Drizzle (4 page)

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Authors: Kathleen Van Cleve

BOOK: Drizzle
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Now he bites his lip. “You could die?”
“It’s not that big a deal. Just try not to get the plants mad. Or else they might accidentally-on-purpose swat you with their leaves and you’ll get a huge rash.”
Basford abruptly turns and looks straight ahead, staring at the lake, and I remember that I’m trying to make a human friend here.
“I’m sorry. But really—it isn’t a big deal. Honestly. The only times they’ve swatted me was when I totally deserved it.”
He winces. I remind myself that people don’t always understand things like swatting plants.
Basford turns away. Luckily, he’s staring at the west side of the lake.
“That’s our biggest crop,” I tell him. “Regular rhubarb. We sell it to the Juice Company, to mix with all their other fruits to make juice. Don’t worry. The regular rhubarb plants never hit anyone.” Basford gives me a halfhearted chuckle. I don’t think he finds this funny.
“See that house?” Farther down, on the west side past the regular rhubarb, is a small patch of rhubarb that grows next to a tiny cottage. “That’s Dad’s lab. He’s a scientist who cultivates his own rhubarb so he can make medicine.”
I turn so that I face directly west. “Over there, next to the oak trees? That’s the chocolate rhubarb. Have you tasted it yet?”
Basford shakes his head.
“It tastes like chocolate
and
it’s a vegetable, so your parents can’t get mad.” Just then, the first raindrops begin to fall. I hold up my watch for Basford to see.
“One o’clock.” I grin. “It rains at the same time, every single Monday.”
I point over toward the White House. “Right there, behind the chocolate rhubarb? That’s the PEACE maze. Grandmom transplanted a bunch of Giant Rhubarb plants to make a maze in the shape of the word PEACE. If you squint, you can see the words HOPE and LOVE too, and a lot of stars and hearts.”
He has stopped listening to me. He’s turned back, staring directly south, blinking. At first, I think he’s going to ask about the Dark House, which he now can see if he looks straight ahead. But he doesn’t do that. He’s looking slightly to the right.
“Is that—?”
I smile. “Yep.”
He sees it. Our castle.
“That’s my turret,” I say, hating that I can hear the bragging in my voice. But I can’t stop myself. I point to the rounded room jutting out from the northwest corner. “I have a window seat there and can look out all night long if I want to.”
Basford doesn’t seem to notice that I’m bragging. I guess it’s pretty hard to think about things like that when you’re staring dead on at a real stone castle in the middle of a rhubarb farm.
“And that’s—” He gulps.
“The rope bridge.” Our rope bridge looks exactly like the kind of bridge that knights race across—usually over a gulch of raging fire—on their way to slay the dragon and rescue the princess. Dad thought it would be cool to have one connecting the kids’ house—the castle—to the place where he and Mom sleep—the square cube, made almost entirely of green glass.
“If you ever use that bridge, make sure you don’t look down. It’s forty feet high. There aren’t any railings—just the ropes to hold on to—so if you do slip, you’re heading smack into the lake. But don’t worry; even if you fall you won’t die. Nothing can die in the lake.”
He bends down so that both of his elbows rest on the railing. For a long time he doesn’t speak, he just looks out at the rain. When he finally does say something, it’s barely a whisper.
“This. Is. Awesome.” For the first time, he seems to relax.
I totally agree. “I know.”
The rain is falling harder now. All the water magnifies the greens and reds and pinks and browns of the farm; it looks like one of those paintings with thick, bright-colored smeared brushstrokes.
“There’s one more part.”
Besides
the Dark House, I add silently.
He tilts his head back to where I stand, waiting.
“The Learning Garden. That’s the part underneath us right this second. The stuff that grows there is perfect. The strawberries never get moldy; the roses don’t have thorns; the peppers are crisp and delicious every single time. There are other things too. If you lie on the hammock under the sycamore tree, the temperature will always be just right, even if it’s way hot outside.” I step nearer to him. “It even grows rubies.”
His eyes grow bigger. “Truthfully?”
I cross my heart. “Hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”
For a long moment, Basford just stares at the farm. “How does your farm do all these things?”
It’s the million-dollar question. If you ask Mom, she would say God. If you ask Dad, he would say it’s science, of course. Grandmom, though, was like me. She knew and I know there’s only one answer that makes sense, only one answer that’s true.
I look Basford straight in the eye. “It’s magic.”
As soon as I say it, his face lights up and he smiles for the first time, a shy, sweet smile. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s what I thought.”
TUESDAY, AUGUST 19
 
The Chocolate Rhubarb Harvest
 
“Now listen up,” Beatrice tells Basford and me. “Only take the red stalks, report anything mushy, and make sure you don’t hurt any bugs or you’ll have to deal with me.”
I’m not surprised that Mom put Basford to work just one day after he got here. My mother has this thing about us working. It’s pretty simple. If you work hard—as in sweaty, long hours pulling, harvesting, cutting, sorting, packing rhubarb—then you’re a good kid who will grow up and become a superstar. If you don’t work—if you watch television or play video games—then you’re a spoiled, lazy child who will amount to nothing. She and Grandmom thought a lot of the same things.
Beatrice hands me two sets of gloves, and gives Basford the bags.
“Polly will tell you what to do,” she says. “Lunch break in an hour. Go!”
I lead Basford into the field, stopping at the first plant in the row. I lean down and break off a stalk from the root. It isn’t difficult to harvest rhubarb—you just have to get into a rhythm.
Twist twist snap
,
twist twist snap.
“See?” I say.“It’s pretty easy. Just
never
hurt the crown,” I tell him. “It’s the most important part of the whole thing.”
Basford stares up at me. “What’s a crown?”
“It’s the root of the rhubarb plant. It’s thick, like this . . .” I make two fists and put them next to each other. “The roots clump together, forming a crown, which stays under the soil.” I kneel down and push away a little of the dirt covering the base of the stalks. “See how it’s all connected down here?”
Basford crouches down next to me, peering closely at the dirt.
“The only time you ever have to dig up the crown is when you want to
divide
the plant, which is basically like smashing its brain. We don’t do that unless we have to.
“Anyway, this is how you harvest.
Watch
.” I lean down, grab one of the red stalks tightly, and twist it hard, once, twice, and then snap off the stalk from the base. “Voila. Chocolate rhubarb.”
He takes it and holds it under his nose. “Can I eat it?”
“Sure,” I say as I feel a smile slip across my face. “. . . if you want to get
poisoned.”
Basford drops the stalk before he notices that I’m laughing.
“I’m kidding. You can eat the stalk,” I tell him. “Just not the leaves.”
I snap another stalk off of its base and bite into it. “Try it,” I say, swallowing.
Slowly, Basford picks up his stalk from the ground and brushes off the sand. I don’t think he trusts me.
“Really,” I repeat. “You’re going to love it.”
He takes a big bite out of the stalk, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Yowza.” He grins as his face lights up. “This is better than a Snickers bar.” He chomps off another piece, and, as he chews, looks around the field. “This is like—this is like the best thing I’ve ever eaten. It’s really like
chocolate
!”
I’m not surprised—chocolate rhubarb has this effect on everyone. Basford gobbles up the first stalk and than snaps off another stalk, eating that one equally fast. Before he finishes his third, he stops, looking around.
“Why don’t you just grow this, and none of the other stuff?”
“Well, we make a lot of money with the juice and the Giant Rhubarb.” I lean over and keep working, snapping a cluster of stalks in one sharp twist. “But the real reason is that the farm won’t let us.”
Twist twist snap
,
twist twist snap.
“What?” He stops eating.
“Yeah,” I say matter-of-factly. “I have a theory about it.” I lean in close, talking softly. “The farm is like a genie.”
“A genie?”
“It’s powerful and magical, but it also has to listen to the sun and the rain and the farmers. Us.”
Twist twist snap
,
twist twist snap.
“Grandmom always said that the plants would never steer us wrong. So when we plant extra chocolate rhubarb and it doesn’t grow, we just listen to the farm and plant something else.”
Twist twist snap!
“I won’t eat this one,” Basford says as he snaps off another stalk. “It’s for the harvest.” He holds it up for me to see.
I smile. “Beatrice would be proud,” I say. “Only two hundred and thirty-one plants to go.”
His eyebrows go way up in his forehead. “Two hundred and thirty-one?”
“It’s half the field,” I tell him. “Don’t worry, it’ll go fast,” I reassure him. “Let me see you do it one more time.”
After I’m sure he isn’t going to decimate a plant—or else aggravate one so much that it smacks him—I tell him to go to the opposite corner of the field so that we can “meet in the middle.” But I’m lying. The real reason is so I can sneak over and talk to Harry.
When I get to his spot, I find Harry with his green leaves stretched out flat to his side, shining under the sun. He’s getting a suntan. No joke. All plants want sunlight, but rhubarb is especially crazy about it. He’s also happy this is not a harvesting year for him; last year, I pruned him so much, he didn’t talk to me for a week.
I check to make sure Basford isn’t looking, and then I sit down near Harry and pull out a water bottle from my backpack.
“Here,” I say, pouring some of the water around his roots. “Drink up.”
It’s water from the lake. Obviously, all the plants, including Harry, get enough water from the weekly rainfall, but I know a little bit more will make him extra strong and healthy.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you.” I smile.
Harry’s leaves fold themselves together.
Thank you
.
“That’s Basford,” I tell Harry. “He’s Beatrice’s godson.”
His middle leaf shakes.This means either
yes
or
I know
.
“He seems nice,” I say. “A little quiet. For a boy.”
Harry bends his bottom stalk, smiling again. Then he curls up the end of his leaves.
“He’s not my friend
yet
,” I say. “I just met him yesterday. He might change his mind when we go to school and he sees how unpopular I am.” I drink some of the lake water myself.
Harry flaps his leaves up and down.
It’ll be okay.
I tell Harry all about yesterday, beginning with the arrival of Basford to the wasp. Harry listens patiently to my entire story. Once or twice he flaps a leaf to tell me to slow down, or folds up a leaf to tell me to repeat what I just said.
“Okay. So one other question. I paid attention to
everything
yesterday. What were you talking about? Basford? The mist? The wasp?”
This prompts Harry.
No
.
“So what was it?”
Then Harry does something new. He bunches up all of his stalks in one vertical lift so that his leaves look like some kind of strange green bouquet on red stems.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Harry relaxes his leaves for a second, and then bunches them up again. I shake my head.
“Can you give me another clue?”
Harry stretches his leaves flat and looks like he might respond when I hear a voice behind me.
“Uh, Polly?”
I twist around and see Basford. He’s holding out a full bag of rhubarb stalks and is looking at me as if I escaped from a mental hospital. “Were you talking to someone?”
“Me?” I say, my face reddening. “No.”
I glance over at Harry.
“I mean I was, to myself, I talk to myself sometimes. But no. No one here.” I feel a leaf graze my leg. I ignore it. “I just like to come to the fields and say some words. Out-loud words.”

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