Serendipity Market Page 5

  “Jack saw me watching, saw my eyes following the lights, and he played what he obviously considered his winning card. ‘Your mother’s a nice lady. Doesn’t she deserve better?’

  “He waved his arm, and that wave encompassed our house and outbuildings. The house had a decided tilt, everything needed paint, there were boards on the stable with holes chewed through them, and the outhouse didn’t bear mention.

  “‘Rich,’ Jack whispered. ‘Magic, I swear. All yours. Only seven pieces of gold.’

  “‘If these beans are so wonderful, why don’t you plant them yourself? Even a lazy lad like you should be willing to do a bit of work to get such wonders.’

  “Jack waved his hand through the air, ending the movement with an almost regal flick of his wrist. ‘No need, John. None at all. I’ve become rich enough for ten men.’

  “I doubted this. I wasn’t ready, though, to pursue Jack’s idea of the riches of ten. Instead, I asked, ‘Then why the seven pieces of gold?’

  “Jack laughed. ‘Value for value, John. Something for something.’

  “Well, happens that I had seven pieces of gold. And a bit more. My last trip had been a profitable one.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Why not take that gold and do what needed to be done? Fix everything up and probably still have a bit left over on the other side. You’re also probably aware that I did nothing of the sort. Instead, I watched those lights flash. I reached out and took those beans. I dipped into my pouch and gave over seven gold coins. And the beans snuggled into my palm like little piggies snuggling into their mother.

  “‘Just plant them,’ Jack said as he pocketed his money, ‘and you’ll have more to sell than you’ll be able to carry, plus magic besides.’ And, clearly pleased with himself, Jack went whistling off down the road.

  “It was hard to plant those beans. My hand didn’t want to give them up. I sat and held them and watched them for the longest time, thrilled by the colors, loving the feeling of them against my skin. Finally I sighed, got up, and dug three small holes in the sunniest spot of my mother’s herb garden. I dropped one bean into each hole, although letting go of them was like prying gold from a dead man’s fingers, and I added a bit of water from the rain barrel.

  “The next morning, on my way to the necessary, something in the garden caught my eye. In the spot where I’d dropped the beans, there were now plants. Three-inch-high plants, strong and healthy, with the barest touch of shimmering black on the stems. I stood looking at them for so long, I almost forgot why I was outside in the first place.

  “By that afternoon, those plants were three feet tall. The leaves were glossy and flowers were popping out everywhere. Purple flowers, with mouths like snapdragons. I touched one and felt its warmth; squeezed its sides. It looked like a tiny lion yawning.

  “My mother had noticed by now. How could she not? There were aliens in her garden.

  “‘John? Where did these come from?’ She’d spoken from behind me, and I must have jumped a good six inches.

  “When my heart returned to normal, I mumbled, ‘Lazy Jack.’

  “Mumbling didn’t work. She heard me.

  “‘Lazy Jack?’ she cried. ‘Oh, John, I hope you didn’t pay him good money for them. They’re sure to be exactly the opposite of whatever he promised.’

  “I didn’t answer, which was a good enough answer for her. ‘Oh, John,’ she sighed.

  “Since there didn’t seem to be anything more to say, we stood shoulder to head (my mother is a tiny thing) and simply looked at the plants. In seven minutes I saw them grow another inch and a half.

  “‘John?’ said my mother. Her voice sounded the way it did when she used to ask me about the girls I’d been seeing, back before she decided she didn’t want the details. ‘Did those plants just get bigger?’

  “‘They’re supposed to be magic,’ I said, which was a rather feeble explanation.

  “‘Son, don’t be ridiculous. You—Oh!’ This as the bean plants jumped once again.

  “I stepped back a few paces, moving briskly, and said, ‘Let’s leave them for now. They’re probably just fast starters.’ I didn’t sound convincing, not even to myself.

  “But my mother agreed, and together we went back to the house.

  “That evening, in the light of a waxing moon, those plants seemed to climb forever. They didn’t need stakes, either. They were thick and strong and straight, and I couldn’t see the tops no matter how hard I tried.

  “By the next morning the little lion blossoms were gone, replaced by the most beautiful rich-purple pods. They glowed with an inner light that we could see just by looking out the windows.

  “My mother followed me out of the house, close enough that I could feel her toes against my heels. Christobel, our cat, who had stayed carefully removed from the plant situation until now, walked on my right-hand side. We were all moving slowly, as if we could sneak up on the pods from their blind spots.

  “When we were each close enough to touch a plant, I reached out my hand, palm up, and moved it gingerly toward one of the pods. Christobel yowled and bashed her head against my leg. My mother said, ‘John, do you think you should?’

  “But by now my fingers were touching the pod. Heat radiated off it, heat that I would have sworn I could feel running through my arm all the way up to the elbow. It was the same heat that had come off the beans themselves when Jack had put them in my hand just two days before. I jiggled the pod and watched the color flashes glint in the sun. The reds and blues, the greens, and oh! those violets. I reached for the stem. ‘Should I?’ I asked.

  “Christobel hissed. My mother said, ‘Oh, John, I don’t know if that’s wise.’ And the pod fell, snuggling and rolling against my palm like a drowsy little mouse.

  “‘Well,’ I said, but I don’t remember what I planned to say after that, because suddenly pods from all three plants began to fall. The three of us—my mother, Christobel, and I—were caught in a rain of pods. By the time the stalks were empty, the herb garden was covered with piles of pods and beans that reached to my knees.

  “The falling pods had made a noise like hundreds of fingertips tapping on cloth-covered tables. When they were all off the plants, the silence seemed to echo.

  “‘Gracious,’ my mother finally said. She sounded breathless. ‘Goodness gracious.’

  “Christobel meowed.

  “More silence, until my mother said, ‘I’ll just go and get a nice basket,’ which made me laugh out loud.

  “‘That’s like cleaning up after the flood last spring with a teaspoon.’

  “‘And what do you suggest?’ My mother used her huffy voice.

  “I laughed again, and shrugged at the same time. ‘I don’t really know.’

  “‘We have to do something. We can’t just let them rot.’

  “Christobel yowled in agreement.

  “‘I suppose,’ I finally said, ‘we could ask the miller for some of his grain baskets. Just so we could move them into the old barn.’

  “‘An excellent idea.’

  “I hooked up our pony cart, drove toward town, and borrowed baskets from the miller. We worked like dray horses, even Christobel, although her idea of help was to slap both beans and pods out of the baskets after we’d put them in. We eventually filled our whole barn and half of our stable before we were able to take those baskets back.

  “We were in the middle of this work when Lazy Jack came back. His eyes widened when he saw our harvest. I stopped shoveling beans long enough to grab him by the arm. ‘Jack,’ I said, and I smiled my most unpleasant smile. ‘Where did these beans come from?’

  “‘I said they were magic,’ Jack said, pulling against me and edging toward the road.

  “‘You did,’ I agreed, following along. ‘But you never said from where.’ My mother, who is quite fierce when she chooses to be, was at this moment hidden behind a pile of beans. But Christobel and I were a match for Jack even without her. I gripped his arm tighter and glared down at him.
Christobel tried to bite through his shoe. I said, ‘Where, Jack?’

  “‘The—the giant,’ Jack stuttered.

  “‘What giant?’ I shook his arm, not gently.

  “‘The one up there.’ Jack pointed straight to the billowy summer clouds, straight to the one that was shaped like a very large dog.

  “‘A giant in the clouds? That’s who gave them to you?’

  “Remember that until after I planted Jack’s beans, I was unconvinced of magic. While my opinion had changed, I still wasn’t sure that I could make the leap required to believe in giants.

  “Jack squirmed.

  “‘Jack?’ I asked, squeezing his arm now.

  “‘Of course. The giant gave them to me. Absolutely. Certainly. He said—’

  “There was a roar from over our heads. My grip on Jack’s arm slipped, he tried to run, Christobel tangled through his feet, and he skidded into a pile of beans.

  “‘He STOLE!’ roared the voice above our heads. ‘Snuck into my house and STOLE, he did.’

  “Jack cowered in his pile of beans. ‘I never did.’ But his voice was a whisper, and he shivered in the hot sun.

  “Fine. I believed in giants. And I believed this particular giant much more than I believed Jack. I didn’t think I could do anything about Jack’s transgressions, but I asked anyway. ‘Do you still have what you took?’

  “‘You believe him?’

  “I looked at Jack with contempt. ‘Yes, Jack. Of course I do. How else could you have come to have his beans? But you must have taken something else. I doubt even a giant would be this upset about beans.’

  “My mother, having joined us, said, ‘Oh, Jack. Your poor, poor mother. To have raised a thief for a son.’

  “I raised my voice. ‘What did he take, Giant?’

  “‘He took my golden goose, my Jezebel. If I could only get my Jezebel home, I’d forgive and forget.’

  “‘Jack?’

  “But he was gone.

  “My legs are long and I move quickly. I had Jack down on the ground before he’d gone a quarter of a league down the road.

  “‘Jezebel?’ I asked.

  “Jack was as surly as a bad child when he said, ‘At my house.’

  “‘Not for long,’ I said.

  “We were back soon enough, standing at the base of the tallest stalk. It was already beginning to shrivel.

  “‘Giant,’ I called, ‘your Jezebel is here.’ And as I looked at the goose and the dying beanstalks, I said, ‘But I have no idea of how to return her.’ I turned to Jack and said, ‘How did you get this goose in the first place?’

  “‘Climbed.’ And Jack sneered at me.

  “‘When you gave me these beans, you didn’t think I’d climb up myself? Find the giant and take what was his, like you did?’

  “Jack snorted a laugh. ‘You? Never. You’re too honest.’

  “‘Honest is as honest does,’ my mother said. Jack shrugged and yawned.

  “I shook my head in disgust, then looked up the shriveling stalk in front of me. I still couldn’t see the top. But I could see that the leaf stems, if followed properly, would form steps, almost like a ladder.

  “I turned back to Jack, scanned him from head to toe. I blinked several times to make sure he was really what I was seeing. It was still Lazy Jack, and I was impressed in spite of myself. ‘You climbed something like that?’ I asked.

  “Jack straightened his shoulders, and now he grinned, looking quite cocky. ‘Of course I did. Where do you think I got the beans in the first place?’ He gave a little shrug, still grinning. ‘Nothing to it.’

  “I stared at the stalk again, pictured climbing up one-handed, and swallowed hard. ‘Should I?’ I asked. I have never liked high places. I even got scared in the loft of our barn.

  “My mother didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course you should, John. You must. Poor things. They need to be together.’ And she gave Jezebel a little pat.

  “‘Umm. You wouldn’t want to return her, Mother, would you?’

  “‘Oh, John. At my age?’

  “I gulped and glared at Jack, who had put me in this miserable position. I wouldn’t trust him to do it, even if he volunteered. I sighed, then yelled, ‘Well then, here we come!’ I put my shaking left foot on a stem and grabbed the stalk with my damp right hand. To Jezebel, the goose nestled in my left arm, I said, ‘Do not move,’ and I started up.

  “The stalk that had been so alive yesterday, so supple in the morning, was dry and brittle. Some leaf stems gave off crackling noises, even though I was moving as lightly as possible. I didn’t look up, I didn’t look down, I just climbed, trying to breathe slow, full breaths between my steps. Jezebel, bless her, stayed quiet, curling into me as if she were nesting in a pile of straw. I could hear Christobel howling below me. And then my head went into the dog cloud and there, in front of my nose, was a shoe the size of one of the miller’s baskets.

  “I stopped and looked up. Far, far above me was the head of a giant. And reaching toward me was a hand the size of my mother’s best dinner platter.

  “I decided then that falling, even falling that terrible long distance, was better than having this huge hand, its meaty fingers decked with silver rings, coming straight toward my face, blotting out the sun. I closed my eyes, let go, and waited for the sensation of tumbling through space, waited for the crash as my body hit the ground.

  “But before I fell through the dog cloud, I was grabbed. Now I was swinging free, held in a grasp that was both strong and somehow comforting. I opened my eyes, and there, in front of me, was the giant’s face. The one eye I could focus on was the purple shade of spring violets, and there were wrinkles of what looked like concern showing in the corner. With the part of my mind that was still thinking, I realized that I was no longer holding Jezebel. Then one wing flapped and she settled herself, safe on the giant’s shoulder.

  “‘You were about to fall,’ said the giant, and he must have known the effect he was having on me, because his voice was as delicate as a giant’s voice could be.

  “‘I don’t care for heights,’ I managed to gasp, and my own voice was rough and raspy with fear.

  “The giant nodded, but all he said was ‘I’m just going to place you on this cloud. Until you get your bearings.’

  “Now, you may think a cloud would be something you would fall right through. And that was my first thought. I saw myself spinning down once again, saw the ground rising to meet me. But what choice did I have? I was, remember, being held from harm only by the good graces of a giant. I let him put me on the cloud. And when I could breathe again, when I could draw slow, steady breaths, I realized that I wasn’t going anywhere at all. I even tapped my right foot, twice. The cloud bounced a bit—rather like a dog shifting his back, waiting for scratches—and that was that.

  “A slow smile spread across my face. I looked up and up once again and I said, ‘Thank you, Giant.’

  “‘Pierre,’ he said.

  “‘Pierre?’

  “He nodded.

  ‘I said, ‘John,’ and I held out my hand. He leaned down, Jezebel shifted her weight on his shoulder, and we shook. Or, more accurately, I put my whole hand around his thumb.

  “‘It’s a good piece of work you’ve done, sir,’ Pierre said. ‘And I promise you’ll be well rewarded. But I’d like to suggest that you climb back down now. Quickly. Beanstalks don’t last forever, you know.’

  “As he said this, I noticed that the stem poking through the cloud was beginning to sway. I heard creakings, cracklings, and moans that sounded ominous.

  “I moved with a speed I didn’t know I possessed. For every three feet I climbed down, I felt two feet of the stalk above me sag and wilt. Perhaps it was some magic from Pierre, but my feet found footholds where there should have been none. I seemed to have eyes in the soles of my shoes. Until, of course, the last four feet.

  “I could blame it on the fact that I was now surrounded by wilting leaves, that I felt as if I were in a particularl
y dense forest, that my vision was reduced to fading green, but, in the end, I think my luck just gave out. I lost my grip and tumbled the last four feet, eyes closed, mouth open, not sure whether I should scream or not. I knew I was going to land in the worst possible way, was going to break my back or my neck or, at the very least, my leg.

  “Instead, I landed on a pile of fallen leaves, a pile so thick, it was like falling onto my own bed covered with our best down quilt. I stayed there for a moment, staring into the sky, searching for broken things on my body. Above me, the dog cloud changed shape and became a castle—drawbridge, moat, and all.

  “Then my mother was standing next to me and Christobel was bashing her head against mine. My mother said, ‘Oh, John, are you all right?’

  “I’d finished my inventory and had to admit that yes, I was. She smiled and said, ‘A man and his goose. That’s as it should be.’

  “I eyed what was left of my stalk. It was leaning closer and closer to our barn. Then I looked at the others and saw that they were listing even more. Christobel yowled and smacked me in the leg, and I jumped up. My arm brushed against my stalk, which trembled.

  “‘Run!’ my mother cried, and we ran like fury—Jack, Christobel, my mother, and I. When we were at what seemed like a safe distance, we all turned and watched as the last bit of my climbing stalk and what was left of the other two wobbled like drunken men making their various ways home after a night at the local inn. When they crashed into the ground, the earth shook like a quake, and all four of us stumbled. The stalks lay like the dead things they were, inches from the south wall of our barn.

  “I was still staring at them when I heard my mother shout, ‘Jack! Come back here at once!’

  “‘Oh, let him go,’ I said, contempt in my voice. I didn’t even bother to watch Jack’s retreat. ‘Whatever you want him for, he won’t do it. If we’re lucky, we’ll never see him again. Stealing from a giant.’

  “‘Young man.’ The voice came from above, from the cloud that now looked like nothing so much as a big-nosed smiling face in profile. A face like Pierre’s. ‘For you, With my thanks.’