The Dragons of Ordinary Farm

Chapter 11

T yler seemed very revved up, bouncing on the edge of the bed. “Lucinda, get up. We’re going into town!”

Lucinda’s head felt as heavy as a balloon full of wet sand. The morning sun was streaming through the window, and she could hear a jay squawking somewhere outside. She vaguely remembered finding the Grace Parlor, as she thought of it, then Mrs. Needle giving her a cup of tea, but not much else that had happened after that. She realized she must have slept all evening and all night.

“Luce, wake up now! We’re going into town.”

“Huh?” Her tongue felt like it was coated in peanut butter gone bad.

“Come on, you’ve been sleeping since yesterday afternoon. Hours and hours-you missed dinner. So, c’mon, Luce, get up!”

He had the grace to look a little shame-faced.

Lucinda tried to sit up, which was no easy thing with her brother going boing, boing, boing on the edge of the bed. She had a clean bandage on her hand, and the cuts beneath didn’t hurt too badly at all. “Okay,” she mumbled, pushing herself out of bed. “Just let me put my shoes on.” She frowned at herself in the mirror. “And comb my hair.”

Tyler rolled his eyes but got out of her way. “Just don’t take forever. Man, you should see all the awesome stuff there is on this farm, Luce. I spent a few hours doing the rounds with Ragnar-you know, the guy with the beard?”

“Stop bouncing or wait outside, will you?”

“I like Ragnar. But, man, I hate that Colin guy.”

“Would you quit obsessing about Colin? What did he ever do to you?”

“Why? Do you like him or something?” Tyler stopped in the doorway and stared at her with horror. “Oh, perfect-my sister has a crush on the evil henchman.”

“Tyler! He’s not an evil anything. Just shut up. My head hurts.”

“Come on, Luce!” Now he was jumping up and down in the hall.

“ Okay! I’ll be right there!” She slammed the bedroom door shut on him, which punished no one but herself.

Normally that would have been enough for them to stay silent with each other for hours, but Tyler kept trying to talk to her as they sat on the wagon in the hot sun. At first it just made her more irritated, but after a while it occurred to her that for once Tyler was actually trying to communicate. It was like someone had stolen her little brother and substituted some kind of pod boy.

“There’s been so much stuff going on!” he said. “I tried to wake you up before we went out this morning, but you were totally snoring. It was so cool! Ragnar let me feed the griffins. They’re little. There isn’t a mom or dad. They’re, like, birds-they have eagle beaks, but they have bodies like something else. Ragnar said people used to say they were part lion, but really it’s just that they’re kind of yellow like a lion and they have this kind of weird fluffy fur on the back end where the feathers stop-”

“So why won’t anyone tell us where they come from? What’s the big secret?”

Mr. Walkwell half turned in his seat, as though he was going to say something, but instead he just flicked the reins and muttered to the horse.

“I know,” Tyler said quietly. “I asked Ragnar that. He just says it’s up to Uncle Gideon. But it has to be some kind of DNA thing, because otherwise why would they have baby griffins but no mother?”

“How should I know?”

“And there’s other stuff I found out too.” He was whispering now. “I’ll tell you later. The house is haunted.”

Which was just what Lucinda and her headache didn’t really want to hear.

Standard Valley was not a town in the sense Lucinda thought of the word. It only had a couple of main roads and one main shopping district-if you could call a gas station, a feed and hardware store, a bank, a grocery store, and a coffee shop, all in a row across from the train station, by any name as fancy as “shopping district.” Lucinda found it depressing, but at least the sun had gone behind a swirl of dark clouds, making the day much darker. It was still unpleasantly hot but the glare was gone, and she thought she could even smell something like rain in the air.

As the horse-drawn wagon clopped into the center of town, a few men standing around a truck parked next to the gas station looked up. One of them-a gray-haired man with a big belly and a baseball cap pushed far back on his head-grinned and gave a kind of salute, then shouted, “I see you’re still driving last year’s model!”

To Lucinda’s surprise, Mr. Walkwell shouted back, “At least when this one backfires all I am smelling is hay!” And then he actually smiled. It took her a few seconds to figure out that not only had secretive, grumpy Mr. Walkwell acted like he knew the man, he had even made a joke.

“Who’s that guy?” she asked.

“Hartman,” said Mr. Walkwell. “He owns the gas station. I have met worse men in this world than him.” Which meant he sort of liked him, as far as Lucinda could tell.

“Look!” said Tyler as they rolled to a stop in front of the feed and hardware store. “A hitching post! Just like in a cowboy movie!”

Lucinda, sipping the last from a bottle of water, was more interested in the idea of getting hold of some lip gloss and maybe some sunblock. Her lips were already dry and cracked after only a couple of days, and she could just see surviving the summer and returning to school only to have the other girls make fun of her because of her farmer tan and ruined lips.

They spent a boring half hour in the general store. Lucinda found her skin-care products and Tyler, for some reason, bought a flashlight and a ton of batteries. Mr. Walkwell put in an order for some supplies-apparently the feed and hardware store and grocery store were run by the same people. As he limped around looking at things, the few other customers nodded at Mr. Walkwell as if they knew him. The heavyset woman behind the counter smiled at the children and asked them their names as they paid for their goods.

“You staying for the summer?” she asked. “Oh, you’ll have fun. It’s nice for city kids to spend some time on a farm. See how things really work!” Lucinda wanted to laugh, but of course she didn’t. If this woman only knew! “Are you having a good time so far?” The stout woman was really looking at them, Lucinda realized. “They don’t get many visitors on that Tinker farm…”

Suddenly Mr. Walkwell was there, hands resting heavily on the children’s shoulders. “We must go now,” he said. “Much work to do.”

Lucinda could tell the woman would have liked to ask more questions. In fact, she noticed most of the other customers in the store had been listening too.

“You must not talk to strangers,” Mr. Walkwell said as they stepped outside. “Time to go back.”

“Ragnar said we could get a milkshake,” Tyler protested. The sky was dark and the air was close-Lucinda could feel a few tiny drops of rain. “Because he said I did good work this morning.”

Mr. Walkwell made a sour face, but turned them toward the diner. “Very well. But remember, many people here are curious about our farm and we must keep our secrets. Your great-uncle has shown great trust by bringing you here.”

“If he’s got so much trust,” Tyler muttered, “why isn’t he telling us any of the secrets?”

Mr. Walkwell only snorted.

Almost every store around here was called Standard something or other, so Lucinda was glad to see that the diner was called Rosie’s, although someone hadn’t been able to resist putting up a cutout wooden sign in the shape of a coffee cup, which stood on the roof next to a sign that said, OUR COFFEE IS WAY ABOVE STANDARD!

Half a dozen or more people were in the coffee shop, most of them men in farmer’s caps, eating lunch, talking, or watching the television in the corner-some kind of local weather report. There was a long counter, as she expected, but instead of booths the rest of the place had a scatter of tables and chairs. Nothing much on the walls but a calendar and some hand-drawn posters for events at the local school. They didn’t have a waitress, either-you just told your order to the grumpy-looking guy that everyone seemed to call Rosie, although Lucinda couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not. He sure didn’t look like a Rosie.

Tyler apparently decided he was much more than just milkshake hungry and ordered himself a cheeseburger and fries, but Lucinda still felt queasy. They found a table and Mr. Walkwell sat staring silently. Lucinda was happy just to hold a glass of ice water to her forehead, soaking in the wonderful cool.

The food came and Tyler went into Full Scarf Mode, shoveling everything in like it would vanish in two minutes if he didn’t. He was just filling his mouth with the last chunk of his burger when Lucinda realized that three black-haired, brown-eyed kids, more or less her and Tyler’s age, were standing beside the table watching them.

The boy, who looked like he enjoyed a good meal himself, asked Tyler, “Dude, you eat fast. Are you from Europe or something? Haven’t you ever had a cheeseburger before?”

Tyler looked up, surprised. “I was hungry.”

The older of the two girls, a young teenager like Lucinda, wore a shirt that said BOYS LIE. “Then do you come from a part of America where they don’t have napkins?” she asked, grinning. Tyler stared at her for a moment, then dabbed away the ketchup smeared on his chin.

“Go away, you bad kids,” Mr. Walkwell said, frowning. “Go away.” The old man stared hard at them, but the trio didn’t retreat. For a long moment nobody said anything. Lucinda was afraid there was going to be some kind of fight.

“So what did you bring us?” the boy said at last.

“Steve!” the older girl said. “You are so rude!”

“Bring you?” Mr. Walkwell scowled. “I don’t bring you anything. I only bring things for good kids.”

“I helped my dad fix the bulk tank,” the boy called Steve said. “Alma washed the dishes. Carmen didn’t do anything-she just talked on the phone.”

“You are such a liar,” the older girl said. “I made all the beds this morning-even yours, Steve.”

Tyler looked at Lucinda. He was clearly just as mystified by this as she was.

“Okay, I look, I look,” Mr. Walkwell said. “Whose turn is it?”

“Mine,” said Steve.

Carmen shook her head. “Liar again. It’s Alma’s.”

Mr. Walkwell reached into the pocket of his battered old jacket, which he seemed to wear no matter how hot it was outside, and pulled out a fluffy ball of Kleenex. Alma, who was small and wore red corduroy pants, shyly held out a cupped hand and Mr. Walkwell put the bundle in it. She unwrapped it carefully to reveal a knobby branch with several small blossoms on it, all carved out of a single piece of pale wood.

“Oh,” said Alma, her eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”

“Nothing, it is nothing.” Mr. Walkwell waved his hand as though he couldn’t stand to look at such a poor thing any longer. “Almond blossoms. We had them in my old country so I like them. Take it.”

“Thank you.” Alma backed up a few steps but continued to stare at the carving in her hands.

“So you’re the kids staying at Ordinary Farm,” Steve said, leaning on the table. He squinted at Tyler’s plate. “Hey, are you going to finish those french fries?”

“You are so rude!” his older sister said. “I’m Carmen Carrillo, this is my brother, Steve, Alma’s the youngest. We live on the next farm over, Cresta Sol-our parents own it. We heard there might be some kids visiting Ordinary Farm this summer. You should come over to our place sometime.”

Lucinda looked to Mr. Walkwell, certain that he would want to end this conversation, but he was watching Alma instead, who held the carved almond blossoms up close to her face, peering intently. The old man was actually smiling a little. A joke, Lucinda thought, and now this-two Walkwell firsts in one day!

The door to the diner banged open loud enough to make Lucinda jump. The round man with the baseball cap from the gas station came inside, his clothes spotted with rain. “Hey, Walkwell,” he called. “Your big friend’s over at the store and I think he’s looking for you.”

Mr. Walkwell got to his feet and limped toward the door. “Ragnar? How did he come? In that machine of the inferno?”

“The truck, yes,” said Hartman, the gas station man, winking at the kids.

“You children stay here,” Mr. Walkwell told Tyler and Lucinda. “Don’t go away anywhere.” As he went out the door with Hartman, the round man was saying, “If you people at Ordinary Farm would just learn to carry cell phones ” The door banged shut. Rosie, the proprietor, glared at it for a moment, then turned back to his other customers, all of whom had watched this with much interest.

After a long moment’s silence, Steve said, “Hey, you seen any ghosts?”

Tyler almost dropped his milkshake, and Lucinda suddenly remembered the strange remark her brother had made on the way into town. “Wh-what do you mean?” he asked.

“Steve,” said Carmen, with a warning in her voice.

“I’m just asking!” The boy turned back to Tyler. “Our grandmother tells all these stories-she grew up here and she knows all these Indian legends. Crazy stuff, but kind of cool. Anyway, the Indians used to think the gateway to the underworld was on your land. Or something like that. The spirit world.”

“Really? Uh, cool. What else does your grandmother say about-” Tyler began, then the door banged mightily once more at the front of the coffee shop.

Mr. Walkwell leaned in the door and called, “Tyler, Lucinda, you come with me now. We must go.”

They left the cafe, the Carrillo kids trooping out behind them. Outside stood Ragnar, his long hair and beard stringy in the rain and his big face flushed. “The big… the big cow, she is about to give birth, I think. The young ones-they can drive back with me.”

“As you wish,” Mr. Walkwell said. “I am taking the wagon. If I am slow, I am slow. Anything that is meant to be… Heaven will make certain it happens when it should.”

“Bye!” said Carmen. “Come see us-we’re just over the ridge from you. Cresta Sol-there’s a big sun on the front gate.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walkwell!” Alma cried, still holding her carving as though it was a delicate living thing. “It’s beautiful.”

Ragnar might be built like some kind of football player, but he drove the ancient, rattling truck like somebody’s little old grandfather, hunched forward, both hands clutching the wheel until his hairy knuckles were white. The rain had mostly stopped, but a few drops still splattered the windshield.

“I thought we were in a hurry,” Tyler said as Ragnar maneuvered around a corner like the truck was loaded with explosives.

“Shut up, boy,” the farmhand said, but not unkindly. “I have not been doing this driving long.”

“Huh. I never would have guessed.” Tyler scowled when Lucinda kicked him. “Ow! It was a joke!”

“Is the… the dragon really having a baby?” she asked. “Is that a problem?”

Ragnar shook his head. “She has had trouble with laying her eggs before-none of them have lived. Nobody knows about dragons. They are old and strange creatures.”

They drove for a little while in silence. “Hey, those kids said that Ordinary Farm was, like, the gateway to the spirit world or something,” Tyler said at last. It had obviously made a big impression on him.

The blond man snorted. “Those children say lots of things. Their grandmother is a tale-teller, so they are full of stories.” Ragnar squinted at the road. “There is a say ing in my old country: ‘The man who stands at a strange threshold should be cautious before he crosses it, and he should glance this way and that, because who knows beforehand what foes may sit waiting for him?’ ”

Her brother leaned toward her. “Well, that couldn’t make less sense, could it?” he whispered.

The farm seemed to be in an uproar as they pulled into the gravel driveway. Several farmhands were at the front door where Uncle Gideon was handing out orders. Their great-uncle was wearing a white lab coat, but he still had on his bedroom slippers and looked quite distracted.

“Thank goodness,” he said as Ragnar and the kids got out. “Where’s Simos?”

“You know he will not go in the truck,” Ragnar told him. “He will be here soon. He told me what to do.”

“Then come on. She’s taking a long time to give birth. It’s hard to tell from external temperature, but I think she might have a fever.” From the distance came a noise like a broken foghorn-obviously the sound of an uncomfortable dragon. Gideon finally noticed Tyler and Lucinda. “You two run along. Mrs. Needle will give you something to do.”

“Can’t we come?” Tyler asked. “I want to see the dragon again.”

“No, you can’t. She’s not used to you and she’s in distress. Besides, she’s making a lot of noise and it might draw Alamu.”

“Draw a what?” Tyler asked.

“Alamu. Her mate.” Gideon frowned and flapped his hands at the children. “Blast it, I don’t have time to talk to you two right now. Go on inside.”

“So much for being on a farm,” Tyler grumbled to Lucinda as they went into the house.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’re supposed to see stuff like this, aren’t we? The miracle of life and all that garbage?”

“You heard Uncle Gideon, didn’t you? Hello-o! Angry male dragon roaming around!” She couldn’t believe her brother sometimes.

Tyler shook his head. “They’re never going to tell us anything. We’re going to have to find things out ourselves.”

“What are you talking about, Tyler?”

“Oh, never mind.” He turned and stomped up the stairs.

Brothers! Lucinda thought. She’d begged her parents to get a dog instead, but nobody ever listened to her.