Fortune's Magic Farm (23 page)

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.

“Looking for a husband? Why?” Grandma Maxine asked. “Did I lose one?”

“A sense of humor, too.” Walnut clapped his hands as if he had just opened a birthday present.

“And this is Sage,” Isabelle said. “Oh, that’s right. You two have already met.”

“You look well,” Sage said.

But Grandma Maxine scowled at him. “You promised to take her away. Why did you bring her back? There’s nothing for her here.”

“It was my idea to come back,” Isabelle said. “I want to help. We’ve all come to help.”

“Help?” Grandma Maxine shook her head. “Runny Cove is lost, Isabelle. The best thing you can do is to save yourself.”

BAROOO!

Grandma Maxine looked nervously up the road. “That’s the five-minute warning. I’ll get in trouble if I’m late.”

“But Grandma, we brought cherries to cure everyone.”

She gasped. “You mean like the cherry I ate?”

“Yes.” Isabelle opened the chest. Raindrops glided down glossy cherry skins. “Will you help me pass them out?”

“That’s why you came back? To help everyone feel better?”

“And to see you.”

Grandma Maxine pulled Isabelle into another rib-cracking hug. “You’re an angel, Isabelle. Of course I’ll help you pass them out. That nasty Mr. Supreme can give me quadruple shifts for being late—I don’t care. I’m going to help my granddaughter!”

The last of the workers marched past. Isabelle held out a cherry to one of the women. “Eat this,” she insisted. “It will make your cough go away.”

“I don’t have time,” the woman said hoarsely. “I won’t get paid if I’m late.”

Walnut, Nesbitt, Sage, and Grandma Maxine tried to convince workers to stop and eat a cherry, but not a single worker accepted the offer. Their eyes focused on one thing only—the factory that loomed at the top of the gravel road.

Isabelle wound frantically up the road, searching for someone who would trust her. Finally, she spotted Gwen. There was no time for a reunion. No time for explanations. “Eat one of these.”

“Isabelle?” Gwen mumbled, wiping her runny nose. She barely opened her eyes. “I’m so tired. You’re in trouble for missing so much work.”

“Please eat this, Gwen. It will make you feel better.”

“I don’t have time. I have to work triple shifts today,” she said, slopping through a pothole. She kept marching, just like the others.

“Leonard,” Isabelle called out, running to her friend. But he didn’t even recognize her voice.

“Got… to… get… to… work.”

“They won’t listen to me,” Isabelle said frantically. “They only care about getting to work.”

Walnut put an arm around Isabelle’s shoulders. “Don’t despair. I’m sure there’s a way to get them to pay attention.”

“Maybe we can try again tonight, when they leave the factory,” Sage suggested.

“But then they’ll be in a bigger hurry to get home to their suppers,” Grandma Maxine said.

“They won’t pay attention, not as long as that factory sits up there,” Isabelle cried. “I hate that stupid factory. I wish it would just disappear!”

“That can be arranged.” Walnut pulled a seed packet from his jacket pocket and smiled mischievously.

T
he instant the seeds fell into Walnut’s palm,
they sprouted. “Seems to me that they can’t be late if there’s no work to be late for,” he said, green shoots flowing down his arm.

“Camouflage Creeper seeds. Great idea,” Sage said.

“Hmmm.” Nesbitt stroked his pointy chin. “It certainly would be a tasty bit of revenge if we made Mr. Supreme’s factory disappear.”

Isabelle smiled, imagining Mr. Supreme driving up in his big black roadster to find his factory missing. He’d holler, no doubt about it. He’d throw a fit, but all the while his factory would be right where he had left it. Wouldn’t that be a fun sight to see? Even better than the time Mama Lu had hollered all morning about her missing salt canister, and it turned out she’d been sitting on it the entire time!

“You’re talking crazy,” Grandma Maxine said. “In the first place, no one can make an entire factory disappear and in the second place, what would the workers do? We need that factory to survive. It’s the only way for us to earn a living.”

“Oh no, Grandma. There are other ways. Believe me.”

While traveling across the sea, Isabelle and her companions had devised a plan for how the workers of Runny Cove could earn a living without the umbrella factory. Though using Camouflage Creepers hadn’t been part of the original
plan, it occurred to Isabelle that everything would be easier if the factory disappeared.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

“Rolo,” Walnut called. The raven flew from the clouds, scooped the Camoflauge Creepers into his beak, then flew toward the factory.

Mr. Hench stood in the factory’s doorway. “Hey!” he shouted through cupped hands. The workers had only marched two-thirds of the way up the road. “Get up here, you lazy lot of losers!”

Rolo dive-bombed Mr. Hench’s head, then flew around the factory dropping the wriggling creepers. The effect was immediate. The vines took root in the soggy ground and climbed the cement building, grabbing hold of windowsills and fissures. Sprouting branches and leaves, the vines climbed and covered until no doors, windows, or pipes could be seen. Up they rose, reaching the roof, forcing their way down the chimney and extinguishing its stinky plume. In only a few moments the towering cement fortress had been transformed into a solitary mountain. Or so it appeared.

The workers stopped in their tracks. They stared. They shook their heads. They rubbed their eyes. Rain pelted their disbelieving faces.

“Hey. Get a move on.” Mr. Hench hadn’t yet noticed the mountain. He hurried down the road carrying one of the new umbrellas—azure blue with white polka dots. “Whatcha all standing around for? Get up there and get to work or Mr. Supreme will fire the whole lot of ya.”