Escape from Silver Street Farm (4 page)

The moon was still shining when Flora got up the next morning. Frost sparkled everywhere in the last of the moonlight and the first glow of dawn. It was going to be a perfect day.

She let the sheep and the ducks and the turkeys out and gave them their breakfast. The goats didn’t need milking in the morning at this time of year, so she let them wander out, too. Then she took Flinty and Buster to wake the sleepy children, who had spent what was left of the night on the three old sofas in the office. With a combination of nose licking and jumping on heads, the dogs had soon woken them up.

“Come on,” Flora said. “You never get the chance to see the dawn on your farm, because you don’t live here. Come and look.”

She led Meera, Gemma, and Karl across the yard and up to the old signal box, where the chickens were clucking to be let out. She ran up the steps to open the door, and the bantams fluttered down in a feathery fall while the big hens jumped down the steps.

“Now,” said Flora, “come up here.”

The children climbed the steps to the signal box, and they all looked out from the top, over the whole of Silver Street Farm.

Flora’s timing was perfect. Behind them, the sun tipped over the lip of the city and flooded the whole of the old station with golden light. All the animals and birds in their neat pens were laid out below them like a toy farm. In the rich morning light, the colors glowed. The creamy white of the sheeps’ fleece turned gold, while the turkeys shone like copper, their red wattles as bright as holly berries. Flinty’s black-and-white fur looked painted as she practiced her chicken herding. Buster’s black coat gleamed like polished wood. Even the browns and grays and reds of the goats and chickens looked like silk embroidery.

“Wow!” Karl breathed.

“Yeah!” Gemma said. “Wow!”

Meera hugged Flora. “You did this!” she said.

“I did not!” exclaimed Flora, leaning down a little to look intently into all their faces. “You three imagined your city farm, and you kept imagining it, and
that’s
what did it.”

They were all quiet for a moment as they looked at the scene.

Then Flora said quietly and almost to herself, “This is just the start. Next year, a cow, maybe. And pigs. Oh, pigs
would
be nice!”

As Flora stared dreamily into the distance, Gemma noticed that Meera was smiling rather knowingly to herself.

“What?”
Gemma mouthed at her silently.

“Tell you later,”
Meera mouthed back.

That was the last quiet moment of the day. The official grand opening was at three p.m., and there was still lots to do. Flora got busy finishing off the special Christmas goats’ milk cheeses she’d been making. This left the children free to get on with the Christmas decorations: streamers made from the ivy that grew on most of the buildings, feathers painted gold, and little wooden chicken shapes that Karl had been secretly making all semester in wood shop.

Finally Meera had the chance to tell Karl and Gemma about Flora’s two special Christmas presents.

“Uncle Sanjay’s bringing them tonight,” said Meera.

“Right,” said Karl. “We’d better get to work. They’ll need somewhere to live.”

So, while Flora was safely out of the way in the dairy, the three friends spent the rest of the morning clearing trash and weeds from the old brick toolshed and its little yard.

“If Flora asks what we’re doing, we can just say that we wanted it to look tidy for opening day,” said Gemma.

“Yeah,” said Karl. “She won’t notice the feed and water buckets tucked behind the wall!”

At lunchtime, other helpers began to arrive with all sorts of contributions for the grand opening. Auntie Nat had used Silver Street eggs to make lots of beautiful golden challah bread, and Meera’s mom had made Indian sweets —
jalebi, gajar halwa,
and
singori.
The food looked like plates of jewels.

“Next year when I make these,” Meera’s mom said, “maybe I’ll be able to do it with milk from a Silver Street cow, right?”

Stewy, the cameraman from Cosmic TV, popped in with a huge pile of little green fritters. “I’ll be back later to do a report, but I wanted to help out, too,” he said. “These are Jamaican callaloo fritters. My mom taught me how to cook them.”

At last, Flora emerged from the dairy with a tray of tiny round cheeses, each one decorated with a nettle leaf and tied with a band of red ribbon, and arranged them with the rest of the goodies. The tables in the office — made from two old doors balanced on trestles — were now covered in dishes of yummy party food.

“It looks gorgeous!” said Flora.

At half past two, Sergeant Short turned up. The children almost didn’t recognize him out of uniform. He’d brought a large Christmas cake and two surprise guests: Bish Bosh and Squirt. The brothers were both freshly scrubbed and looked nervous.

“We’ve come to say that we’re sorry,” said Bish Bosh in a very small voice.

“Yes,” said Squirt, so quietly that nobody actually heard him.

At last, Bish Bosh found the courage to look up. “The thing is,” he said, “we’d like to help out. On your farm. Please.”

There was a long pause, then Flora smiled. “Consider yourselves hired, boys,” she said. “You’ve clearly got a way with livestock. Shake on it, eh?”

The farm looked almost as beautiful at sunset as it had at dawn. The fences were all in good order, the paths were swept, and the animals were on their best behavior.

Everything and everyone was ready for the grand opening. Buster and Flinty greeted everyone most politely by wagging their tails and offering their paws. Flora and the children showed the many visitors around, while various reporters and film crews pointed cameras and microphones at almost everything — but especially at the turkeys and Kenny. Everyone seemed to love it all.

Then the Turkey Rescue Baby, whose name was Ralph, arrived with his mom and dad, and there was another flurry of cameras and lights. Ralph’s mom burst into tears when she saw the turkeys and again when she spoke to the children. Ralph’s dad didn’t say much at all, just pressed a fat envelope stuffed with money into Flora’s hands before they took Ralph home to bed.

Bish Bosh and Squirt helped out with the evening chores by feeding and watering the animals. Already they seemed part of the team.

As it got dark, the children lit candles in jam jars and put them all around the farm, lighting the paths and the pens and the buildings. Silver Street Farm gleamed like a fairy tale.

The grand opening turned into a party. Mr. Khan, who owned the corner shop, had brought his trombone, and Gemma’s dad his accordion. Together, they began playing every old tune they could think of. Everyone sang along between mouthfuls of food.

And then, just as Meera was wondering if Uncle Sanjay was going to let her down, his old white van trundled into the yard. Flora was talking to Sashi, so luckily she didn’t notice the van arriving or the children slipping away.

Ten minutes later, Meera, Gemma, and Karl climbed onto an old sofa and stood together in a line. Meera tapped a glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “thank you all for coming to this grand opening.”

“As I’m sure you know,” said Gemma, “Silver Street Farm would not be ready for its first visitors without Flora MacDonald.”

Everyone cheered.

“And,” said Karl, trying hard to speak up in spite of his nervousness in front of so many people, “Meera, Gemma, and I would now like to give Flora her Christmas present.”

Right on cue, Mr. Khan and Gemma’s dad struck up “Old MacDonald” and everyone trooped outside, with jam-jar lanterns lighting their way. The children led Flora and the guests to the newly refitted tool shed.

There were lanterns all the way around the wall, and, in the little yard, happily chomping their way through some chopped cabbage mixed with whey from Flora’s cheese making, were two lovely spotted pigs.

Flora was astonished — and very pleased.

“They’re just wonderful!” she said. “Gloucester Old Spots — my favorite breed. How on earth did you get them?”

“Well,” said Meera, “that’s my uncle Sanjay, over there.” Uncle Sanjay waved shyly from the back of the crowd. “He was installing a new boiler in a farm in the country . . .”

“And he mentioned that his niece was part of the
famous
Silver Street Farm . . .” said Karl, taking up the story that Meera had finally told them that morning.

“And the man said he could have two of his young sows . . .” continued Gemma.

“And Uncle Sanjay brought them here in his van!” Meera said, completing the tale.

Everyone laughed and cheered. Flora hugged the children and Meera’s uncle. Gemma was sure that she was about to hug the pigs, too, when the sound of high clear voices singing a carol made everyone suddenly quiet.

Without a word, Flora, the children and the whole crowd of visitors tiptoed toward the sound, which came from Kenny’s pen, where the ram was spending the night outside as usual. There, sitting in a pool of candlelight, were Bish Bosh and Squirt, looking for all the world like a pair of little angels. They were singing:

“In Bethlehem did shepherds keep

Their flocks of lambs and feeding sheep . . .”

Their voices blended sweetly, as brothers’ voices often do. The boys looked up at the people gathered along the edge of the old platform and grinned, but they weren’t singing for the Silver Street visitors. Their real audience was Kenelottle Mossworthy Merridale of Morrayside. The ram stood still, no longer grumpy or aggressive, with his big head resting on Bish Bosh’s knee, and his eyes peacefully shut, soothed by the voices of the boys he’d been so eager to chase.

“Silver Street magic strikes again!” whispered Sashi. “I can’t wait to see what next year will bring!”