Fortune's Magic Farm

by Suzanne Selfors

  But that evening, Isabelle wasn’t thinking about slugs. I found an apple, I found an apple, I found an apple, she sang in her head.

  Mama Lu tossed a basket of rock-hard biscuits onto the table, then went to powder her nose. Isabelle pulled the basket close, took one of the biscuits, and quickly warmed it between her palms. No one understood why, but Isabelle’s hands had always been warmer than everyone else’s hands. She never needed mittens, a luxury that few could afford. In winter, when the rain turned to hail and the front doorknob froze, she simply gripped the knob until it thawed. When her grandmother’s arthritic knee acted up, she wrapped her hands around the knee until the muscle relaxed. But biscuit-warming could only be done in Mama Lu’s absence, so Isabelle hurriedly warmed another and another, passing them down the table.

  Mama Lu returned, her nose all powdery, and climbed onto her observation chair—a tall chair with ladders on each side that sat at the head of the kitchen table. The mysterious words LIFEGUARD ON DUTY had been painted on the back a long time ago. The chair creaked as Mama Lu heaved her large thighs up each rung, pausing halfway to catch her breath. At the top, she adjusted her blue bathrobe, then sat down with a loud “hmphhh.”

  From her perch, Mama Lu kept an eye on her tenants in case one of them tried to steal something. Bert had told Isabelle that sitting higher than everyone else made Mama Lu feel important. Being the only person in Runny Cove found on a doorstep made Isabelle feel important.

  “Which one of ya stupid dunderheads is going to bring me my cheese?” Mama Lu asked, her two chins jiggling. “Get a move on. I’m starvin’ to death.”

  Isabelle hoped it wasn’t her turn, because if she had to climb that ladder, the apple might slip out from under her waistband. But to her relief, Mrs. Wormbottom climbed the ladder and handed up a platter that held slices of yellow and white cheese, some with holes, some with crusty rinds, and some with specks of blue mold. As Mrs. Wormbottom returned to her bland soup, Mama Lu began feasting.

  “Moos gmph sumpin interumbling to smph?” Mama Lu asked with a mouth full of cheese. Even though they couldn’t understand the words, everyone at the table knew the question because every night Mama Lu asked, “Who’s got something interesting to say?” It was a dreaded question. Having something interesting to say was as rare in Runny Cove as an apple. For most of the tenants, each day yielded the exact same events so the days blended together, forming one gigantic blob of uninteresting. Since Isabelle often managed to find bits of interesting, it usually fell upon her shoulders to answer the dreaded question.

  But on this night she held her tongue. No way was she going to tell Mama Lu about the apple.

  “Rain came down extra hard today,” Mr. Wormbottom said. “Sprang a leak in my window.”

  Mama Lu scowled and pointed a floppy slice of white cheese at him. “Ya wouldn’t be complaining about yer accommodations, would ya?”

  Mrs. Wormbottom gulped. “No, he’s not complaining. Not complaining one bit.”

  “I’m just making conversation,” Mr. Wormbottom said. “Interesting conversation.”

  “Pathetic conversation, that’s what yer making. I don’t want to hear no more about the rain. In fact, anyone who talks about the rain ever again will lose spoon privileges,” she snarled. “One of ya morons better come up with something interesting.”

  All eyes turned toward Isabelle.

  She sank low on the bench, burying her nose in her soup bowl. No way.

  “Don’t anyone got anything to say? Yer the boringest tenants in the whole world. Bunch of dimwits, the whole lot of ya.”

  “Got a rock stuck in the heel of my boot on the way home,” Mr. Limewig said, widening his eyes hopefully.

  “Rock?” Mama Lu cried. “What’s interesting about a rock?”

  “Found a mushroom growing under my bed,” Mrs. Limewig said.

  Like slugs, mushrooms cropped up all over Runny Cove—along the road, in ditches, under kitchen sinks. But only Isabelle grew them between her toes and no one knew why. And while most everyone in Runny Cove had to deal with itchy mold patches, Isabelle grew more mold patches than anyone else. She had a tendency to grow lichen on her scalp, as well.

  “Mushroom? There’s nothing interesting about a mushroom.” Mama Lu’s face turned red. “What about you?” She pointed at Isabelle. “Ya always got something to say. Ya think yer so special just because ya got found on a doorstep and the rest of us didn’t.” She shoved two cubes of orange cheese into her mouth. “My yus ya mate?”

  Isabelle tried to disappear behind Bert’s damp sleeve.

  Mama Lu swallowed. “I said, why was ya late? Was ya playing in the mud again? Making stupid muddy things? Was ya poking around like yer always doing, looking here, looking there? Huh? Where was ya?”

  The tenants stopped slurping. Only drumming rain and congested breathing could be heard. Isabelle strained to find a good answer. Say the wrong thing and Mama Lu could withhold tea or toilet paper privileges, or put Isabelle on all-night slug patrol. “I went to the beach,” Isabelle replied.

  “What?” Mama Lu leaned forward. The chair creaked and swayed. “What did ya say?” Boris gently patted Isabelle’s arm, encouraging her to continue.

  “I said I went to the beach. The beach is very interesting. Did you know that there are bugs that hop in the sand?”

  Mama Lu scowled. “Why would anyone go to the beach? Only a brainless half-wit would go to the beach. There’s nothing at the beach.” She raised her bushy eyebrows. “Did ya find something at the beach?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “No. Not a thing. Nothing at all. Just bugs in the sand.”

  “Them bugs better stay in the sand. I don’t want no bugs in this house.” Mama Lu picked a bit of cheese rind from her teeth, then slammed her fist on the armrest. “Is it too much to ask fer a little conversation? I slave away all day fer the lot of ya and all I ask is fer a little bit of interesting conversation.”

  Isabelle couldn’t imagine Mama Lu slaving away. In fact, she had never seen her do any work besides throwing cabbage into a pot and boiling it.

  “I demand that ya tell me something interesting. Something I’ve never heard before. If ya don’t, then there’ll be no food fer yer precious granny tonight.”

  Once again, all eyes turned Isabelle’s way. Her grandmother couldn’t go without food because she was sick and weak. Isabelle would have to reveal her secret. She placed her hands over the lump in her shirt. “I… I…”

  Just then, the front door burst open.

  Gertrude Bolt, owner of Gertrude’s Boardinghouse, stumbled into the kitchen, waving her hands as if they were on fire. She hadn’t bothered to put on a slicker, so her green bathrobe sparkled with droplets. “Mama Lu, Mama Lu,” she shrieked. “Wait ’til you hear, wait ’til you hear.”

  Relieved, Isabelle released a big breath. Hopefully, Gertrude’s interruption would save her from having to reveal her secret.

  The observation chair creaked as Mama Lu leaned over its armrest. “Did ya check fer slugs? I ain’t listening ’til ya check fer slugs.”

  Gertrude shook her bathrobe. “No slugs.”

  “Then what is it, Gertie?” Mama Lu wrung her hands excitedly. “It must be something good to get ya out at this late hour. Is it something good?”

  “They’re thieves. That’s what they are. Thieves.”

  “Thieves?” Mama Lu smiled, her upper lip stretching across her crooked teeth. She and Gertrude had built a friendship around the fact that they loved to say bad things about other people. “Now that sounds interesting.”

  It does sound interesting, Isabelle thought.

  “I’m coming right down.” The tenants averted their eyes as Mama Lu began her descent. No one wanted to see her enormous striped bloomers. When she reached the floor, the chair sighed with relief. “So, Gertie? Who is these thieves?”

  Gertrude frowned at the sickly tenants. “Do we have to talk in front of them? Let’s sit in your parlor.”

 
Mama Lu led Gertrude into the parlor, where a weak fire burned. The damp peat sputtered and sizzled. She and Gertrude sat on the only couch while the tenants tried their best to stifle their coughs so they could eavesdrop. Fortunately, both of the landladies spoke in obnoxiously loud voices.

  Gertrude cleared her throat. “You know my young tenant, that rotten little girl named Gwen?”

  Isabelle sat up straight, pursing her lips angrily. How dare she call Gwen, her best friend, rotten? A person could call Gwen sad, on account of her being an orphan, and could even call her gloomy, on account of her having to work in a factory. But rotten was totally unfair.

  “Yes, I know the one. Always has that snotty nose. What has she done? Has she done something wicked?”

  “She brought home an apple,” Gertrude said. “A red apple.”

  Isabelle nearly knocked her soup bowl over. She wrapped her arms around her precious lump. How could this be?

  “An apple?” Mama Lu asked. “How could she afford such a thing?”

  “She said it fell from the sky.”

  “Say what?”

  Gertrude raised her voice. “She said it fell from the sky. Said a black bird dropped it on her head. I think she’s lying. That’s what I think.”

  Mama Lu snorted. “ ’Course she’s lying. A bird can’t carry no apple. She stole it. No doubt about it. Where’s the apple now?”

  “I took it,” Gertrude said proudly. “Put it in my icebox. If it’s stolen property, the authorities should be told.” The authorities boiled down to one person—Mr. Earl Hench, the umbrella factory’s security guard and Gertrude’s boyfriend.

  Boris leaned close to Isabelle. “Do you think Gwen stole the apple?” he asked quietly.

  Isabelle shook her head. “No way.” If a sea monster could carry an apple, then so could a bird. But how strange that after a lifetime without apples, she and Gwen had each gotten one on the same day.

  The tenants tilted their heads as the parlor conversation continued.

  “She’s a thief. They’re all thieves. Why do ya think I sit in that chair?” Mama Lu asked Gertrude. “So I can keep an eye on my tenants. Which reminds me…” She stomped back into the kitchen and quickly counted the soupspoons. “Don’t think fer one minute that just because I’m in the parlor ya numb-headed fools can steal from me.”

  The tenants, whose heads were slightly numb from the cold, but who weren’t thieves or fools, didn’t defend themselves. It would only result in double dishwashing duty or loss of towel privileges. They put up with the abuse because they couldn’t afford to go anywhere else.

  “Mama Lu,” Gertrude called from the couch. “There’s more, I tell you. Much more.”

  “More?” Mama Lu waddled back to the parlor. “Do tell, Gertie.”

  “Do you know that boy who lives with his father on Dripping Alley? The ugly boy with the birthmark on his cheek? He came home with an apple too. I know because my boyfriend, Earl Hench, saw him carrying it and confiscated it on account of it was stolen.”

  Isabelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Leonard was the only boy in Runny Cove with a birthmark on his cheek. He sat at lunch break with Gwen and Isabelle. Being the only ten-year-olds in the factory, they tended to stick together. “He said that he was walking home when he saw an orange cat sleeping in the alley. When he tried to catch the cat it ran off but guess what it had been sleeping on?”

  The tenants looked at one another and silently mouthed, an apple.

  “Well? Can you guess?” Gertrude asked.

  “Course I can guess. I’m not stupid.” Mama Lu cleared her throat. “But… but ya go ahead and tell me anyway.”

  “He told Earl Hench, my boyfriend, that the cat had been sleeping on the apple. I think it’s another lie.”

  “ ’Course it’s a lie. There ain’t no cats in Runny Cove, haven’t been since I was a girl.”

  “She’s right,” Mr. Wormbottom whispered. “No cats since I was a boy.”

  Isabelle had never seen a cat, but she knew what they looked like because her grandmother had described them. Three apples to three friends on the same day. Nothing this exciting had happened in Runny Cove since Mr. Philbert had gotten lost in the fog. Talk about interesting.

  “I think they’re conspiring,” Gertrude stated. “Starting up a ring of thieves, that’s what I think. First it’s apples, then it’s our jewelry, then it’s your cheese.”

  “My cheese?”

  Isabelle wanted to shout out, You’re wrong! But such a statement would result in some kind of terrible punishment. Who cared what Gertrude Bolt and Mama Lu thought, anyway? Isabelle knew that her friends weren’t thieves. She could hardly wait to see them at the factory tomorrow so they could share their stories. How slowly the night would pass.

  Gertrude had more to say. “But when my boyfriend, Earl Hench, tried to take a bite of the apple, it turned all black and powdery like fireplace ashes. But the one I took from Gwen is good, all shiny and red.”

  “You know, Gertie,” Mama Lu said greedily, “why don’t ya go and get it and we’ll bake it here. Nothing better than a baked apple, all golden and juicy.”

  Isabelle clenched her fists. That wasn’t fair. Gwen should get to eat the apple. The landladies had more food than they needed. She’d definitely save some of her apple for her friends and give it to them at the factory tomorrow.

  “Finish yer dinners!” Mama Lu hollered, sticking her dyed head back into the kitchen. No tenant was allowed to linger at the table after dinner or mingle in the parlor, so they wandered off to their rooms.

  Isabelle was eager to get upstairs. She took a tray from the counter, then ladled the last bit of soup into a bowl and placed it onto the tray. She grabbed the last roll and spoon and placed them onto the tray as well. The front door creaked open. “Hurry back with yer apple,” Mama Lu called. The front door closed. Isabelle moved quickly, filling a jug with tap water. After making certain that the apple was secure under her waistband, she picked up the tray and headed toward the stairs, but found Mama Lu blocking her path.

  “Stop right there, Miss I’m So Special. What do ya know about them apples?” Her breath was as sharp as her cheddar dinner.

  A cough tickled Isabelle’s chest but she held it back. One cough and the apple might drop. Holding the tray over her hidden treasure, she smiled sweetly. “I don’t know anything.”

  “But they’re yer friends, ain’t they?” Mama Lu adjusted her bathrobe’s belt. “I seen ya walking with that runny-nosed girl every morning. And I seen ya talking to that ugly-faced boy. What do ya know? Ya been stealing apples too?”

  “No.” The apple slipped a bit. Isabelle pushed out her tummy to trap it against the waistband. But, unlike Mama Lu, Isabelle’s tummy was as flat as a factory conveyor belt. The apple slipped again. If it rolled down her pant leg she’d be in big trouble. She tried to step around her landlady.

  “Not so fast. What was ya doing with a bottle of dirty water in yer slicker?” Mama Lu asked, holding up Isabelle’s bottle.

  Isabelle couldn’t tell her the real reason she had collected the seawater, the reason she had been collecting it each week for the past few months. She’d get punished if Mama Lu knew what the water was for. So she lied. “It’s salty. I keep it in my room to pour on slugs if they try to get in through the window.”

  “Oh.” Mama Lu scowled, her eyebrows knotting into a single bushy clump.

  The hidden apple slipped a bit more. “Please, Mama Lu. My grandma needs her supper.”

  Mama Lu plunked the bottle of water onto the tray. “Yer granny had better get out of that bed soon. This ain’t no hospital, ya know. She’s lazy, that’s what she is.”

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes and glared at Mama Lu. “She’s sick, not lazy. And I pay the rent, don’t I?” She immediately regretted her bitter tone, but Mama Lu had made her so mad she wanted to dump the seawater all over the landlady’s swollen head.

  “Ya’d better keep paying if ya want to keep that roo
m.”

  Gertrude rushed back into the house, cradling Gwen’s apple as if it were a precious infant. Mama Lu pushed Isabelle aside. As the landladies greedily smacked their lips and headed into the kitchen, Isabelle started up the stairs that led to the second floor. But halfway up she couldn’t hold back the cough any longer. With the expelled breath, the apple rolled down her pant leg and landed at her feet. Thud. She grimaced, expecting Mama Lu to holler, “It’s mine!”

  Fortunately, the landladies were arguing over cooking temperature so they didn’t hear the thud. What luck! Isabelle scooped up the apple and made her escape.

  Isabelle loved the fourth-floor bedroom that she shared with Grandma Maxine. Certainly the room had a few problems. The old shake roof hadn’t been patched since Papa Lu’s death five years ago and the walls had been built without insulation. The climb up the three flights was steep, requiring strong legs. And the climb back down to the second-floor bathroom could be treacherous, especially if Isabelle or her grandmother needed to use the bathroom during the night.

  But Isabelle and her grandmother had endured all of those hardships because the uppermost room in Mama Lu’s Boardinghouse came with an extra special bonus feature—for as long as Isabelle could remember, Mama Lu hadn’t been able to heave herself all the way to the fourth floor. On three occasions she had almost made it. “I’m having a heart attack,” she had cried, sweat pouring from her as if she had sprung leaks. “Lord have mercy, my heart can’t take it.” It seemed the only climbing she could manage was the ladder to her observation chair. Much to Isabelle and Grandma Maxine’s delight, the fourth floor remained Mama Lu–free.