Fortune's Magic Farm Read Online Free PDF Page A

warm.”
    A few weeks back, Isabelle had found a tiny uprooted plant stuck to the bottom of her boot. Strange that the slugs hadn’t eaten it. She had taken the plant up to her room and had tucked its roots into the moss. In a few days’ time it had grown like Jack’s Beanstalk, with a stem as thick as her arm and leaves that sparkled like wet sand. The vines covered the ugly plank walls, blocking all the nasty breezes.
    “The vines are beautiful but they worry me,” Grandma Maxine said. Her cheeks and eyes looked sunken and her skin, which was usually as translucent as Isabelle’s, had taken on a grayish shade. “If Mama Lu comes up here, she’ll get real mad. She’ll say that you don’t have permission to grow things in her house.”
    “Then I would tell her that I didn’t grow anything,” Isabelle replied. “The moss and vines grew themselves.” A true and clever response. She placed the tray on her grandmother’s lap. “Besides, she won’t come up here. She can’t get up thestairs. So please don’t worry. Look, Boris saved half a roll for you.”
    “Such a kind man.” Grandma Maxine’s long gray hair had fallen loose of its braid. She raised the spoon to her mouth with a shaky hand. Isabelle’s stomach clenched as she realized that her grandmother had grown even weaker. Isabelle took the spoon and started to feed her.
    “I’m such a burden to you,” the old woman said, tears filling her red-rimmed eyes.
    “You’re not a burden.” It was a sweet lie. Isabelle would never say or think the word “burden,” not ever, but her skinny, tired body felt differently, having worked all those extra factory hours to pay the rent.
    “I don’t feel very hungry.” Grandma Maxine turned her head away.
    “Try to eat,” Isabelle insisted.
    “Maybe later. Go on and feed your critters. They’ve been waiting all day.”
    “Okay.”
    A table, made from a discarded factory crate, sat next to Isabelle’s rickety old bed. On top of the table sat a pickle jar. Mama Lu had eaten the pickles and had thrown the jar into the street. No one else seemed interested in the jar, so Isabelle had transformed it into an aquarium. The only occupant was a creature that looked like a little white rock.
    “How’s your barnacle?” Grandma Maxine asked.
    “I think it’s sleeping,” Isabelle replied. She had found the lone barnacle on one of the creosote pilings. Because shehad never been to school, and because Mama Lu didn’t own any books on marine biology, Isabelle hadn’t known what to call it. No one kept books in Runny Cove—not a single one. Paper tended to bloat and mold. Bindings disintegrated within weeks. When Mama Lu got a catalogue in the mail, the pages were always stuck together.
    But Grandma Maxine knew it was called a barnacle because there had been lots of barnacles on the beach when she was little. She had studied them in school. She knew that barnacles ate tiny creatures called plankton. She knew that Isabelle would need to collect new water for the barnacle so its food supply wouldn’t run out.
    Isabelle opened the window and, holding the barnacle in place, carefully poured out the aquarium’s old water. Rain blew against her face, soaking her short hair.
My grandmother can’t hold onto a spoon anymore. Time isn’t making her better.
These thoughts made Isabelle feel heavy, so she leaned against the window frame. That’s when she noticed something unusual.
    A tall person stood across the narrow street, on Gertrude’s front porch. The porch light illuminated the edges of a long hooded cape. How strange. Most everyone in Runny Cove wore cheap plastic slickers, sold at the factory store. Who could that be? No one ever visited Runny Cove.
    Grandma Maxine coughed—a deep, wet sound. Cold night air rushed through the window, so Isabelle quickly closed it. She filled the aquarium with the fresh seawater she had collected. The barnacle opened and a white feather emerged, fanning the water. “It’s