Page 9 of Muddled Magic

“Psst.”

I stifled a yelp at the unexpected little voice then cursed my predisposition to cry out every time I was startled. Thistle thorns, Meadow, you’re not twelve anymore!

Either the manor cats hunting down the grasshoppers in the garden could talk now, or a niece or nephew had strayed from class. I bent down, searching through the leaves and tiny fruits and vines until I found Clover staring up at me, ivy-green eyes bright.

Crouching down, I released a handful of yellow, pear-shaped cherry tomatoes into my basket, and replied softly, “Sneaky girl.”

She giggled and shook her head, brown curls sweeping across her plump cheeks. “Nuh-uh. I need help.”

I knew she was in no danger, but I kept my voice down to maintain the illusion we were hiding from the others. Certainly Marten. “Why’s that?”

“We’re supposed to find some bugs. Auntie ’Sythia said they would look like big fat green fingers.”

Tomato hornworms, I realized. Big fat green fingers was an accurate description, plus some black eye spots, white stripes, and a red horn-like tail.

So that lecture was today; I distinctly remembered it from my own childhood. It was the day we learned that Nature wasn’t just blooming flowers and cottontail rabbits and whippoorwills serenading us at night. That Nature had a darker side.

“Find the green tomatoes,” I hinted to her. “They don’t like to eat the ripe ones.”

“Okay!”

I kept one eye on her, since she was further from the rest of the group, and one eye on my work, harvesting this new section of little orange tomatoes before her shriek pierced the air. Mom glanced over at us, eyebrows raised, and I lifted a hand to let her know her student was just fine. Physically. Emotionally, she was horrified.

Squealing, Clover burst through the vines and pelted down the mulch path until her arms were wrapped around my leg. I didn’t coddle her, for there was nothing to be afraid of, but I did put a comforting hand on her head. “Scary?”

The little girl nodded into my thigh.

“Show me.”

Because I was calm, Clover calmed, her tears turning to sniffles. She took two of my fingers in her little fist and led the way to the patch of plum tomatoes. Marten was there working, no doubt so he could keep an eye on me. He was sharp as a tack and had probably assumed—with good reason—that I would be dashing off to Grandmother at my earliest opportunity. He was faster than me, something we both knew, and he’d do his best to stop me.

A tug on my fingers brough my attention back to Clover; she was pointing. Sure enough, there were some green tomatoes that had been mauled by a hornworm. But something had gotten it, too.

I signaled my mother, knowing this was what she’d wanted her students to see. In a few minutes, her entire class was assembled around the hornworm that had been implanted with the young of a parasitoid wasp. What looked like white rice stuck out from the caterpillar’s body, its many legs clinging to the tomato vine in a death grip.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” Kit asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I think it’s gross,” Marigold said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking resolutely away.

“Just be glad it’s them instead of you,” Marten said, whispering his fingers up Marigold’s arms. She shrieked at the imaginary scurrying of insect feet before yelling, “Uncle Marten,” and whirling around to whack him soundly in the stomach.

Sorry, Clover. I think Marigold just took your place as my favorite niece. But if you go kick him in the shins, you can be my favorite again.

Little Clover proved ignorant to my thoughts, which was probably for the best.

“Marten,” Mom admonished. “Try not to scare the children.”

“Why not? It’s freaky.”

She ignored him. “And Marigold, we don’t hit unless it’s in self-defense. Everyone quiet down now.”

She herded her class in front of her so they could all see the hornworm before she began her lecture. “Last week we learned about symbiotic relationships in nature, and today, we’re learning about parasitic relationships. Remember how symbiotes are partners? Well, parasites are not. Though, they can still be beneficial.”

Picking up a piece of straw used to mulch around the tomato vines, she used it as a pointer. “The tomato hornworm preys on our tomatoes. See how this one has eaten the leaves and gnawed all these holes in the fruit?”

“Mom doesn’t like it when we take a bite out of an apple and put it back in the fridge,” another niece said. “She says we’re supposed to eat the whole thing. Or at least share it if we can’t finish it.”

“Yeah, don’t waste food!” said a nephew.

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