Fortune's Magic Farm (7 page)

“We will work,” the workers called out.

Tears floated at the edges of Isabelle’s eyes. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for the extra hours.” She stepped back into line. Gwen reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Now that that bit of unpleasantry has passed, I’m pleased to announce that the new colorful dyes have already arrived,” Mr. Supreme said. “I’m going to make a fortune on these new umbrellas, so get to work, everyone.”

The assistants collected the colorful umbrellas as the workers shuffled off to their stations. Isabelle waved a sad good-bye to Leonard and Gwen and headed to the labeling room on the main floor. Her tears soon cleared but the seed continued to drive her mad. As soon as she got to her station, she reached into her sock and pulled it out. It bounced inside her cupped hand like a sand flea. Where could she put it?

The conveyor belt clunked and began its slow roll. A box appeared, winding toward Isabelle’s station. She needed both hands to stick the labels. Each label read:
MAGNIFICENTLY SUPREME UMBRELLAS—SUPREME RAIN COVERS FOR THOSE WITH SUPREME TASTE.

The box rolled closer. Isabelle didn’t want to lose the strange seed. It seemed as if her sock would be the safest place. She’d simply have to endure the tickling. She was about to tuck it in when she noticed a little white root sticking out one end. It had sprouted. But that was not all.

It was humming happily between her warm palms.

Once again, an eerie sensation tickled Isabelle’s neck. She knew, even before she turned to make certain, that the hooded stranger was peering at her through the factory window.

T
he factory horn blew
at four hours past the usual quitting time. The extra work had cut into the lunch break so there had been no opportunity for Isabelle to talk to her friends. But while the day had moved as slowly as an overfed slug, Isabelle’s thoughts had bounced along with the seed’s rhythm.

Do not forget that Isabelle’s head was already full of unanswered questions like
Where did I come from?
and
Why am I different?
Now a mess of new questions shoved their way in, screaming,
Answer me! Answer me!
Questions like,
Why did the stranger disappear again? Why was he staring at me? Why did that sea monster have such an odd nose? Was Grandma Maxine really feeling better? Why would a bird drop an apple onto someone’s head? Do most apple seeds jump and hum?
Just to mention a few.

It was getting crowded in Isabelle’s head.

Workers zipped up their slickers, tied their hoods, and headed into the gloomy night. Flickering village lights guided them home. “Hey, Isabelle,” Leonard called out, waving. But his parents grabbed his arms.

“Stay away from her,” his dad said. “She almost got everyone fired.” They pulled him into the crowd.

Gwen took Isabelle’s hand. “Don’t worry. They won’t be mad at you tomorrow. Remember the shipping incident. They forgave you after a few days.”

The “shipping incident” had taken place the prior year,
long before Grandma Maxine had become ill. The friends had argued over who should go but in the end Leonard was chosen because he was shorter than Gwen and Isabelle, and thus, could better fit into a box. After shutting and taping the box, Isabelle had written
TO NOWHERE
on the shipping label. Once he had arrived, Leonard was supposed to take a good look around and then ship himself back.

But the box never made it past Mr. Supreme’s assistants on account of the air holes and Leonard’s snickering.

The girls started down the muddy road. Isabelle’s feet ached worse than ever. “We’ve got to hurry,” she said to Gwen. “My grandma needs her dinner.”

“I still can’t believe you actually talked to Mr. Supreme.”

“I had to. Please, can’t you walk faster?” Isabelle asked.

Gwen stopped. “I’m too tired. My legs are killing me. You go on.” She gave Isabelle a weak hug. “See ya in the morning.”

“See ya.”

Isabelle took off at a full run. She was the first of Mama Lu’s tenants to arrive home. She didn’t have to slam her body against the stubborn front door because it stood wide open—which was highly unusual. Rain fell into the entryway. The kitchen sat quiet. No cabbage soup bubbled. No one hollered, “Did ya check fer slugs?”

Something is wrong.

A series of thumps and bumps sounded above.

Isabelle took the stairs, racing up one flight, then the next. She didn’t even slow down for the super steep third flight. Her bedroom door also stood wide open. Shredded
clumps of moss lay in the hallway. Something flew out of the bedroom and landed with a splat against the wall.

“SLUUUUUG!”

Isabelle plugged her ears as the screech repeated.

“SLUUUUUG!”

Mama Lu stomped out of the room on the fourth floor and stood, blocking the entry. Her fuzzy bathrobe hung open; her striped long johns clung to ripples of cheese-fed fat. Her face was all scrunched up like a wadded towel. In one hand she held the slug garden, in the other her canister of salt. “SLUUUUUG!” she wailed as she poured salt over the garden. The poor creatures had no chance of escape.

“No!” Isabelle cried.

“YOU!” Mama Lu tossed the garden aside, then stomped back into the bedroom. Isabelle knelt beside the cracker box, hoping to find survivors, but Mama Lu reappeared in the doorway with the potato bug palace.

“Please don’t hurt them,” Isabelle begged.

Mama Lu scrunched her face even tighter. It turned bright red. “Ya did this. Ya brought these vermin into my house. Who do ya think ya are? This is
my
home.” She overturned the milk carton. The bugs fell onto the floor and immediately curled into balls. Mama Lu raised her slipper.

“Oh no. Please, no.”

Mama Lu stomped them flat. “Vermin. Nasty vermin.”

Isabelle trembled from head to foot. She wanted to fling herself at Mama Lu. She wanted to push the horrid woman
down the stairs. But she and her grandmother had nowhere else to go.

“Ya want these bugs to crawl into my ear while I sleep? Ya want me to slip on slug slime?”

YES!
Isabelle wanted to scream. She grabbed a twig, onto which a few bugs clung. “Please stop. I’ll put them back outside. Just stop hurting them.”

“And what about them plants? What do ya think likes to live on plants? Slugs and bugs, that’s what. If God had intended plants to be inside, He wouldn’t have put them outside. Yer in big trouble.” She grabbed the twig and stomped it flat.

Poor little bugs.

Grandma Maxine would be worried, what with all the hollering and stomping. Isabelle tried to squeeze past her evil landlady but Mama Lu grabbed her by the hood. “I said, yer in big trouble.”

“Let me go.” Isabelle squirmed but the landlady’s grip held fast.

Boris and Bert appeared at the top of the stairs, with the Wormbottoms and Limewigs right behind. “Is something wrong?” Boris asked timidly.

“She’s what’s wrong,” Mama Lu said. “Always has been something wrong with this girl.”

“Let me go,” Isabelle cried, flailing and swinging her arms. “I want to see my grandma.”

“Ain’t no use seeing her.” Mama Lu let go of the hood. “ ’Cause she’s dead. Ya hear me? Dead.”

E
very once in a while
time decides to stand still. And that is what it did as Isabelle took in those dreadful words. Her heart stopped mid-beat; her breath froze. Only the moment existed—the moment between the old life that she had known and the new life that she didn’t want to know. If only she could stay in that moment forever and never face the truth… but the gasps of the other tenants pulled her into reality. Unbearable reality.

Isabelle rushed into the bedroom. Grandma Maxine’s bed lay empty; her tattered quilt had fallen to the floor. The bed sheet still held the outline of her grandmother’s body. “Where is she?” Isabelle cried.

Mama Lu followed her into the bedroom, as did the tenants. “I told ya, she’s dead.” Her tone held no sympathy, as if Grandma Maxine were as insignificant as a dead bug. “And it was about time she died, doing no work, getting her meals served to her. This ain’t no hospital. She was a deadbeat, that’s what she was.”

The room tilted. Isabelle felt woozy. Bert rushed forward and took her arm. “Poor little Isabelle,” he cooed.

Boris took the other arm. “We’re so sorry, Isabelle.”

“Whatcha sorry fer?” Mama Lu bellowed.

Isabelle couldn’t pull her gaze from the sheet. “But… where is she?”

“Undertaker took her.” Mama Lu tore a vine from the
wall, exposing a cracked wallboard. A cold breeze immediately seeped through. “It’s gonna cost a lot of money to fix this room.” She pointed a finger in Isabelle’s face. “And yer paying every cent. Ya hear me?” Mama Lu cared more about a room than about the fact that one of her tenants had just died!

Isabelle threw herself across her grandmother’s bed, trying to hide her tears.

“We’ll help her pay,” Boris said.

“Us too,” said the Wormbottoms.

“No one pays but her,” Mama Lu snarled. “She’s the one who done this. Bringing slugs and plants into my house ’cause she thinks she’s so special. Well, I got news fer ya. Ya ain’t special. Ya was thrown away, just like garbage.” With a loud grunt, she tore another vine. “She and her granny was always my worst tenants. Always late on their rent. Always eating more food than they needed. But me, being kind-hearted, allowed them to stay.”

Lies, lies, LIES!

Isabelle pushed herself off the bed. “Get out!” she cried. Uncontrollable rage pounded in her head. “This is my room. Get out of here. Leave me alone!”

“How dare ya yell at me.”

“She’s dead and you don’t even care.” Isabelle balled up her fists, ready to wallop Mama Lu if she kept saying mean things. “She’s dead and you don’t…” Isabelle hesitated.

At that moment, her mind cleared and she realized that, like so many recent events, this one didn’t make sense.
Something wasn’t right. She pointed a finger in Mama Lu’s face. “How did you know she was dead?” she asked. “You never come up to the fourth floor and we were at the factory. How did you know?”

Mama Lu tied her bathrobe around her enormous middle. “The undertaker told me, dimwit. He knocked on the door and told me.”

“But how did the undertaker know? Who would have called him?”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Mama Lu kicked at a clump of moss. “And why would I care? He said she was dead and he took her away. Now don’t try to change the subject. Yer not getting any meals until this entire room is scrubbed clean.”

“But how… ?”

“Shut yer trap. She’s dead, ya hear? And I’ve come to collect her belongings.”

So there it was, the only reason why Mama Lu would heave herself up three flights of stairs—greed, pure and simple. The landlady yanked open Grandma Maxine’s bedside drawer, which held bits and pieces of her life—a pair of knitting needles, some buttons, a chipped teacup, a pair of socks, to name just a few.

“Those belong to me,” Isabelle said as Mama Lu stuffed the bits and pieces into her bathrobe pockets.

“This stuff is mine ’cause it’s in my house. It don’t belong to you ’cause she weren’t yer
real,
blood-born granny. But don’t think fer a minute that this will pay off yer debt.
You’ll be workin’ fer months to pay fer all the damage done to this room.”

Tears welled in Isabelle’s eyes. How could she work more?

Boris stepped forward. “I got an extra dollar.”

“I got an extra dollar, too,” said Mr. Limewig.

“Shut yer traps, all of ya. This ain’t none of yer business. Go on, get out of here.” She shoved the tenants into the hallway and down the stairs. Then she returned for Isabelle. “I’ve been far too nice to ya, lettin’ ya sleep in this luxurious room. Ya’ll sleep on the porch from now on.”

Isabelle turned away. She was not going to let the landlady see her tears.
I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. Now I’m an orphan, like Gwen.

The seed, which had been quietly resting inside Isabelle’s sock, chose that moment to start humming like a trapped housefly.

“Is ya singing again?” Mama Lu asked. She stared at Isabelle’s rubber boot. “What ya got in there?”