Genuine Sweet Read online

  “You must feel very proud, Genuine!”

  That seemed to be my cue. “I, uh, wouldn’t say proud, precisely—”

  “And eager to prove yourself!”

  “No, uh, not really—”

  “So, how about it, Genuine? What if we picked a random person off the street and asked them to make a wish? Could you grant it—on live TV?” She made a show of looking left and right. “Ah! Here’s someone now! Hi! Hello? Could you help us?”

  I’ll be danged if she didn’t drag one of the Fort brothers out of the shadows! He was dressed in his finest suit and wore a FEELIN’ SASS-Y! baseball cap on his head.

  “Happy to.” Billy Fort beamed.

  “Young Genuine here is a ‘wish granter.’” Miss Kroeger made quote marks in the air. “And we were wondering if you’d like to make a wish for Genuine to grant, live on Ardenville in the Morning!”

  Billy, who never was the sharpest tack, had his answer ready so fast I was sure he’d been coached. “Sure I would! I wish—”

  “Hey! Hold up!” I threw myself between Billy and the camera. “I ain’t fetching no wish on TV!”

  “Excuse me?” Miz Kroeger demanded.

  “I said I’d let you interview me, and I am, but wish fetching is private and solemn and . . . special! It is not made for entertaining folks while they drink their morning coffee!” I felt my face heat up with real anger. “And besides, people are hungry! Folks need medicine and whatnot! This isn’t a game, you know!”

  Miz Kroeger bumped Billy Fort aside and spoke into the camera, “Pointed words from a young activist. When will we stop treating hunger like a game?”

  There were other questions, and I must have given other answers, but they were little more than a blur and a muddle. Then, just as quickly as she’d come, Kathleen Kroeger was “signing off, Blake.”

  I sighed in relief as she drove away, but I couldn’t help getting mad all over again when I saw that her gas-guzzler had torn up our yard with its big chunky tires.

  From atop his apple crate, Pa gave a raucous snort of a snore. I put my head in my hands and moaned.

  When I looked up again, Darnell, Miz Kroeger’s cameraman, was standing in front of me.

  “Sorry about . . .” He jutted his chin in the newswoman’s direction.

  “She always like that?” I asked him.

  “Always.” He hefted a camera bag over his shoulder. “And always this early.”

  Just then, Jura reappeared. “You handled Kroeger really well! That was great righteous rage!” She shuffled some papers, dropping a few on the ground. As she picked them up, she said, “Now, uh, don’t panic, now, Genuine, but with the whole ‘going viral’ thing, wish requests have kind of . . . tripled.”

  “What!”

  She set a stack of Cornucopio messages in my arms. “Try not to worry. Travis and I are taking today’s batch of biscuits to the post office as soon as they open. Did you know he helps his mom with her business? He’s really good at this stuff! Anyway, once we get to school, the three of us can put our heads together and try to figure out . . . something.”

  I nodded dumbly. Jura dashed off.

  It took me a second to realize the cameraman was still standing there.

  “I hate to bother you, but is there a good breakfast place in town?” he asked. “The crew is starving.”

  I told him there was, and if he could wait while I got dressed, I’d walk him down to Ham’s. He said he’d be glad to.

  I went back in to tell Gram I was leaving early.

  Her door was still closed.

  “How did Miz Kroeger find out about me, anyway?” I asked Darnell as I pushed open the door to Ham’s.

  Overhead, the bell jangled, though I don’t know how anyone could have heard it over the din of conversation and silverware on plates. The place was packed.

  “She gets her leads from all over,” Darnell replied loudly. “Social media. Anonymous tips. She’s not picky.”

  There didn’t seem to be much to say to that, so I showed Darnell to the counter, wished him a pleasant day, and headed into the kitchen to order up a breakfast burrito. Both me and Jura had a few free meals coming our way—Ham’s way of thanking us for arranging a barter that finally got him his new freezer.

  “It’ll be a few minutes,” Ham told me. “We’ve been bustin’ at the seams all morning. Who’s that you brung in?” He nodded his head toward Darnell.

  “Cameraman,” I replied, taking a cup of milk the waitress handed me. “Thanks, Sue.”

  “Cameraman for what?” Ham slung a little hash with his spatula.

  “Ardenville News in the Morning, I think,” I replied.

  “This about your wish fetching?”

  I made a face. “How’d you guess?”

  “A thing like that just draws attention,” Ham said. “No fault of yours. The town spotlight even turned on your mama, back when.”

  “Yeah. I heard.”

  Ham’s eyebrows rose. “So, your granny finally told you about Loreen Walton, did she?”

  All at once, I had a thought.

  “Ham, you don’t know what happened there, do you? With Loreen’s dying in spite of Penny’s wish?”

  Ham frowned. He looked over at Inez, the short-order cook. “Could you take over for a few?”

  “Sure.” Inez reached for a spatula and gave it a fancy flip.

  “Come talk to me, Genuine, while your burrito’s grilling.” He hitched a thumb toward the back door.

  Outside, Ham offered me an upturned bucket to sit on, then dragged over another one for himself.

  Hunkering down, he began, “I believe you know your mama and I were good friends.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ham wiped his sweaty brow with a rag. “You resemble Crista in a lot of ways. You take things hard to heart, just like she did. You try to fix stuff, even when it wasn’t you who broke it. Just plain old good-spirited girls, both of you.”

  He looked at the pavement and sighed. I got the feeling he was deciding how much he should say.

  “You do know what happened!” I realized.

  He nodded. “I’m probably the only one she did tell.”

  “Ham, you gotta tell me.”

  “There ain’t much to it, really.” He shrugged. “Crista goes into Loreen’s sickroom, tells the girl, I’m here because Penny asked me to help you.

  “Help me how? says Loreen. And Crista tells her how she could fetch a wish to take the sickness away. Loreen listens real careful and gets quiet for a long time. Finally, she says, Thank you kindly, but I’d rather walk the path the Maker laid out for me.

  “Crista was bowled over! A girl, not even twenty years old, dying, what didn’t want to be saved? But they talked for a while, and Loreen explained how she’d rather go with her head held high, instead of grubbing and filching for time that wasn’t hers. So what was Crista gonna do? Force a wish on the girl? Course not.”

  I saw it clear as crystal. Ma had been torn between Penny’s good-hearted wish and Loreen Walton’s final wish to finish things in the manner that felt right for her.

  “So, she never even tried to fetch it.” Distressing as it would be, I couldn’t help thinking I would have made the same choice.

  “Nope,” Ham said. “Though she couldn’t tell Penny that. I mean, how would it sound? Hey, Penny, your sister would rather die than stay here with you?”

  When my jaw dropped, Ham added, “I don’t mean to be that way. It’s just, there weren’t no good way for Crista to tell Penny the truth. Not when Penny was already so heartbroken.”

  “So Ma let the Waltons think it was her own failing that Loreen died.”

  Ham sighed. “And Penny never forgave her.”

  I peered down at my shoes. They were dirty to the tops of the soles.

  “You all right?” Ham asked.

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “It’s just, Gram made such a big to-do of keeping this from me.” I gave a little half-laugh. “I don’t suppose you
know why?”

  “That I can’t tell you.” Ham patted my shoulder. Jutting his chin toward the diner door, he added, “I gotta get back in there.”

  “Sure.”

  “Genuine?”

  “Hmm?”

  He locked his eyes on mine. “Of all the family shines in Sass, wish fetching is surely one of the most burdensome.” He tapped his chest. “Taxing on the heart, is what I guess I’m trying to say. Go easy on yourself. All right?”

  I didn’t know precisely what he was getting at, but I could tell he meant it kindly. “Yeah. Thanks. All right.”

  14

  Waiting List

  I WAS LATE GETTING TO CLASS AND, ON TOP OF IT, had to ask Mister Strickland for more time on my math homework, seeing as how I hadn’t cracked a book in nearly a week. He only shook his head and told me to see him after the bell. Truth to tell, it was hard to get too worked up about it. In the quagmire of biscuit baking and family secrets, Mister Strickland’s anger hardly vexed me at all.

  Even so, my thoughts were churning. A late assignment didn’t count for much one way or the other, but what did matter, really? Feeding the hungry? Pleasing Gram? Helping my neighbors? All those things were important.

  But what about me? Could I just keep on doing and doing until I dropped? Another twenty Cornucopio requests had come in that morning. When all of this was done—if it ever was done—would there be anything left of me?

  When the lunch bell rang, I meandered up to Mister Strickland’s desk.

  “You wanted to see me, sir,” I reminded him.

  He nodded. “Miss Carver explained about your biscuit-baking backlog, and I’ve thought up a makeup assignment for you. It may solve some of your troubles.”

  I gave a sad little groan, thinking that the last thing I needed was one more assignment I didn’t have time for. But suddenly, there was Mister Strickland, explaining about something called a waiting list. My assignment? To create a prioritized waiting list to manage all the incoming wish requests. I’d sift out the folks who were in dire straits and help them first. Then would come the people whose need was less urgent. Last on the list would be the folks who didn’t have needs so much as wants. I nearly hugged Mister Strickland when I realized his idea meant I could actually get a full night’s sleep that evening—and every evening from then on!

  Jura was waiting for me out in the hall.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Better than okay, maybe,” I replied, then told her about the waiting-list assignment.

  Jura slapped her palm to her brow. “Triage! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Maybe we should put him on the board of directors,” I joked.

  “Oh. I almost forgot.” Jura reached into her purse. “Travis gave me this to give you.”

  She handed me a paper folded in the shape of a bowling pin. I couldn’t help but laugh. Unfolded, the page read, We eat around six. The oven’s waiting for you. Genuinely looking forward to it.

  Between the Tromps’ bigger stove and the new waiting list—which I’d get done before day’s end, even if it meant skipping lunch—I really might be in bed by ten!

  “Travis saves the day,” I said to myself.

  “Huh?” Jura asked. Something near Sonny, over by his locker, had caught her eye.

  “Nothing.” I put the note in my pocket, a confidential little smile on my lips.

  I might have kept on smiling, too, had Sonny Wentz not sauntered over to ask Jura if he could walk her home after school.

  “Oh, and you, too, Genuine,” he added.

  15

  Blossoms in Winter

  DISAPPEARED DADDY OR NO, IT WAS HARD TO imagine anyone being surly for long living in the Tromp house. I’d passed by it, of course, but seeing as how the place was surrounded by a big fence, and considering that I’d never felt moved to go inside before, I was more than a little surprised to find out they’d been concealing paradise behind their gate.

  I knew, like everyone else did, that Miz Tromp had some kind of herb-growing business making medicine teas and oils that you smear on your skin, but somehow I had never considered the size of the operation. Their tiny house, a wooden cabin hand-painted with a thousand brightly colored birds, was surrounded by five acres—easy—of plants in boxes and plants in bowls, of blossoming vines climbing trellises shaped like horns and hearts and hoops. Tomato bushes bowed with their red fruit, while rows of purple-faced lettuces and collard greens burst skyward, as if they were grateful somehow. And beyond that, there was a whole orchard of apple and peach trees, plus great swaths of a tall-stalked plant I thought might have been bamboo. In the middle of it all, a small pond with a fountain spouted water from a statue of a girl holding a watering can.

  I just stood there for a while listening to the falling water and the ringing of the wind chimes that hung from the eaves of the house. After a time, though, some movement caught my eye, and there was Travis squatting in a clump of basil, collecting leaves.

  “That’s not for your nasty cigarettes, is it?” I asked.

  He jumped. “Oh! Genuine! Naw, just helpin’ out my ma.” Now he smiled. “You look pretty tonight.”

  “Friends don’t tell friends they look pretty,” I schooled him.

  “You girls talk about who’s pretty all the time!” he countered.

  The other girls did, it was true. No one ever said it of me, though. Suddenly I was very sure I didn’t want to own up to that.

  “Well, then, you look pretty, too, Travis.”

  He led me through the garden, glancing over his shoulder every two or so paces. “Let me hold those for you,” he said, taking my starlight-harvesting buckets.

  Off to one side, a metal contraption caught my attention. It was something like a staircase, about eight feet high, with four wooden crates fixed to the top of it and a bunch of pulleyed ropes dangling down.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “What?” Travis looked to see where I was pointing. “Oh, that’s the harvester. Ma’s picky about bruises on her custard apples. For a long time, we was having to climb up, bring down what few apples we could carry in our arms, then climb back up again. Which was fine before business got good, but now we’re too busy for it. So I made that for her. She can climb up one time and set the fruit in the crates real gentle. Then, with those ropes, we can lower the boxes down and land ’em soft.” He shrugged. “Looks funny, but it works good.”

  The perfect tool for the job, was how it seemed to me. With Travis’s smarts and his handyman know-how, it was hard to imagine how even the stars could do better.

  Travis walked me to the cabin door, set his hand on the door handle, and said, “Sorry if the place smells funny. It’s Ma’s herbal fixin’s.”

  But the house didn’t smell funny. It smelled miraculous—sweet like chocolate and spicy-clean like a summer day at the river. There was the impossible, otherworldly smell of newborn babies and the scent of good grandmas leaning over your shoulder while you’re puzzling out your homework. I even caught a whiff of snow and spring rain.

  “How does she do it?” I asked, whispering with the sheer wonder of it.

  “Do what?” Travis asked.

  I was still trying to find the words when Miz Tromp appeared.

  “Genuine! Welcome!” She held a bunch of celery in one hand. “You got that basil, Travis? Toss it in the pot, will you?”

  “Anything I can do to help?” I asked, following them both into the kitchen.

  Every burner on the stove was taken up by a pot billowing clouds of steam into the air. The counters were full, too, with bowls and cutting boards and vegetables in every hue I could name. My stomach rumbled.

  “She could decorate the cake, Ma,” Travis said.

  “Sure,” said Miz Tromp. “Cake’s on the top shelf, orchids on the bottom.”

  Travis went to the fridge and came out with a white cake so perfect it made me croon. With its rounded edges and fluffy icing, it couldn’t po
ssibly be anything other than store-bought. Real food just didn’t look like that!

  Travis set the cake on a table and went back to the fridge. “It was gonna be a wedding cake, but the bride chickened out,” he explained.

  “Travis, be nice,” said his ma. “It is true, though. It was going to be a wedding cake. I do like to cook for guests, Genuine, but I normally don’t go to that much trouble.”

  “You made this?” I asked.

  “I did,” she said. “If you’re interested, I can teach you how someday. Meantime, though, pretty it up for us, will you?”

  Travis set a box at the edge of the table and pulled off the lid. It was filled with flowers.

  “You decorate a cake with flowers?” I asked, not exactly sure what I thought of that.

  “You can eat ’em, see?” Travis took one and ate it.

  When he offered me one, his ma piped up, “Those are for the cake!”

  I took the yellow flower from Travis and traced the dashed stripe that ran the length of one of its petals. “Really? Right on the icing?”

  He nodded encouragingly.

  Carefully, I set the flower at the very center of the cake. It made me smile—though it took me some time to figure out why. I’ll tell you now, but I don’t expect you’ll understand it.

  You know how things stop growing in winter and all the trees are bare? That flower on that white-iced cake made me wonder, for just a second, what it would be like to live in a world where flowers could blossom in winter, where in spite of freezing weather, the alive things kept on growing, as if to say, “You can’t stop me!”

  Sounds silly, I know.

  Travis handed me the flowers one at a time until I’d used up the whole box.

  Miz Tromp looked over her shoulder while she stirred something on the stove. “Very nice. Maybe I should hire you.”

  “Genuine’s already got a job, Ma. She’s a wish fetcher,” Travis said.