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Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Tortoise Who Was Always There
If you ever visited Nutley Farm, the first thing you'd notice was the smell of fresh hay and the sound of chickens arguing over nothing. The second thing you'd notice — if you looked carefully — was Humphrey.
Humphrey was a tortoise. Not just any tortoise, mind you, but a very old one. His shell was the colour of dark honey, with rings and grooves worn into it like the bark of an ancient oak tree. His eyes were small and bright, like two shiny black buttons, and they missed absolutely nothing.
Nobody knew exactly how old Humphrey was. Farmer Nutley said his grandfather had told stories about the tortoise being there when he was a boy. That meant Humphrey had been plodding around the farm for at least a hundred years, maybe more. He had seen tractors replace horses. He had watched the old wooden fences rot and be rebuilt in stone. He had outlasted three farm dogs, seven cats, and more chickens than anyone could count.
Most people on the farm treated Humphrey like a sort of living garden ornament. They'd step over him on their way to the milking shed. They'd set a flowerpot down next to him without a second glance. "Oh, that's just Humphrey," they'd say, as if he were no more interesting than a rock.
But two people on the farm thought differently.
Reggie Nutley was ten years old, with a mop of sandy hair that never stayed flat and mud permanently under his fingernails. His younger sister, Peg, was eight, with braids that she chewed on when she was thinking and a laugh that could be heard from one end of the farmyard to the other. They were Farmer Nutley's children, and they adored Humphrey.
Every morning before school, Reggie would bring Humphrey a leaf of lettuce. "Morning, Humphrey," he'd say, crouching down. "What are you up to today?"
Humphrey would blink slowly, which Reggie took to mean, "The usual. Watching."
Peg liked to sit beside Humphrey in the garden and tell him about her day. She was convinced he understood every word. "He's the best listener on the whole farm," she told Reggie once. "He never interrupts."
And it was true. Humphrey did listen. He listened, and he watched. He watched the swallows build their nests under the eaves in spring. He watched the foxes creep along the hedgerows at dusk. He noticed when a gate hinge was coming loose, or when the water trough was running low, or when the barn cat had a thorn in her paw.
Humphrey noticed everything.
Which is why, on a grey Tuesday in early March, Humphrey noticed the crack.
