Ballad of the Beanstalk Page 2

  His gaze once again catching hold of Clarion, Jackin flushed. “I had nothing better to do.”

  Jacosa raised her brows. “This is why I say no good comes of a young’un without a family profession.”

  “We have a family profession,” said Elena, catching up with Jacosa. She clutched her skirt high and was careful not to disturb any of the new plantings. “Jackin’s going to be the next mayor.”

  Jacosa turned on her heel. “Well, I suppose doing a whole lot of nothing is proper training to be mayor, that’s true.”

  “Jacosa!” Elena gasped.

  Jacosa fluffed a hand at her and put the bean between her lips. Her words were hard to make out, and the bean jumped up and down as she spoke through gritted teeth. “Instead of standing here debating whether or not a young man can prove himself useful, why don’t you actually start proving it?” She grabbed a piece of the bean and spit the other half out as she made her way to the giant rock. Bending over, she shook the piece over the top of the rock, then smashed the small legume against the fallen piece of fence entirely. “Now I won’t need you for any heavy lifting, mind you, but I could stand a helping hand or two when it comes to corralling this, once it—”

  A monstrous roar shook the earth. Clarion, crouching, fell back, and both Elena and Jackin swooped in to catch her, but Krea caught hold of Jackin first. Jacosa just planted her feet firmly onto the ground, her hands on her hips, her gaze steadfast on the clouds above.

  The shaking stopped as suddenly as it’d started. Jacosa’s lips puckered. “I thought they were being awful quiet these days…”

  “They?” Jackin stood straight, freeing himself from Krea and tugging on his vest. “Don’t tell me you believe the stories.”

  Jacosa poked one long, spindly finger at the bag Jackin absentmindedly cradled against his chest. “Boy your age wouldn’t know the difference between a story and the truth if the truth hit him upside the skull.”

  As if on cue, the rock that had given Jacosa such trouble coasted through the air past them, clipping Jackin on the back of the head.

  “Ack!” Rubbing the place where he’d been struck, Jackin winced as he turned. “What hit me?”

  “Useless, even when I give you a task that should require no stretch of that idle mind of yours.” Jacosa’s face soured as she grabbed hold of her muddy skirts and stepped around Jackin, practically knocking him over, to get to the gate. “After that rock!”

  Krea laughed and jumped up, threading her arm through Jackin’s. “Yes, ma’am!”

  Jackin seemed dazed as he stumbled after the witch and his would-be sweetheart. He didn’t even spare a glance for his crush and his sister as he and Krea followed the raving woman and her flying rock down the path to the town.

  Clarion watched them go, feeling warm and safe in Elena’s arms. The soft tip of Elena’s finger ran over Clarion’s brow and down her cheek.

  “Are you all right now?” asked Elena, squeezing Clarion’s shoulder. There was a lot of hope in Elena’s eyes, and Clarion couldn’t bring herself to disappoint her.

  And she was so tired of it all. So tired of explaining why she felt so lost when there were such good things all around her still. She knew that, she did, but it wasn’t enough to fix her. To make her feel better.

  “I am,” lied Clarion, burying her head beneath Elena’s chin. That way, Elena couldn’t see the new tears.

  But as she felt Elena’s head shift, and the press of the dainty young woman’s lips on top of her head, Clarion watched the drops tumble and fall against her sweetheart’s lap.

  Chapter Two

  Clarion wiped her nose against the cuff of her sleeve for the fifth time since leaving Jacosa’s. She was purposely taking the long way home, avoiding the main path for fear of bumping into Elena, Krea, and Jackin once more—and to give her eyes more time to soften and lose their puffiness. She told everyone she had to go, refusing to let anyone walk with her, on account of her mother. But she should have asked Jacosa for something to rub on the skin beneath her eyes to make the bags seem less inflamed. Not that it’d help if she couldn’t stop crying.

  Clarion knew the tears only made it worse, that her friends would often talk about her like she wasn’t even there, like a hug and a song would be enough to make her smile and that would be the end of her gloominess. She wanted so badly to keep the tears to herself, but they kept coming unbidden. They were in the tail end of the worm in the dirt. In the breeze on her cheeks. In the mud caked on her apron. In the sight of her little farmhouse as it edged closer. In every step she took toward the ramshackle cottage that had once housed her papa.

  “Welcome home, little one!” Clarion’s papa was always covered in dirt and mud. He put another streak of mud on his cheek as he wiped his nose.

  “Clarion! I expected you back hours ago!” Eustace, Clarion’s mother, managed to keep the dirt off her face, even if there was always the telltale sign of it on her cuffs and at the hem of her skirt.

  Clarion took a deep breath and picked up her pace. She didn’t want her mother to know how slowly she’d made her way there. “I was helping at Jacosa’s.” She dangled the small bag of medicinal herbs that had been her payment.

  Her mother snatched it from her as she approached and opened it greedily, frowning at its contents. “That’s it?” She stared at Clarion, as if accusing her of eating some on the way back. “You’re gone all morning and half the afternoon, and that’s all you have to show for it?”

  Clarion wove her fingers together. “Jacosa’s plants are expensive.”

  Eustace grunted and tied the pouch closed again, tucking the little bag into the pocket of her apron. “Yes, well, I don’t see why, seeing as how she gets half the youth in town to grow it for her. If I still helped, I’d pinch some right into my pocket when the witch was inside her cottage doing whatever nonsense she does to her herbs and seedlings, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Jacosa told me you did do that, and that’s why you’re not welcome there anymore.” Clarion regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, even if they were true.

  Eustace glared at her daughter. “She deserved it, too.” At least she didn’t deny it. She sighed and turned back to the pig pen. “Wonder if we should start our own garden. Beats trading for produce with what scraps we have.”

  Clarion frowned and swept past her mother. Leaning over the rickety fence her father had constructed to keep their pigs in, she searched high and low for the two remaining pigs they had. “Mother, where’re Royse and Randel?”

  “Royse and who?”

  “Randel! The pigs! The last two we saved so we could breed them again.”

  Slipping a hand on Clarion’s shoulder, Eustace sighed. “I sold them. We can’t afford to feed ourselves, let alone—”

  Clarion turned on her heel and slapped her mother’s arm away. “The pigs are how we can afford anything! You can’t just sell them all off. Those pigs are our livelihood!”

  “The pigs were our livelihood.” Eustace dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a large silver coin. “And people are craving ham and bacon. The butcher gave me a whole silver for the two of them, far more than they were worth.”

  “And what do we do now?” demanded Clarion. She knew the tears were squeezing out from between her eyelids again, but her rage kept her from wiping them away. “How will we have pigs to sell the butcher in the days to come?”

  Eustace dropped the coin back into her pocket and patted it twice. “We do what I’ve been telling you we’re gonna do, and that’s the both of us are going to clean houses.”

  “Papa entrusted me with the pigs.” Clarion’s shoulders slumped and she slid to the ground, not caring if her dress got covered in more mud. “I stood by while you sold swine after swine, thinking so long as you let me keep Royse and Randel…” Her voice grew quieter. “I promised him I’d make him proud of me.”

  “Oh, hell’s bells, that thoughtless father of yours.” Eustace sniffed. There were tears
forming in her eyes, too, but she seemed determined not to let them fall and flounder. “Expecting his wife and daughter to do the pig work. No. No, I’ve never had the stomach for it. Foul beasts, better on the table than in the yard.”

  Clarion stared up through the waves of water covering her sight. “The dirt on Papa’s grave hasn’t even settled yet, and you’d do this—you’d sell what little I had left of him!”

  “You still have that useless harp, don’t you?” Eustace chewed her lip and stared into the house’s open window. A silver light danced off a small corner of the harp from the reflection of the late afternoon sun. “You don’t know how many times I asked your father if we could get rid of it—”

  “No!” Clarion stood, blocking the door inside. “You can’t!”

  “We’d get far more for it than we would for a couple of pigs. The mayor himself made an offer only yesterday—”

  “No!” Clarion knew her mother could shove her aside if she truly wanted. But she was determined to keep the harp hers, if only for a moment longer.

  “You don’t think he deserves it more than you? He has the space in his house for it—it came from his house to begin with.”

  Clarion stomped her foot, ignoring the droplets of water that glanced off the toe of her boot. “It was our house. Papa’s family’s house.”

  Eustace crossed her arms and tapped her fingers on her cheek. “Clarion, honestly, you need to stop acting so childish. You’re old enough to be a wife and mother now, but I couldn’t tell you apart from any of the five-year-old girls in the village, I swear. Especially not with how distracted you’ve been lately…”

  Clarion’s brows furrowed and she spread her arms wide. If she had already lost Royse and Randel—if she wasn’t even able to say goodbye—she would do all that she could to stop her mother from taking the very last thing she had from her papa.

  Eustace threw up her hands. “You’ve already agreed to play at the ball tomorrow. You think it’s reasonable to ask the mayor to send a cart to pick up the harp only to lug it back here the next day?”

  “We’re not selling it!” Clarion ripped open the door and ran inside. The sheet over her harp was askew, like her mother had removed it—perhaps to show it to an eager buyer. She rubbed her forearm over her eyes and sniffed, ripping the sheet to the ground.

  “Clarion,” began her mother.

  But Clarion had already sat down and began to play. She played the tune of the song she’d practiced singing with her friends earlier that day, the song about the man who couldn’t find the woman he loved—the woman who may have been taken by those above or who may have run off to live a less unbelievable life without him. Eustace’s pinched features softened and she shut the door quietly behind her. She took some logs from the stack beside the fireplace and tossed them into the hearth as her daughter played, grabbing the flint and striking it over and over on a stone, but it wouldn’t light so easily. It was frayed almost to a nub. Clarion knew she’d need to use some of that silver to buy a new one. But their pantry needed stocking and Eustace needed more thread to patch the holes in their clothes and make something useful out of her papa’s clothing now that he no longer needed it. Eustace tossed the useless flint atop the mantel and leaned against it, breaking into sobs.

  Clarion stopped mid-song the third time through, her hand clutched in a gentle fist in the air. “Mother?” She got up quietly, shame flooding her body from the memory of their exchange a few moments before, and reached out to console her mother. She kept one hand on her mother’s heaving back and grabbed the flint, examining it. “I can try lighting the fire—”

  “It’s sold.”

  Clarion froze.

  Eustace stood straighter, letting her daughter’s hand fall. “I promised Judd after he took it to his home for the ball, he could just keep it there. He said he’d give me three golden coins for it, Clarion. Golden coins.” She gripped Clarion by both of her shoulders. “You don’t understand how badly we need the money. When your father was alive, we barely managed to get by, but now that he’s gone and those pigs of his proved so useless…”

  Clarion stepped back, away from her mother’s grip, her hand still clutching the stub of flint. “You didn’t…”

  Eustace patted at her face with her apron. “I did. But listen, Clarion, Judd said you could come play it there at any time! In fact, he was hoping you would. He’d pay you to play it and entertain his family with your ‘gentle music.’” She smiled. “That’s what he called it. And he said his daughter suggested it.”

  Clarion shook her head. “She wouldn’t. Elena knows how much that harp means to me.”

  “And she knows how poor we are now, Clair! She knows how we have to struggle just to put what little food we have on the table. Clair—”

  But Clarion had already walked out the front door, her quivering palm still gripping the useless flint.

  Chapter Three

  Clarion wasn’t sure where she was going at first. She ignored all the calls of “good evening” she heard as she walked through town until she remembered what her papa had always instructed.

  “You’re not the only one who matters, Clair.” He tapped the side of her head. “It’s easy to get lost up in here, weighed down by whatever it is that ails you. A little kindness goes a long way.”

  Clarion slowed her steps and threw back her shoulders, gripping the worn out flint tightly in her palm and holding her head high. “Good evening.”

  This worked well for her because it made the townspeople turn back to their own affairs—to their mugs of ale, their shopping, their gossiping, and wrangling their children—and if she’d run straight through them all silently crying, she would have become the next topic on their tongues.

  It wasn’t until one called her by name that she even thought about where she was and what she was doing and she was finally able to push the thoughts of unfairness and loss out of her mind.

  “Whatcha doing over here this time of night? Looking for deals in the market?” Krea stood in front of her father’s smithy with a broom in her hand. Her papa didn’t like when ashes from his forge collected in the street.

  “Hi, Clarion!” called Carleton, one of Krea’s little brothers. He leaned over the small wall partially blocking the view of their papa’s forge. There was a large streak of soot over his nose.

  “Hi.” Clarion crossed one foot behind the other and gave the boy a diminutive curtsy.

  “Carleton!” Blacksmith Burne called out between thundering strikes of his hammer on the anvil. “Never leave before a job is done!”

  Carleton grinned and trotted back to his father. Rolling her eyes, Krea looked on. “He’s only six, yeah? Give him a break, you big lug.”

  “Go inside and help your mother!” Burne didn’t even look up from his work on what Clarion supposed was a barrel hoop. The metal glowed redder than the sun. She wondered how any of them could stand staring at it.

  Krea leaned the broom against the front of the house. “Ma’s the one who sent me out here,” she muttered to Clarion. Her face brightened. “Hey, why don’t you come inside, though, anyway? I’ll show you what I’m wearing tomorrow.”

  In the heat of all that had happened that evening, Clarion had almost forgotten about the springtime ball—and how she’d once had no reason to dread it. Now it would mark the last moment she truly owned her family’s final legacy.

  The blacksmith’s cottage was a little larger than Clarion’s despite being so much closer to its neighbors. However, the crowd inside made it feel much smaller.

  “Clarion’s come over, yeah?” said Krea as they entered.

  “Ricker, no! You don’t put that in your mouth. Drop it!” Dena, Krea’s ma, bounced her baby boy in one arm as she rapped her knuckles atop the head of one of her twins like he was no more than a dog. “I said, drop it, didn’t you hear? Spit it out!”

  When the boy finally did as bidden, a small ball of iron came tumbling out from between his lips and rolled across the floor
. The family’s orange and black calico cat jumped out from beneath the parents’ bed and batted it under the kitchen table.

  “Krea, snatch Eald, will you? Let her out.” Dena bounced her baby again and went over to the fire, where she stirred whatever was cooking with a cast-iron ladle.

  Dena must have known what would happen. The twins were shrieking as they began chasing the cat, who was after the ball. The cat yowled and gave up her chase to jump sideways with her back arched at a ridiculous degree in order to scare off her tormentors.

  “Oi! Stop that, you little dunderheads!” Leaning down to reach toward her cat with one hand, Krea pushed at one of the twins with the other. “Here, here, kitty! Kitty want to go outside?”

  “Ma, it’s cold!” said the other twin, grinding to a halt. “You’re not going to make Eald spend the night outside?”

  The baby started wailing then, just as the cat’s hisses got louder. Dena seemed nonplussed. “Are you going to leave ’er alone then, eh? Or am I going to spend all night chasing you so you stop chasing her?”

  “You’re not the one doing the chasing.” Krea and her brother were making a game of her blocking him from moving forward. She used both hands to stop River and he was pressing forward, swinging his arms back and forth, with a grin on his face.

  “We’ll stop!” Ricker gestured at his brother. “Won’t we, River?”

  River stopped pushing against Krea, causing her to tumble forward. Luckily, she was already on her knees. This caused him to burst into laughter. The cat lowered her back slowly to the ground and slinked under the bed.

  “All right, all right, think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Krea stood up and slapped her thighs to send some of the dust flying. She turned to Clarion. “Anyway. Let me show you the dress.”