“Yeah. I reckon so.” Not that I’d know much about that.
She shrugged. “And me, I’m pretty lonely. It’s hard to be a mother and a woman on one’s own.”
“Sure. Surely. Yes,” I agreed, trying to bring my thoughts back around to Miz Tromp’s quandary.
“So, this is my wish,” Miz Tromp went on. “I wish for a good man. A husband for me and a father for Travis. As you well know, there are but a few single men in this town—” She made a face.
I couldn’t help thinking that she was thinking of my father.
“—so I’ve long known my chances of finding Mister Right in Sass are pretty slim. Maybe he’d be a new customer or something. I’m not sure how it would work. That part I guess I’d leave up to you.” Miz Tromp paused. “Think you can do it?”
I took a deep breath. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Reaching into my pack, I revealed one of the wish biscuits. “A fine husband for Miz Tromp and a good father to Travis,” I whispered to the baked good.
I waited a few seconds to let the magic sink in, then I slid the biscuit over to Travis’s ma. She looked at it, apparently a mite confused.
“You have to eat it,” I told her.
“Now?” she asked.
“The sooner the better, if you want your man.”
She gave a little laugh, then took the biscuit in hand. When she bit into it, her eyes brightened. “Dog my cats, Genuine! This is muh-muh-muh!” That last word was muddled by her chewing.
“Glad you like it.” I smiled. “Now, I expect things could start happening pretty soon, but be patient, all right? I’m still figuring out how this works. It might take some time for the stars to arrange things like traffic detours and whatnot, to get your man here.”
“I’ve been patient this long,” she conceded.
A certain tightness that I hadn’t noticed in her before suddenly loosened. As she was gathering up her keys and getting ready to go, she stopped and said, “It’s probably not my place to say this, but . . . boys being how they are . . .”
“Ma’am?”
“My Travis is real fond of you—”
I held up my hand. “Miz Tromp, I like you very much. Enough to be honest with you, so here it is. Travis is as rude and contrary as they come. No girl in her right mind would put up with his babys and sugars. And the way he treats people—!” I didn’t spell it out, for kindness’ sake. She understood me. “But I am sorry that his daddy’s leaving hurt him so much.”
Strangely, my words didn’t seem to bother her at all. “You’re a smart girl, Genuine Sweet. You let me know how that wish progresses, all right?”
Just as Miz Tromp was saying her thank-yous and farewells, Handyman Joe came strolling in. Not even troubling to sit, he offered me two full days of labor on the house—plus materials—provided I could locate an old army medal of his father’s.
“I don’t know if it was stole or just lost, but if you could turn it up for me, I’d be real grateful,” he said. “It’s all I have of him.”
I thought of a necklace I had that used to be my ma’s, a gold chain with a charm, a star inside a star. If I ever lost it, I’d be heartbroken. Even in the worst, most empty-bellied days, I’d never once considered selling it.
I whispered to one of the wish biscuits and gave it to Joe.
“I get the medal and a biscuit, too?” he asked.
I gave him a professional sort of nod. “That’s how it works, sir. You eat the biscuit, I fetch the wish.”
He patted my head and set a couple dollars on the table. “Chocolate milk’s on me.”
I left the diner around suppertime, Gram’s half-fritter in hand. I was crossing Main Street when I heard a car horn behind me and a voice calling, “Genuine Sweet!”
Chickenlady Snopes’s pickup truck pulled up to the curb, a dozen chickens cackling in cages in the back.
“Evening, ma’am!” I greeted. “Howdy, chickens!”
Miz Snopes got out of the truck and wiped her brow. “I been tearing up the pea patch trying to get to you, girl.”
“Is something wrong?” Had Pa gotten himself into some kind of mess?
“No, no,” she replied. “I was just wondering if that wish trade was still on the table.”
“Sure is,” I said. “What’d you have in mind?”
There wasn’t much to it, she told me. Her hen houses were old and real rundown, and she needed some new ones.
“I’ll trade you eggs only. I don’t hold with the eating of chickens.” She stood up on her toes as if she expected me to challenge her.
“Course not!” I pointed at the chickens. “They’re your friends!”
“Exactly.” I think she was pleased, but a mite surprised, that I agreed with her.
I pulled the last biscuit from my bag, whispered over it, “New hen houses for Chickenlady Snopes,” and handed it to her.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Well, you have to eat it.”
“That works out real good. I ain’t had no dinner yet.” She was about to climb back into her truck when she added, “You got any chickens of your own, Genuine?”
I shook my head.
“You ought to. They’re good company.” She drove off.
Three wishes, three trades! Creation! What else might folks wish for and have to trade? I knew Gram needed someone to fix her glasses. Lately, they’d been hanging askew on her nose. And would somebody trade a job for Pa? I wasn’t even sure who to ask.
There was one thing I needed to do for sure, though, and right away. I penned a letter to the energy company offering wishes in exchange for power. Then I sang down some starlight.
When I got back inside, I found Gram busy with her knitting.
“By the by,” I said as I stirred wish-biscuit dough, “you might expect some vegetables and house repairs to come our way afore long.”
“Really!” Smitten with excitement, Gram set down her yarn. “How’d you manage that?”
“A man for Miz Tromp and a medal for Handyman Joe,” I said.