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

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