Free Genuine Sweet by Faith Harkey Page 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.”
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    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.
    â€œEvening, 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.”
    â€œIs something wrong?” Had Pa gotten himself into some kind of mess?
    â€œNo, no,” she replied. “I was just wondering if that wish trade was still on the table.”
    â€œSure 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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œCourse not!” I pointed at the chickens. “They’re your friends!”
    â€œExactly.” 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.
    â€œThat’s it?” she asked.
    â€œWell, you have to eat it.”
    â€œThat 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.
    â€œYou ought to. They’re good company.” She drove off.
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    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.
    â€œBy the by,” I said as I stirred wish-biscuit dough, “you might expect some vegetables and house repairs to come our way afore long.”
    â€œReally!” Smitten with excitement, Gram set down her yarn. “How’d you manage that?”
    â€œA man for Miz Tromp and a medal for Handyman Joe,” I said.
    Her smile slipped a little. “Well, you certainly are creative, child. But I thought you were gonna be more careful.”
    â€œI’m being real careful!” I promised. “I was straight-up with all of them. Told ’em if I can’t fetch their wishes, they don’t have to pay me. And I said I was still learning, so they’d have to be patient.” I dribbled more starlight into my dough. “You do think the wishes are strong enough to find Miz Tromp a man, don’t you?”
    â€œEasy peasy,” Gram assured me.
    â€œAnd Handyman Joe’s medal?” I asked.
    â€œHe’s probably already got it in hand.” She flumped down on one of the dining room chairs. “Ugh. I got as much get-up-and-go as a tortoise in a snowstorm.”
    â€œAre you sick?” I asked.
    â€œJust tired,” she replied. “Well, the bright side to those wish barters is nobody has to go without anything to get what they need. Handyman Joe gives a little time and gets rid of those spare parts he’s always got lying around. And Mabel Tromp’s extra vegetables might have gone to waste otherwise.” Gram fiddled with her glasses. “It does make you think about Travis, some. Poor