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
