Fortune's Magic Farm (15 page)

Still, Isabelle couldn’t find the words. “It’s so… It’s so…”

“Beautiful?” Walnut asked.

“More than that.”

“Splendiferous?”

“Much, much more.”

“Hmmm.” Walnut removed his knit hat and scratched his bald spot. “Radiant? Dazzling? Breathtakingly stupendous?”

“No. It’s…
delicious.
”

And so it was, for Isabelle’s puckered skin drank up the sun’s rays like a dried-out sea sponge drinks salt water. She rolled up the kelp suit’s sleeves and held out her arms. So this was what it felt like to be warm all over—like an enormous hug. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, so she took off the sunglasses. Something had changed and she didn’t seem to need them any longer.

Walnut pulled his glasses from his pocket and perched them on his nose. “How interesting,” he whispered, gazing through the thick lenses. “My oh my. What an unexpected change. Your eyes, my dear. They’ve turned green.”

“My eyes?”

Walnut stepped closer. “And your skin. Take a look.”

Isabelle inspected her arm. The skin that had always been as puckered as a dried-up slug and as pale as moonlight, looked smooth and slightly pink. Her other arm had transformed in the same way and the mold patches had disappeared. “You look lovely. Sage, doesn’t she look lovely?”

Sage stared from behind his tangled hair. Isabelle felt certain he’d tell her she was still as ugly as ever. But he just stared.

“Sage? Isn’t she lovely?”

Sage looked down at his feet. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you know. Just look at her. Why, she’s radiant.”

Sage cringed. “She looks… better, I guess.” He turned away. “What do I care what she looks like, anyway?” He and the oxen started down the path, with Eve the cat leading the way. Rocky the marmot followed, scurrying here and there, stopping to smell ox poop and everything else she encountered.

“Come,” Walnut said, tipping his hat. “There’s so much to show you.”

The path continued its steep decline, then leveled at the edge of the orchard. Sage unhooked the oxen. As they lumbered off, he shot Isabelle another puzzled look.
He can barely stand to look at me,
she thought.
I’m the ugliest girl he’s ever seen.

“I’m starving. I need some breakfast,” Sage said. Abandoning the caravan, he ran off through the trees. Eve the cat
hissed at the marmot, then followed Sage, bounding down the orchard path with her tail perched regally in the air.

“Don’t mind him,” Walnut said, taking Isabelle’s hand. “We haven’t had a girl around this farm in a very long time. Just been us three boys. Sage doesn’t quite know how to act around girls. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so rude.”

“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 glasses 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.”

H
er 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.