Fortune's Magic Farm by Suzanne Selfors Read Free Book Online Page B

had something more important on her mind.
    “Leonard,” she called. Leonard’s entire face, including his birthmark, glowed as pink as the umbrella he stood beneath. Some people called him ugly, but Isabelle was so used to the birthmark she barely noticed it. “Here.” She pulled the apple chunk from her shirt pocket. “Don’t let anyone see. It’s from an apple. It’s for you.”
    Like Gwen, Leonard popped the chunk into his mouth.
    “Tell me about your apple,” she said.
    He swallowed. “Huh? How did you know about it?”
    “Mr. Hench told Gertrude.” Isabelle bounced on her toes, as much from excitement as from that pesky seed. “I don’t have time to explain. Just tell me, did you really find it under a cat?”
    “Yeah.” He lowered his umbrella, sheltering them beneath its rosy glow. “A big orange cat. Hench called me a thief and took the apple. But when he tried to eat it, the apple turned black.”
    “Really?”
    “Back in line, everyone!” Mr. Supreme called.
    Darn it. Isabelle had so many questions. “We’ll talk at lunch,” she told Leonard.
    “Okay,” he said. He raised the umbrella and Isabelle scurried to her place.
    Mr. Supreme climbed the stairs to the security guard’s balcony and looked down upon the glowing faces of his workers. “Black umbrellas are no longer in fashion,” he declared. “Black umbrellas are outdated. No one wants a black umbrella anymore.”
    Every worker in Runny Cove would have loved to own a black umbrella.
    “My clients, people of the highest caliber and breeding who live far, far from this revolting place, want umbrellas to match their shoes and umbrellas to match their traveling cases. Umbrellas to match their frocks and umbrellas to match their dog’s frocks. Some want a different color umbrella for each day of the week.”
    Isabelle furrowed her brow. Why would a person need so many umbrellas? What did it matter what an umbrella looked like, as long as it kept the rain off?
    “Of course,” Mr. Supreme said, “this will mean extra work for everyone.” A low groan rolled across the room as workers reacted to his announcement. Mr. Supreme pulled a wipe from his canister and dabbed his forehead. “Extra work to begin immediately.”
    This was terrible news. Impossible news. How could she work extra hours when she was already working extra hours? She couldn’t. She’d have to tell him. What choice did she have? “Excuse me, sir,” Isabelle said, timidly raising her hand.
    “What’s that?” Mr. Supreme asked, adjusting his hard hat.
    “It appears to be a little girl, sir,” replied an assistant.
    “A little girl?” He leaned over the balcony. “What do you want, little girl?”
    Isabelle had never spoken directly to Mr. Supreme. But no one else could excuse her from extra, extra hours. Though she shook like a windowpane in a windstorm, Isabelle stepped forward. “I’m already working extra hours to pay my rent because my Grandma Maxine is sick. And I have to do dish duty at Gertrude’s house for the next month because she thinks I burnt her apple. If I work even more hours then I’ll get home too late to feed my grandmother. I don’t think…” She paused. What she was about to say had never been said. “I don’t think…”
    “What don’t you think?”
    The seed’s vibrations increased, matching her own trembling. “I don’t think I can work more hours.”
    The workers let the umbrellas fall to their sides. Isabelle’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as Mr. Supreme eyed her in the same way that a crow might eye a wiggling worm. He tapped his boot irritably. “I will overlook your insolence, little girl, because you are too young to understand the significance of the Magnificently Supreme Umbrella Factory. But the older workers understand.” A few workers nodded. “They remember that after all the fish had died and all the ships had rotted from disuse, they were starving and near death. But my grandfather, Mr. Supreme