Windfall Read Online Free PDF Page B

hops on his bike, he probably thinks I’ve been electrocuted.
    From: [email protected]
To: listserve, GRRR!
Subject: Don’t tell Olive!
    Hi Everyone!
    I’m hosting a surprise clothing and book exchange in honor of Olive’s family’s crazy/amazing year-long commitment to live with what they have.
    Come to my house on Saturday at 1:00 pm with books you’ve already read and clothes you’re tired of.
    We’ll spread everything out. Everyone gets a number, and we take turns choosing two items from the pile. We keep going until no one wants anything.
    I’ll make sure there’s a change room, mirrors and snacks.
    We’ll probably have clothes and books left over. Could someone volunteer to take them to the Women in Need thrift shop after the party?
    Hope to see you there! Don’t tell Olive!
    Liza

Chapter Ten
    Leland is howling. Silas is perched on a branch, bawling. Imogen stands between them, looking helpless in spite of the chain saw in her hands. Today, her T-shirt says Weeds are flowers too. — Eeyore .
    â€œHey, Leland,” Mom soothes. “Robert bought a lathe today. He’s going to make soup bowls from the wood.” Robert is Mom’s boyfriend. He’s a bit of a jerk, but I can handle him.
    â€œHe could make you a spinning top too,” I coo.
    Leland scowls.
    â€œThe tree isn’t happy,” Mom says. “She’s dying.”
    Leland’s features soften. He takes a few sob-shuddered breaths. “Could I plant a seed from one of the apples?” he asks. “And grow another tree just like it?”
    â€œSure,” Imogen says. “You could grow a tree exactly like it, if you want. But not from a seed. If you want a tree that’s genetically the same as this one, you need to graft parts of this tree to the trunk of another apple tree.”
    â€œGraft?” Silas says. “You stick them together, right? And they grow into one tree.”
    â€œBlack electrician’s tape does the trick,” Imogen says.” But I’ve got to cut them just right, and it’s got to be done in spring.”
    Leland sniffs and looks at Mom. “Can we?”
    â€œThat’s a great idea,” Mom smiles.
    â€œI’ll cut a few scions—those are small branches,” Imogen explains. “We’ll keep them somewhere dark and cool until grafting time.”
    â€œUnder my bed?” Leland suggests.
    Imogen laughs. “Let’s bury them in your yard. In a plastic bag. The earth is nice and cool.”
    â€œWe can mark the spot with rocks!” Silas cries.
    â€œLike a gravestone,” Leland says grimly.
    â€œNo,” Silas says. “Like buried treasure!”
    Imogen pulls a penknife from her pocket. “Okay, everyone?”
    â€œI’ll get some ziplock bags,” Mom says.
    After we bury the scions, Mom packs the boys off to the playground so they don’t have to witness the destruction.
    We picked the last apples a few days ago. Now we dismantle the tree house. We pry out nails and pull down board after board.
    After that, Imogen fires up the chain saw. It whines and gripes, tearing up the afternoon air with its noise. It growls through branch after branch. The limbs crash to the ground and stay where they fall. I half-imagined they’d get up and walk away, as if freed. But no. This is the end.
    Imogen chooses a few thick pieces for Robert to turn on his lathe. The rest she bucks into firewood, which I stack under the porch.
    As we work, Imogen tells me she grew up in the North, in the forest. Her parents were “back-to-the-landers.” They lived off the land as much as possible. They hunted deer, gathered berries, raised sheep for wool. From the age of six, Imogen was chopping wood for the woodstove.
    â€œApple wood burns long and hotter than most woods. It smells supersweet,” Imogen says dreamily as she pours tea from her thermos. “You guys will have