Fortune's Magic Farm by Suzanne Selfors (i read book .TXT) 📗

Mama Lu’s Boardinghouse had a back door, used only by Boris and Bert because it led directly to their basement room. Isabelle could hide in their room until Mama Lu went to sleep. She’d have to walk around to the back of the house in the dark, but she’d manage. The front door couldn’t be seen from the parlor, so she’d be able to slip out. Isabelle reached for the knob and was about to yank it open when she noticed two eyes staring at her through the window.

“Ahhh!” she cried—not scared, just startled.

A stranger stood on the porch in a puddle of kitchen light. His eyes were darker than any eyes Isabelle had ever seen. And he wore a hooded cape.

“Who’s that?” Mama Lu bellowed. Isabelle tried to hide behind the slickers again but Mama Lu grabbed her arm. “Whatcha doing down here? Ya looking fer something to steal?”

“No, I heard something. There’s someone outside,” Isabelle said, her heart pounding in her ears. “A stranger.”

“What?” Mama Lu stomped over to the door and pulled it open. “There’s no stranger out there.” She slammed the door shut.

Gertrude emerged from the parlor, wiping soot off her face with her bathrobe sleeve. “She was going to steal my apple. That’s why she came downstairs.”

“I wasn’t going to steal anything,” Isabelle said. The landladies closed in. “There was a man standing on the porch just now. In a cape with a hood. I saw him.”

“Yer a terrible liar. Did ya fiddle with my oven?” Mama Lu demanded. Isabelle shook her head. “I bet yer the reason the apple got ruined. She’s the reason, Gertie. She thinks she’s special just because she got left on a doorstep. Well, I say she’s a mold-covered lying rat and she fiddled with my oven.”

“You’re right,” Gertrude said. “She done it because she’s friends with Gwen.”

Isabelle braced herself for the inevitable punishment—not a slap or a spanking, but a loss of a privilege.

“Ya know the rules,” Mama Lu snarled, pointing a soot-stained finger in Isabelle’s face. “No walking around after lights out. Ya just lost yer breakfast privileges.”

“But…”

“And you’ll have to pay for my apple,” Gertrude said. “Dish duty at my house for a whole month.”

“But it wasn’t your apple,” Isabelle blurted. “The bird didn’t drop it on your head.”

“Why, you little eavesdropping brat,” Gertrude snarled.

Isabelle hadn’t been in this much trouble since the broken cheese tray incident. She needed a distraction. Just as Mama Lu opened her blackened mouth to decree another punishment, Isabelle pointed at the fireplace where a tiny bit of peat had fallen onto the hearth. “Slug,” she said, trying to sound alarmed.

“Slug?” Mama Lu cried. She drew the salt canister from her bathrobe pocket and launched herself at the fireplace. Snapping the canister open, she dumped the entire contents onto the little peat ball.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” Gertrude screeched.

Isabelle raced up the stairs as fast as she could, fleeing the wrath of the landladies.

It felt as if the stranger’s dark gaze followed her every step of the way.

The bedroom lights snapped back on at dawn. Isabelle hadn’t slept a wink. How could she have, with visions of sneezing sea monsters, exploding apples, and strangers in hooded capes bouncing around in her head? She reached under her pillow and pulled out the partially eaten apple. Even though the flesh had turned brown, it still looked delicious. She took three huge bites. It still tasted delicious. How nice it would be to have an apple tree growing in the backyard! She could eat apples for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or whenever the urge struck. How lucky her grandmother had been.

Wiping juice from her chin, Isabelle returned the apple to its hiding place. Grandma Maxine lay in a deep sleep, but she’d soon need breakfast, so Isabelle hurried downstairs with last night’s tray.

The kitchen floor felt damp and slimy. Wind howled, rattling the panes. Raindrops beat a chaotic rhythm along the gutters. The tenants shuffled in, quiet and sleepy, taking their places at the table. Mr. Wormbottom rubbed his hands together to warm them. Mrs. Limewig held her cup of tea to her pallid cheek. Isabelle cleaned her grandmother’s bowl and spoon at the sink.

“Good morning, Isabelle,” Boris said.

“Good morning, Isabelle,” Bert said.

Isabelle, sleepiest of all, returned their weak smiles, then filled her grandmother’s bowl with cold, lumpy porridge. She poured tea into a cup.

“That food ain’t fer you,” Mama Lu barked from her throne. She had wrapped a knitted yellow scarf around her neck. A matching knitted yellow hat sat on her head like an oversized egg yolk. “Ya was up to no good last night so ya git nothing.”

“I’m not eating anything,” Isabelle said. “This is for my grandma.” As much as Isabelle detested the porridge paste, her stomach already missed it.

“Yer a liar. Ya ruined my dessert,” Mama Lu said, peeling orange wax from a wedge of cheese and flicking the bits onto her tenant’s heads.

“I didn’t ruin it,” Isabelle blurted. “I didn’t touch the apple. I came downstairs because I heard you scream.”

“Is ya contradicting me? I say yer a liar.”

“I’m not a liar.” Isabelle held her breath, trying to control the anger that raced through her. What would the landlady do? Take away her breathing privileges? What else was there to take?

Mama Lu scowled and leaned over the armrest. The observation chair tipped precariously. “Don’t make me come down there, you unwanted, abandoned little mushroom-growing wretch. ’Cause I will. I’ll come down there and wallop ya on the head with my cheese tray.”

Isabelle could see right up Mama Lu’s gaping nostrils. She imagined climbing the observation chair’s ladder and shoving a wedge of cheese right up that bulbous nose. But, of course, she didn’t. She couldn’t change the fact that Mama Lu was a tyrant or that her sick old grandmother needed breakfast. So, rather than defending herself further, she hummed a little song to calm herself down while