Tad Williams: The Secrets of Ordinary Farm

“Look, Luce!”

His sister looked up. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “We’re definitely back.” She had been trying to comfort Colin Needle, who was huddled near them in the back of the wagon, eyes red and jaw clenched. Tyler didn’t think the older boy’s injuries were as bad as he was making them out to be-only a few small spots on his coat had actually caught fire.

Lucinda gave him a warning look as the cart horse pulled them past the old grain silo. The tall, gray structure looked like a haunted house out of a scary movie, but was actually only an empty wooden building that covered the farm’s greatest secret-the Fault Line, a gateway to other times and places that Octavio Tinker had discovered. Tyler didn’t know what Lucinda’s look meant and didn’t much care: she had her dragons and he had the Fault Line. In fact, as far as Tyler knew, he was the only person in the world who could walk into it and out again safely without the help of any machine or device. Did she really think he was going to ignore it all summer?

A crowd of people was pushing through the front door of the farmhouse and out onto the covered porch, a group of smiling, familiar faces waiting to greet them. Even before the wagon rolled to a stop the farm folk were hurrying toward them.

“You are here! That is good, very good!” cried Sarah the cook as she wiped her hands on her apron, her ruddy cheeks even ruddier than usual because she had been cooking. Tyler took his hug from her with good nature, although she nearly squeezed the breath out of him-Sarah was short but strong. She was also serious about hugging: a moment later she had captured his sister too and squeezed her until she squeaked. Sarah’s kind spirit filled the house and was responsible for much of what was homey and welcoming about strange old Ordinary Farm.

Pema, a quiet young woman from long-ago Tibet, and her near-opposite Azinza from Africa, tall, dark, and regal, followed closely after Sarah with hugs of their own.

“We missed you,” Azinza told her. “It was too quiet here after you went away.”

“But not so quiet today, it seems.” Sarah had seen Gideon lead Colin past them and into the house. “What happened to him?”

But before Lucinda could answer, most of the rest of Ordinary Farm’s inhabitants were upon them. Ragnar the Viking, a blond, bearded grandfather built like a professional wrestler, came at them with a big grin and surprised Tyler by pulling him into a rib-cracking embrace. Kiwa, Jeg, and Hoka, the Mongolian herders whom the Jenkins kids had named the “Three Amigos,” hovered smiling, holding gifts they had made, a bracelet for each of the children woven from long strands of hair.

“Horsehair?” Lucinda asked.

“Not horse,” said Kiwa, the oldest. “Unicorn. From tails, manes. They leave on fence and bushes.”

“Wow,” said Tyler. With Jeg’s help he tied it onto his wrist. The braided hair was surprisingly thick and heavy, shiny as platinum wire.

“That’s so cool,” said Lucinda, examining hers. “Thank you!”

The last person to come forward was Ooola, the girl Tyler had rescued from the Ice Age, cleaned up and wearing a dress but with long, curly brown hair that looked like it hadn’t caught up with modern brushing techniques. Ooola took Tyler’s hand and pressed carefully it to her forehead. Tyler smiled at her, but he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “It is good to see you,” she said, looking at him shyly through surprisingly long lashes. She then seemed to remember something else she had to do and scuttled back to the kitchen, leaving Tyler a bit confused as to what it had all meant.

Of course, a huge celebration banquet had been prepared to welcome them back- “eine Feier,” as Sarah named it-and soon the children were led to the table. Tyler decided it was entirely reasonable and polite to honor the work the cooks had done by dedicating himself completely to food for the rest of the day. As he walked along the table where the dinner had been set out he found roast chickens, juicy inside their crispy skins, enchilada casserole with homemade corn tortillas, several kinds of salad, and great big bowls filled with grilled artichokes and summer beans. Sarah had also prepared a specialty dish called Sauerbraten, a sort of beef roast with fruit and cabbage. Tyler approached that one cautiously, but after a few sample bites he went back and helped himself to a huge serving. Something about Ordinary Farm made him hungrier than he almost ever was at home.

Later, as evening turned to night, Sarah brought out beer for the adults and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade for all the others, then settled her wide, warm self between Tyler and Lucinda. “How you two have grown!” The mistress of the kitchen looked Lucinda up and down. “So big now! Woman very soon, yes indeed!” Lucinda blushed. “And you, Tyler. You are much bigger!”

Tyler laughed. “Oh, I’ve got a while to go before I catch up with Ragnar.”

Sarah nodded. “Yes, poor Ragnar, he works so hard on all Gideon’s fences and gates.” She shrugged.

“What do you think about all that?” Tyler asked the cook. “All the new fences and security?”

“Oh, me, I don’t know anything.” Sarah clearly didn’t feel comfortable talking about it. “If Gideon says we need, then we need. He works so hard to keep us safe here! And he is still so sad his wife is gone.”

“Poor man,” said Lucinda. Gideon’s wife Grace had disappeared decades ago but the mystery was still unsolved. “He must miss her so much!”

“But you help him, Tyler!” Pema, the little Tibetan woman, had come up quietly. She blushed when everyone turned to her, but bravely continued. “I mean, when you find his wife’s necklace last summer. He always carries it! Always around his neck. When he is sad, he reaches up and,” she stroked an invisible something at her throat. “Like so. Makes him not so sad.” She pointed. “Look,” she said. “He is doing it now.”

Tyler turned to look at Gideon. He was indeed stroking the locket’s gold chain at his neck, but that wasn’t what caught Tyler’s attention: his great-uncle was speaking to Mrs. Needle, the first time Tyler had seen her since their arrival. The witch-to him she would always be the witch-was dressed in her usual prim, timeless way, long dark skirt and white blouse buttoned right up to her slim throat. She seemed to feel Tyler’s eyes, because she suddenly looked up; for a moment he saw what he felt certain was icy hatred in her eyes, but then it vanished like a mist and she smiled at him in a way that appeared almost natural.

“Welcome back!” she called.

Tyler turned away, his stomach clenching. Lucinda gave him a warning look. “And how is our Mrs. Needle these days?” he asked.

Sarah made sure the Englishwoman wasn’t looking before she scowled. “She is what she is.” Like almost everyone at Ordinary Farm, Sarah was a refugee from the past, a medieval woman with very, very firm ideas about witches. “But she holds Gideon’s ear and he trusts her. Please do not make her angry.”

“Why would we want to make her angry?”

Sarah shook her head. “Just be careful, children, please! She doesn’t like you and she is a bad enemy to have.”

Evening had fallen. Bats were swooping over the garden, snatching up moths and mosquitoes. Country hours ruled Ordinary Farm: those who had not left to take care of after-dinner chores were beginning to drift toward bed. Gideon had retired half an hour earlier. Caesar, the old black man who did handyman work around the house and insisted on taking personal care of Gideon Goldring, suddenly began to sing a song, his cracked old voice full of longing for something Tyler couldn’t quite understand.

“Oh, let me fly, now, let me fly!