Restoring Harmony (7 page)

12

July 13th-Jesus said to his disciples, “The harvest is truly plentiful but the laborers are few.”

-Matthew 9:37

I HAD TO WAIT A DAY TO PUT MY PLAN INTO EFFECT because I was so tired, I couldn’t even think, let alone pull weeds. I spent most of afternoon sleeping, had a dinner of lettuce and tomatoes, and then slept long and hard all night.

The next morning I was in the garden right at dawn, though. It wasn’t long before the sun started getting strong and the vegetable beds were steaming around me, the emerald leaves glistening with dew. Morning in the garden is one of my favorite places to be on Earth. The fact that it wasn’t my garden-and I’d probably have to do some fast talking when the owner came outside-didn’t really bother me because I had my hands deep in the soil.

Even though I don’t like to eat tomatoes, I love their fragrance; that sort of bitter-fresh scent smelled like everything good to me . . . soil, dew, plants, food . . . the farm, so I started weeding around the thick green tomato stalks.

I scooted along the row on my knees, letting the monotony of pulling weeds relax me and bring me the first real peace I’d known since leaving home. I was running a tune through my head, deep in my own private world of music, when I noticed movement.

The house looked almost exactly like my grandparents’, and up on the deck a little boy and girl were watching. They moved closer and peered out at me through tangled dark hair. Their smudged faces were in need of a good washing, but their matching blue eyes sparkled. They both had such skinny bodies it made me queasy. The girl walked over to me and plopped down onto the damp ground. “I’m Brandy,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Molly. Nice to meet you.” I held out a muddy hand and she giggled.

“That’s Michael,” she said, pointing at the boy. “He loves worms. What are you doing?”

Making myself indispensable!

“Weeding,” I answered.

“I’m six. My brother’s four. He doesn’t know what weeds are, but I do. This is a carrot.” She yanked a spindly carrot out of the soil. “This is a weed,” she added, pointing to a plant next to it and leaving it in the ground.

“Yep. You’re pretty smart for six.”

“I know.”

More movement near the house made me look up. In three quick strides, a tall man was towering over us. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be armed.

“What in the hell is going on out here?” he said. “Who are you?”

Brandy jumped up and ran back to Michael. I stood, brushing my hands on my shorts, and then I got my first good look at the man and almost staggered back in surprise. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t young, blond, and handsome! Well, youngish. He must’ve been about thirty. His hair curled around his ears where it had pulled loose from a thick ponytail that hung halfway down his back. His face was tan, and his arms were chiseled muscles.

“Ummm . . . h-hi,” I stammered.

“Hi? Is that all you have to say? What are you doing in my garden?”

“Well . . .” He glared at me, and I took a step back. “I, ummm . . . I’m staying next door . . . with my grandparents . . . Jack and Katharine Buckley-”

“And?” he demanded.

“And so they were telling me about the food you give them.

You know, throw over the fence. And so I was looking at your garden-”

“And you thought you’d just help yourself?”

“No! No, not at all! The thing is,” I said rushing on, “I live on a farm in Canada, and the kitchen garden, it’s all my responsibility. It looked like you needed some help over here, and since you’ve been giving my grandparents food, I thought maybe I should come over and, you know, weed for you.”

“Did it ever occur to you to ask first?”

“I guess I should’ve,” I admitted. “But I was up at dawn and you weren’t around . . . so I just started. Look at the tomatoes! Don’t they look great?”

He gave them a cursory glance. “Slugs are getting them.”

“I know, but I can help you with that. We can stake them up, and-”

“I don’t need your help.”

“It’s no problem. Really.”

He continued to glare, and even though he was extremely good looking, he also had a hardness about him. There were deep lines in his forehead and a flinty look in his eyes. I wasn’t so sure this was the best idea I’d ever had.

“It’s pretty overgrown,” I said.

“We’ve had a lot of rain this year for some reason,” the man grumbled.

“So . . . is it okay if I just keep working for a while?”

He stared at me for a minute and then walked back to the house. “Do what you have to do,” he said over his shoulder. “But I’m not my sister, and I’m not planning on feeding the whole neighborhood like she used to do, no matter how much you work.”

I should’ve been disappointed that he wasn’t more enthusiastic about my help, but I wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. Weeding the garden so he’d give us more food was worth a shot. Plus doing something productive helped keep me from breaking down into tears every time I thought about how I couldn’t get back to the farm.

I knelt onto the ground to weed. After a while, Brandy wandered back to my row and sat down.

“What’s your daddy’s name?” I asked her.

She giggled.

“What?”

“He’s not my daddy!” she said, laughing. “He’s my uncle.”

“Oh. Well, what’s his name?”

“Uncle.”

Eventually I got the story out of her. At least the story she knew. This was her parents’ house, but they were both in the ground. Not this ground, though, so we shouldn’t be afraid to dig because we’d never dig them up. I thought that maybe Uncle should explain things a little better, but I had a new respect for a guy who’d taken on someone else’s kids too.

There was no way I was going to live in the U.S. forever, but seeing this garden made me think that maybe, if I really was stuck here for a while, I should try and plant some things at my grandparents’ house. Then I ditched that idea as absurd. We had to get back. It wasn’t a question of if, but how.

Brandy stayed by my side all morning, and once when I found a worm, I held it up for Michael. He came and took it from me, but then ran off without a word. Like on the island, the air had been cool in the morning. However, by noon it was already hotter than we ever got. After a couple of hours of weeding, you could see a little progress, but nothing to write home about. My back ached and my fingers were grimy and rough, but I felt good.

“Hey, farmer girl, are you planning to weed all day?” the guy asked from the sunporch where he was tanning himself, watching me work.

“Actually, I was just going to stop. My name’s Molly.”

He grunted.

“What should I call you?”

“Mr. Edwards.”

I nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Mr. Edwards.”

“If you’re trying to soften me up, you’re wasting your time.”

“I’m not. I just can’t see a garden without wanting to get my hands on it.”

I smiled to myself as I walked around the end of the fence into Grandpa’s yard. He stood there, fists on his hips, waiting for me.

“You’ve been over there for hours. What were you doing?”

He actually sounded a little worried. I smiled, trying to reassure him. “I was just helping him weed and talking to the kids.”

I heard a giggle from the other side of the fence, and I had to dodge a giant zucchini, three tomatoes, a head of lettuce, four cucumbers, and a handful of green beans. Grandpa and I scurried around gathering our lunch. Most of it looked to be in a lot better shape than the stuff Mr. Edwards usually threw over.

“Don’t eat all this,” I told him. “I want to make soup later.”

He grasped his bounty against his chest. “You don’t put lettuce and cucumbers in soup.”

I laughed. “Fine. Eat those.”

“I will.” He strutted off to the house.

The day was just starting to heat up, and I knew I better get going down to the market pretty soon. Jane had inadvertently shown me a way home, and now I had to see if it would work. If it did, hopefully we’d all be heading for Canada by next week.

13

AS SOON AS I STEPPED OFF THE STREET AND INTO THE market, I began to doubt my plan. Grandpa had told me that I could find produce and other goods for sale, but instead all I saw were men crowded together inside tents and under canopies, drinking, smoking, and playing cards. I heard a few whistles, and from inside a tent someone called out, “Hey, baby!”

I like to think I’m brave, but my insides twisted, uneasy. I considered just going back to the house, but I had to earn some money, so I made myself keep walking. Eventually the tents full of cardplayers gave way to food stalls and produce stands. I found a spot near a pile of old tires, and I opened my fiddle case and took out Jewels. By the time I had her tuned, a small crowd of kids had gathered around.

“You gonna play?” one asked.

“Yep.” I nudged the case casually with my foot, so it was out in front of me a bit.

I started with something simple that people might know, “Turkey in the Straw
.
” Before I’d finished, a few adults had wandered over to listen. The next one I played was called “Rosin the Beau
.
” It was an old tune Dad and I had learned from a Cape Breton fiddler. After that, I played a couple of Irish reels and a few people started a sweaty dance right out in front of me.

I’d been playing for a half an hour before I finally earned something. A man in dingy jeans and a faded work shirt leaned down and dropped four small onions in the case. I smiled at him and he shrugged apologetically, but my heart leapt at the idea of something besides tomatoes and lettuce. Onions could really liven up a meal too.

A woman, dressed nicer than anyone I’d seen so far, nudged her two sparkling-clean kids forward. They each put a little money in the case and gave me wide smiles. I grinned back and nodded my thanks. After that, the listeners added half a loaf of bread, two cucumbers, and some cherries. When an old farmer in overalls set a whole pie down next to my case, I smiled big. My grandparents would be excited to see that!

After an hour, I wiped at my dripping forehead with the back of my bow hand and said, “I think I’m about done.” The heat of the day pressed down on me and couldn’t be good for Jewels either.

“Play one more!” someone shouted.

I ran my bow lightly over the strings, in a thinking sort of way, and tried to come up with something good to leave them with. The fiddle music made me ache for Dad and our evenings playing on the porch together, and I decided on my name-sake song, just for him. Even though everyone at home likes to tease me when I play it, calling me Handsome Molly, no one here knew my name, so I didn’t think twice. What did surprise me was that two or three people started singing right away.

I wish I was in London
Or some other seaport town
Set my foot in a steamboat
And sail the ocean ’round.

While sailing around the ocean
While sailing around the sea
I’d think of handsome Molly
Wherever she might be.

The crowd grew larger, and a few more people joined in on the singing. They seemed to know all the verses, so I just kept playing. Finally, we got to the end.

Sail around the ocean
Sail around the sea
Think of handsome Molly
Wherever she might be.

“I know exactly where handsome Molly is,” I heard someone say as I drew out the last note. I looked up, saw the guy from the MAX train, and felt a little flutter in my heart. I gave him a big grin, and he shook his sandy hair out of his eyes and smiled back.

And then he placed an icy bottle of root beer next to my fiddle case. Everyone else had clapped and wandered away, but he came and sat on the tires. I grabbed the pop and collapsed next to him. Not the smartest place to sit, hot tires, in the middle of a summer’s day, but I was curious about him.

“Wow,” I said. “I haven’t had pop in . . . well, I don’t know how long. Where’d you get it?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

He grinned and I opened the bottle. “You’re the best,” I said.

“So I’ve been told.” He smiled, and then in a mock-serious voice he said, “Are you lost? Walk straight in that direction and you’ll run into Canada eventually.”

I laughed. “Oh, you know . . . ,” I said, not completely willing to spill the family secrets to a virtual stranger, even a cute one. “I’m visiting for a while before we travel.”

He was smiling, but the way his eyes moved around, looking over my shoulder, lively and always scanning the crowd, I had the feeling he was only half with me and already on his way somewhere else.

“What about your big move to Canada?” I asked him.

“Oh, maybe,” he said. He took a long swig of his pop. “You never know. Business is good right now.”

“What business?”

“Ask me no questions-”

“Yeah, yeah . . . you’ll tell me no lies.”

“You’re a quick one,” he said.

“I wish my
cash
business was better.” I nudged the fiddle case with my toe. “I’m really glad to have the food, but we could use the money for the trip.”

“People save their cash for emergencies. The market’s mostly the barter system.”

“Same as on our island.”

Suddenly he stood up. I followed his gaze. A small man in a suit and tie was making his way through the crowd towards us. “I gotta go,” he said, “but maybe I’ll stop by your grandparents’ house sometime.”

The fact he knew where we lived shocked me a little. “You remember the address?” I asked. The guy seemed nice enough, but I couldn’t forget the fear in the fare inspectors’ eyes when he’d shown them his ID or whatever it was.

“Never forget a face,” he said. His cheerful smile relaxed me a little. “Never forget a place or, well, anything, really. Part of the business. See you around, Handsome Molly.”

“Okay. Thanks for the root beer.”

As he and the small man crossed paths, they nodded hello to each other but didn’t speak. The man continued past him and walked up to me, a friendly smile on his face. I pressed the cold bottle against my sweaty forehead. He eyed my fiddle and then my case full of produce.

“Finished playing?” he asked.

“For today.” I packed up Jewels while he watched and was about to scoop up my take when he leaned over and picked up the pie.

“I’ll take that,” he said.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“You’re new around here, right?” he asked, still holding my pie.

“Ummm, yeah.”

“Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Randall.” He held out his hand and I shook it tentatively. “And one of my jobs is to make sure everyone knows the rules. You see, this market ain’t exactly public, if you know what I mean.”

I shook my head.

“It’s a private enterprise,” he said. “And as a private enterprise, the Boss takes a fair share of any profits the vendors make. In other words, the house always wins. Get it?”

“I guess.” He was taking my pie as a commission for my being allowed to play at the market?

“A word to the wise,” he told me. “You don’t play here without clearing it with the Boss first.”

“Are you the Boss?”

He laughed. “Oh, no. Not me.”

“Well, how do I clear it with the Boss, then?”

“Let’s just say you don’t.”

He tipped his hat and walked off with the pie. I stared after him. My big plan had been to busk every day until I had enough cash to get us home. If I couldn’t play here, I was back to square one without any idea what to do next.