Fortune's Magic Farm Suzanne Selfors (best books for 20 year olds txt) 📖

Lime, silver, chocolate, and vanilla danced in the air. The usually colorless faces of the factory’s workers reflected the umbrella colors in a way that was both awesome and terrifying. Everyone started talking at once.

Isabelle closed her umbrella and darted between the excited workers. Sure, she felt as amazed as they did, but she 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 “Black umbrellas are outdated.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 Senior, built this factory and gave them jobs despite their feeble constitutions and below-average intellects.” The sleeves of his coat crunched as he folded his arms. “So, little girl, when I tell you that you must work extra hours, I expect gratitude. Of course, you are always free to look elsewhere for work. Perhaps everyone would like to look elsewhere for work?” He shared a chuckle with his assistants, because, after all, there was no place else to work in Runny Cove.

“We will work,” the workers called out.

Tears floated at the edges of Isabelle’s eyes. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for the extra hours.” She stepped back into line. Gwen reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Now that that bit of unpleasantry has passed, I’m pleased to announce that the new colorful dyes have already arrived,” Mr. Supreme said. “I’m going to make a fortune on these new umbrellas, so get to work, everyone.”

The assistants collected the colorful umbrellas as the workers shuffled off to their stations. Isabelle waved a sad good-bye to Leonard and Gwen and headed to the labeling room on the main floor. Her tears soon cleared but the seed continued to drive her mad. As soon as she got to her station, she reached into her sock and pulled it out. It bounced inside her cupped hand like a sand flea. Where could she put it?

The conveyor belt clunked and began its slow roll. A box appeared, winding toward Isabelle’s station. She needed both hands to stick the labels. Each label read: MAGNIFICENTLY SUPREME UMBRELLAS—SUPREME RAIN COVERS FOR THOSE WITH SUPREME TASTE.

The box rolled closer. Isabelle didn’t want to lose the strange seed. It seemed as if her sock would be the safest place. She’d simply have to endure the tickling. She was about to tuck it in when she noticed a little