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

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