Disclaimer: Don't own Harvest Moon. Want to, but don't. Also, certain dialogue belongs to Harvest Moon and Natsume.
A/N: I'm really excited about this starting this story, because I adore Harvest Moon and I think it has so much fanfiction potential. All the canon characters I'm using are from Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town (or More Friends of Mineral Town, if you like), and what's more, throughout the story I'll be weaving in character dialogue from the game itself to give it a different feel. If I'm doing this right, I want to make you feel as though this IS the story in the game we've all been playing. Whoohoo! That's about it for now. Enjoy the first chapter and reviews are lovely.
Chapter 1: The Old Man
Some of us are familiar with this story perhaps. It has been retold many times in many different ways. But they all start out the same – it starts with a lost little boy.
The year was 1963.
Max turned six years old that spring. He was a regular city boy, who loved ice creams and spent all his pocket money at the arcade. His parents dotted on him - for Max was an only child, and it had to be said that he became a little spoilt. But not long after his birthday, Max fell sick. He coughed uncontrollably, coughs that took the wind out of him and kept him awake throughout the night. Within a week he was grumpy and tired - a bad combination for a child. He refused his medicine (too bitter!), and whined when his mother wouldn't let him have chocolate. By the time he was well, Max was frightfully pale and his parents were worn out. The family doctor, an old friend of Max's dad, suggested the family take a vacation away from the city. "Country air is what your family needs right now, Tony. Fresh air and good food."
At the start of summer, Max found himself in Mineral Town, a settlement surrounded by mountains on one side and the sea on the other. Max couldn't honestly say he was impressed by what he saw. But he couldn't be blamed, he was never taught to appreciate or experience nature. The only natural thing about Max's childhood so far was the fat goldfish he received two years ago for his birthday. But then he overfed the little thing one morning and found it floating pathetically in its bowl on the same evening. "I just thought Sammy looked hungry, Mom!"
While his parents checked in at the inn, Max stood behind the counter, eyeing the innkeeper warily. He felt a little intimidated by the big man with the flaming red hair and moustache. Doug had a booming voice and laughed a little too loudly, and everyone he knew thought he was a cheerful and perfectly wonderful person to be around, but Max only wanted to hide behind his mother and hold her hand. Suddenly there was an awful commotion and Max turned to see a little girl bound down the stairs. Her short hair (hopelessly messy) was the same shade of red as Doug's, and she was dressed rather like a boy, Max thought.
"Ann, what did I tell you about jumping down the stairs like that?" But he was grinning.
"This must be your daughter!" Max's mother, Beth exclaimed.
"Say hello, Ann. These are our new guests."
"Hello!" Ann chirped. She then turned to her father and tugged at his sleeve. "Daddy, Mommy wants to know when you're going to fix the light in Mr. Tucker's room." Before she retreated upstairs again, she stuck her tongue out at Max and grinned mischievously.
Max didn't quite know what to make of Ann. But he was a little relieved there were other children around. At least he wouldn't be bored. After Doug and Max's dad brought all their luggage upstairs, Max was ordered to freshen up before they began exploring the town. Right before they left their room, Beth fretted with the state of his face and began scrubbing his cheek with a wet handkerchief. "Goodness me! I thought I told you to wash your face, Max!"
"I did, Mooooom," Max groaned as he tried to push her away. Beth only scrubbed harder.
It was the Robbins family's second day in Mineral Town. It was still dark out when Max woke up. The darkness made his skin crawl. It was a quiet kind of darkness. In the city, even after he had turned off his bedside lamp, he could still make out the outline of his closet in the corner, and his football under the chair. He only had to look out the window to see all the colourful city lights emanating from the streetlamps, billboards and buildings. And he knew that after he fell asleep, the city would still be full of life. Night shift workers went about their business, cars still zoomed noisily on highways. Here, he couldn't even see his fingers, even though he had raised them up in front of his face. And he knew that everyone else in the small town was still deep in slumber. It was a quiet kind of darkness.
Max pulled on a fresh shirt and shorts which his mother had laid out on a chair yesterday night and groped around for his shoes, which he had unceremoniously kicked under his bed. He slung his backpack on as an afterthought. The backpack was Max's most cherished possession. It had a Power Rangers logo on the front which Max would faithfully look at before he went to bed every night. But Max didn't really have anything worthwhile to put in his bag, except for a Red Ranger figurine and a pack of tissues his mother made him carry.
He slipped out of the room. He rather felt than saw his way along the hallway. Soon he was pulling the heavy front door open. The morning air was cool against his skin, but it would slowly become warmer as the sun came out. By mid-afternoon, the air would be hot and stuffy, and people's thoughts would turn to the lake or the sea. Six year old Max looked up at the sky. There were still stars out. He walked past the winery and turned left at the T-junction. He hadn't he slightest clue where he was going, but he was determined to explore the place on his own. I won't get lost in such a small boring town anyway, he reasoned with himself.
Half an hour later, in addition to being hungry and tired, Max was quite lost. At one point he found himself in a huge square, but it was deserted at that hour and Max didn't feel like walking across it on his own. He tried to retrace his steps and passed two big farms for the second time, but he couldn't seem to figure out which road led back to the inn. Everything looked different at five in the morning, not that Max knew the time. He walked on blindly and wondered why his parents were not looking for him. Perhaps it was still too early. Panic rose in his stomach, he hoped he didn't have to stay outside for too long. Max was trying not to cry. He hadn't cried properly since he was five – the time he fell down and cut his knee on a sharp rock last year didn't count, it was a very painful cut after all.
Exploring wasn't that fun when it was so dark out, Max admitted. He longed for the city, where everything felt familiar and safe. He could always count on the familiar hum of his ceiling fan as its blades whirled around lazily or the barks of stray dogs on the road outside his house. Here there was just a quiet kind of darkness.
There was a road sign. Max realised there was a road sign ahead of him. There was just enough of light now to make out the words.
v Honey Tree Farm
The words were simple enough for Max to understand. He liked honey. Perhaps this farm made honey. He looked at the path which led towards Honey Tree Farm. It looked unassuming enough for a lost six year old. Max soon found himself at the entrance of the farm. There was an old man crouched down, petting a big dog lovingly. The dog, smelling Max's presence, looked around and barked. The bark sent Max over the edge. Hungry, tired, lost and now very much scared, tears started to leak out. The old man was startled to see a little boy crying on his farm.
"Stay, Winnie. Hey, young man. Why are you crying? Did you get lost?"
Max was not in shape to answer his questions. His breath came in short little gasps as he tried to hold back his tears. He sniffed into his sleeve. The old man approached him and eyed him doubtfully.
"What's this? Is that your phone number on your bag?"
Max stopped crying long enough to take a look at the tag sticking out on the left side of his bag. When did that get there? His mother must have put that there. He recognized the number as his father's.
"Let's call your parents," The old man said and smiled at Max kindly. He patted Max on the head and led him to the house. "Would you like some hot milk? The milk is fresh from my cow Tulip, you know. Come along, Winnie. And play nice."
Back at the inn, Max's parents had finally woken up.
"Hey Max, want to go fishing today?" Tony called from his side of bed he shared with his wife.
"Max?" Beth had noticed her son's empty bed. She glanced around the room and realised she and her husband were its only occupants. "Oh dear! I can't find Max!"
"What…"
Max was sitting on one of the two chairs in the old man's small house. He was happily sipping hot milk – fresh milk heated up on the stove with a little sprinkle of sugar and munching on butter cookies which the old man had managed to find in an old cookie jar tucked away in the pantry. The old man, who at first seemed uncomfortable in the presence of such a young child, was now excitedly showing him photographs of his prized farm animals. There was Winnie the dog, who wasn't so scary now, Max thought as he stroked her velvety ears fondly. And there was Tulip the cow and the many chickens that greedily pecked at worms in the yard. Max thought it was a little funny to take pictures with animals instead of people, but his young mind accepted it quite readily.
Half an hour later his anxious parents had arrived to collect him, all the while apologizing profusely to the old man. The old man, who was known around Mineral Town as Old Man George, invited them in. Beth picked her son up, gave his ear a sharp little tweak but covered his face with kisses all the time. For once, Max didn't put up a fuss. He leaned his head on his mother's shoulder as the adults began to talk. After awhile his attention drifted away, and he squirmed out of Beth's embrace. He sat down next to Winnie on the floor. He loved how her glossy fur seemed to ripple under the light whenever he stroked it, and he loved how warm she was.
"… In that case, why not come spend a few days on my farm?"
Max looked up at old man as he said this. Tony scratched his nose as he mulled the idea over. "You really mean it?"
"Sure! I live alone, so you wouldn't bother anybody. I'd love the company."
"Isn't this great, Max?" Beth smiled warmly at her son.
But Max didn't have to say anything. He didn't need to – his shining eyes said it all.
The next few days passed in a kind of hazy blur. Later on in life, certain moments would stand out in Max's memory when he least expected it – when he was weeding the field; when he was doing grocery shopping in the supermarket; when he was trying to get his daughter to fall asleep.
At half past four in the morning, Old Man George would gently shake Max awake. While Old Man George breakfasted on his customary coffee and plain bread, Max made do with hot milk and buttered toast. Then he'd take Max around the farm as he did his chores. Max was thoroughly fascinated by everything, and he was soon eager to help. "That Olive! Always hiding her eggs in the strangest places. D'you think you could find them for me, Max?" And so it became that Max became Old Man George's youngest farmhand.
In the afternoon, Old Man George took refuge in the cool of his house. While he rested, Max was free to do whatever he liked.
On this particular day, his parents were out at the beach, but Max had already gone fishing on the dock yesterday and hungered for some other adventure. After playing fetch with Winnie for several minutes, the six year old was utterly bored. He mischievously considered waking Old Man George who was like a magician really, the way he always managed to provide some form of entertainment for Max. But didn't Old Man George say something about the mountains? Max's mother was doubtful, as she heard from some of the other townsfolk that it wasn't very safe, but Old Man George said that as long Max promised to stay on the main path, he would be perfectly fine. With this idea firmly stuck in his mind, the little boy decided to investigate the mountains, because his name wasn't Max, it was Inspector Robbins: The Finest Inspector There Ever Was.
Mother's Hill took Max's breath away. He had never seen trees that grew so tall (or wide), and he was mildly surprised to see a small fox skulking behind some shrubbery. In the distance he saw a small wooden hut, but curious as he was, Max knew better than to stray from the path. After some fifteen minutes his feet started to ache, and his throat was itching for some water. His cotton shirt clung uncomfortably to his back. Soon he came upon a lake. Its calm surface sparkled prettily under the sun and it looked blue as the sky. Rushing forward, Max scooped some water and brought it to his lips. It was the most delicious water he had ever tasted. Everything tasted better on an adventure, Max reasoned. He wondered why the water didn't look so blue in his hands. He would have to ask Dad later.
Max wiped his hands on his shorts and continued on his way. After some time, he arrived at a wooden bridge. The stream gushed noisily below it, but Max wasn't afraid at all. Stepping lightly across it, he saw a pretty field of flowers ahead. Proud that he had found this place all by himself, he decided this would be his secret place. Finding a comfortable spot, Max proceeded to lie down.
He didn't realise he had dozed off until he heard a voice next to him. Opening his eyes, he saw a girl's head peering over his.
"Hey."
Max scrambled up. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the girl. "You're not Ann," He mumbled.
The girl cocked her head to one side and rubbed her chin. "You were so quiet that I thought you were dead! This is perfect, I was looking for someone to play together. I guess you'll do."
Max desperately hoped she didn't want to play with dolls – all his girl cousins did. But this girl wore a dress and had pigtails, and all his girl cousins had those too.
"It's no fun if you just sit there and say nothing! Why don't you tell me about yourself? I'm a witch, and I'm picking frog's tongues for my potion. You can help me," She said brightly.
This statement rather stunned Max. After a moment, he introduced himself as Inspector Robbins: The Finest Inspector There Ever Was. The witch-girl seemed perfectly happy with this arrangement. She bounced off to another part of the field and squatted down in the middle of a patch of white flowers. "Oi, here!"
Max made to follow her. Standing behind her, he watched as she unceremoniously plucked off flower petals from the delicate-looking plants. "These are frog's tongues. They make mean people turn green and hop around like frogs. But you don't look mean, so it's okay." She added after surveying him for a moment. Inspector Robbins crouched down beside her and grinned.
"Now," the witch-girl said once she was satisfied with the amount of frog's tongues they had collected. "We need to find a cicada."
"Do you know how to catch one?" Max asked curiously.
The witch-girl didn't seem to hear his question. "I think cicadas live on trees. So we should climb some trees."
Max wasn't all too familiar with tree-climbing, the city never presented such an opportunity to him. But he wasn't about to admit that to his new friend. "Maybe we can find some there." He pointed at an unassuming bush under a cedar tree.
"Nope, it's got to be a tree."
On the Robbins' last day on the farm, Old Man George woke up with a heavy feeling in his heart. All these years on the farm, he had never wanted a family. He was happy raising his crops and farm animals. A family complicated things. But now that he had one living under his roof, he discovered how much he had missed out on. Old Man George loved this family as his own, loved the little boy Max as a grandfather would a grandson. Max was lively and inquisitive, and never failed to amuse the arthritis-suffering old man. Old Man George laughed more in ten days than he did in ten years.
Years and years of solitude.
The townspeople visited him occasionally, but most of his friends were either dying or dead. The young folk didn't care much for Old Man George. And once he was too weak to work the farm, the people of Mineral Town would turn to other farms for their fresh produce and Old Man George would be forgotten.
Sighing, he got up and dressed himself. He then shook Max awake. He promised to make him a special breakfast today. Max yawned and rubbed his eyes. He seemed to understand what an important day today was. At any rate, he was more somber than he usually was. It was funny seeing such a serious expression on a six year old's face.
Soon, pancakes were sizzling on the frying pan. There was hot milk and a big jar of honey on the table. Max sat on his favourite chair, chewing a fingernail thoughtfully. Old Man George placed a stack of pancakes on the table and sat down opposite Max.
"George?"
"Yes Max?" He smiled as he scooped a generous amount of honey onto Max's pancakes.
"D'you think Mom and Dad will let me stay here with you? I don't want to go back," Max said miserably.
D'you. Already Max was starting to talk like him. It was quite endearing really. Old Man George shook his head. "We both know that's not going to happen, Max. Eat up. We still have chores to do."
"But they could come visit in the summer!"
"Oh Max."
Those two words ended their breakfast conversation. Max did his chore without much enthusiasm. The hens, seemingly reading his emotion, clucked mournfully in the coop. He spent the day playing chase and fetch with Winnie. When he returned to the house in the evening he smelled badly of sweat and dirt, so much that Beth forced him to take a bath. Max was half tempted to go to sleep without drying his hair properly. Hopefully he would get a fever the next morning and then they'd have to stay until he got well. That would show them, hah! But when he climbed out of the bathtub, he saw his mother walk towards him, a big towel in hand. So much for having a plan.
Max stood outside the house the next morning, resignation etched all over his face. He had finally come to terms with his departure from Honey Tree Farm. His parents walked out of the house with Old Man George. Beth embraced the old man briefly before standing aside. Turning to Max, Old Man George managed a big smile. Well, he had to look brave for the child.
"Well, you have to go now. Farewell!" He said a little too cheerfully. After a pause: "Is there any chance of you writing an old man a letter once in awhile?" Max, incapable of speech (he was worried he might cry), nodded vigorously. "Really? Here's my address, then." He handed a small piece of paper to Max. The boy held it in his hand tightly.
At the sound of footsteps, everyone glanced at the farm entrance. A small girl stood before them, panting slightly. The witch-girl!
"You're leaving already?" She asked. "But we haven't finished the frog potion! If you go, I'll be bored and lonely again… You HAVE to come back, okay?"
Old Man George grinned. "Looks like you've made a friend! Just one more reason to return, I guess."
"We have to go, Max," Beth called softly.
Max nodded. He hesitated for a couple of seconds, but then ran forward to hug the old man. "I'll be waiting for your letter. Goodbye, Max."
