples know the difference.”

  “They do?” Isabelle leaned farther.

  “Sure. That’s their purpose. But the seed, well, that’s another story entirely. Only a tender can germinate a Love Apple’s seed. It has something to do with the fact that a tender’s hands are extra warm.”

  Isabelle held out her hands and looked at them as if she had never seen them before.

  Sage tucked the mug into his satchel. Then he stood and brushed sand off his cape. “Tenders grow things.”

  Isabelle frowned, lowering her hands. How disappointing. He had the wrong person after all. “Well, that proves that I’m not a tender because I don’t grow things.”

  He frowned. “Of course you grow things. Look at your room and your locker at work. And your body. You’ve got lichen growing in your hair and I bet you can grow mushrooms between your toes. Only a tender can do that.”

  “But those things grow by themselves,” Isabelle explained, scratching a patch of mold at the back of her neck.

  “Stop being so dense,” he said irritably. “You’re a tender.” And then he said the magic word. “Tenders are special.”

  Isabelle had never known the sensation of standing beneath clouds at the very moment when they part and the sun breaks through—but that is how she felt. Her entire body tingled. “I’m special?” she whispered.

  “Tenders are incredibly special. Only a few people get to be tenders. I wish I could be one.” He sighed. “But those are enough questions for now. Dawn’s almost here. We need to go.”

  “Go?” Isabelle wanted to talk more about being special. “Are you going to Nowhere, too?”

  “Nowhere?”

  “That’s where I’m from. But I don’t think I should go with you. I don’t even know you.”

  He folded his arms. “Actually, it’s not called Nowhere. And if you don’t know the correct name then how will you get there? You don’t have any supplies or anything. And which way will you go? The mountains that lie to the north will freeze you to death and the desert that lies to the south will cook you to death.” He smirked. “So? Which way will you go?”

  Isabelle wrung her hands. Which way was north? Which way south? Dreaming about a journey was entirely different from actually taking that journey. Maybe she was the crazy one. No one but Mr. Supreme’s delivery truck drivers had ever left Runny Cove. What had she done? Going back meant work, work, work. No way did she want to spend another day standing beside that clunking conveyor belt. No way did she want to set foot in Mama Lu’s Boardinghouse again. Going back meant possible imprisonment for taking Mama Lu’s pickle jar. Going forward could mean freezing like an ice cube or sizzling like a piece of peat. Not much of a choice. She felt as stuck as a barnacle on a rock.

  As if reading her mind, Sage’s voice softened. “Look, Isabelle. Your only chance out of this town is to come with me.” The cat stretched and rubbed against Sage’s leg. “I’m here to take you to your real home, to the place you came from. You have family there, waiting to meet you. But I can’t force you to go. You have to decide on your own.”

  “Family?” Isabelle swallowed hard. Could it be true? “Waiting for me?”

  Someone yelled in the distance.

  Sage ran to the doorway. “Lanterns,” he said. Isabelle followed and peered around his arm. Two yellow lights bobbed near the factory. “They’re looking for you along the road. They probably won’t check the beach right away. That will give us enough time.” He turned to her. “So? What’s your decision?”

  Now was the time to find out if what she had always believed was true—that she had not been left on that doorstep because she was an unwanted piece of garbage. Finding Nowhere was what she craved with all her heart. Her grandmother’s spirit had left for a better place and Isabelle was ready to leave too.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Then we’d better hurry.” He slung his satchel over his back and headed outside. The cat and raven followed.

  “How will we get there?” Isabelle called after him. “Which way will we go?”

  “We’ll go by sea.”

  The first rays of morning filtered through the clouds, casting the beach in
pale light. The rain had turned to mist, gently coating Isabelle’s face as she watched Sage disappear around the rocky bluff. She clutched the pickle jar and ran after him.

  “By sea? But where’s your boat?” she asked.

  Sage pointed to an enormous lump in the sand. “We travel by elephant seal.”

  The elephant seal lay in the sand, snoring—by far the loudest snoring Isabelle had ever heard, even louder than Mama Lu when she’d chugged too much cheese sauce.

  “NEPTUNE! THE TIDE IS READY!” Sage shouted. The seal snorted but did not open his eyes. Sage reached into his satchel and pulled out a bright green shirt and matching pants. “Put these on,” he told Isabelle.

  Isabelle leaned the aquarium against a log. The clothing felt oddly slick and almost slipped from her grasp. “What are these made of?”

  “Kelp. They’re waterproof. Wear nothing underneath.”

  “Nothing? Not even… ?” She stopped, hoping to avoid the word “underpants.”

  “Nothing. The wetsuit must form a protective barrier against your skin.” He removed his robe. “See, I’m wearing the same thing.” He didn’t look so mysterious without the robe. The green pants gripped his long skinny legs. They looked like frog legs. “Go on. Hurry up,” he said, stuffing his robe into the satchel.

  Isabelle wasn’t about to change in front of a stranger—especially not one who happened to be a boy. With no sign of any lanterns approaching, she ran back to the cabin, where she stripped off her rain slicker and flannel shirt. The fire had burned down to embers, its warmth escaping on the morning breeze. Shivering, Isabelle held up the kelp shirt. It seemed way too small and she couldn’t find any buttons or zippers. The hood also looked small, as did the glove on the end of each sleeve. But as she pulled it over her head the weird rubbery fabric stretched to fit perfectly, as if the shirt had been made just for her.

  She slid off her boots, socks, canvas pants, and underpants and stepped into the frog pants. They stretched easily. Each leg ended in a bootie that perfectly conformed to her bare feet. She took a few strides around the cabin. The suit was so comfortable that she felt naked. She collected her clothing and ran back to Sage.