Magic Farm

Tara kneeled in the soft, forgiving earth, her hands threaded through the rich, dark brown dirt. She lifted her hand gently and watched as the dirt fell slowly through the cracks between her fingers, thousands of grains by thousands, becoming a small hill on the ground. She pressed it flat and smiled as her hand print appeared in the soil after she lifted it. Tara dusted her hands off, then leaned forward and peered at the small insects slowly making their way to the print.

Her study was broken by a harsh cry. “Tara! Taaaraaa! Girl, get the water here now!”

Tara jumped up, startled, quick as a bird. She grabbed the empty, wooden bucket lying forgotten nearby and swiftly ran to the well. She hastily attached it to the rope and lowered it with a splash into the well. She began to haul it up, calling out, “I’m coming Mama! Wait a second…”

She snatched the bucket and began to walk rapidly towards the house, trying not to spill too much water.

“Hurry up!”

Tara sighed and continued walking; it was pretty far to the house, and mama would be grouchy with her again. Tara tried to be sensible like mama wanted her to be, but she often forgot herself, becoming absorbed in the nature around her. That was good for a farmer’s daughter, wasn’t it? Tara’s mama and papa didn’t seem to think so. Papa often muttered dark threats about empty heads leading to the evils of magic. Tara didn’t see what was so wrong with magic, but would never dare voice that opinion around her family.

She reached the gate surrounding the yard and opened the latch on the small gate. Slowly making her way up the stone path, she paused at a rosebush to admire the new rose…large and red, and perfect in every way. Mama said it must’ve been a miracle that brought their garden back after such a harsh winter. Tara didn’t care what it was. She was just glad it was there. She thought she’d have been heart-broken if her beloved bush had died.

“Tara! Stop lallygagging! Bring that darned water inside!”

Tara startled, and peered up guiltily at her mother through the curtain of her hair. “Sorry mama. I was just…”

“Daydreaming again, I know. When will you get your head out of the clouds?” Her mother sighed and peered down at her, her plump face full of disappointment in her eldest daughter. She frowned and pushed back Tara’s stringy, light-brown hair.

“Where’d your hair tie run off to girl? For land’s sakes, are you ever gonna learn to keep yourself tidy?”

“Mama…” She broke off as she saw her mama’s eyes fill with laughter. “Turn around girl, let me tie it up ‘fore your papa sees you in such a state.”

Tara grinned at her mother and turned obediently. Mama didn’t mind her silliness as much as Papa, and often took her side when Papa got mad. She was turned again by mama’s hands, gentle but firm. Mama wrinkled her forehead, and bent down, her eyes calculating and her copper and silver hair shining in the rays of the setting sun.

“That’ll have to do girl. Get yourself inside.”

She gave Tara a light smack on the butt, and though Tara gave a protesting yelp, she went inside with the bucket, and dumped the water into the pot mama had waiting on the stove.

Tara hummed and lit the fire inside, and then pulled out the potatoes to cut; they would be added to the water soon, to make the week’s stew. She paused for a second, her knife poised above the first potato. She could have sworn she had heard the potato…silly as it seemed, she often could swear that the plants were trying to talk to her. She shook her head to clear it, knowing full well that even if it was magic or some such thing, her parents would never approve.

She paused and turned to the turnips, wincing as an almost inhuman sound reached her ears. Shaking her head to clear it, she continued on with her train of thought. She frowned as she tried to figure out the question that never tired her. Why didn’t they like magic? They had grown up with it; it shouldn’t bother them. Yet, Tara got the sense that something had happened to them once, causing them to distrust it forever.

Tara didn’t understand it, for she loved magic and all its mysteries, which was completely opposite of her parents. She sighed, for long ago she would have tried for a school of magic, except her parents wouldn’t let her. Now she was almost past the normal age of acceptance, and so there was really no hope.

Adding the last of the vegetables into the pot, Tara gave it a quick stir and then went to the window to call her family in. Papa and Mama were in the garden checking the plants; the garden was the only area on the farm where they grew non-magical crops. She could see Andy, her brother, tending to the pears, and her sister Margaret a row of tomatoes. Most people, ignorant of the custom of growing magical items, came asking for all sorts of weird plants. There were a few, of course, but most started out ordinary and didn’t acquire the fancy names till they had been picked and cured in the right solution…and that was done by a wizard.

“Andy! Maggie! Mama and Papa! Dinner!” she yelled out the window. They looked up and began walking in, Andy waving to let her know that he had heard her. She turned and ladled the stew into bowls, never noticing the two men that had been watching her for some time from the back door.