with our mother.
“Well,” Jack said. “Here I go.”
Mama threw her arms around him and held him close. “Good luck,” she whispered. “I am proud of you, my son.”
She stepped back, and I moved in for a hug of my own. Jack gave me a squeeze so powerful I swore I felt my ribs crack.
“You know,” he murmured, for my ears alone, “I almost want you to come after me. You need an adventure of your own. And I’d really like for you to meet Shannon.”
“The most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen,” I teased, even as I tightened my hold.
“You’ll see what I mean when you meet her, however it happens.”
Jack released me and turned to face the beanstalk. Without another word, he walked to the sinuous green trunk, set his foot against it, grasped the leaves firmly with both hands, and began to climb. The last I saw of him was one brown boot-clad foot, disappearing into the clouds.
One week went by, and then another. My mother and I did our best to keep ourselves occupied. We spent several days over the hot stove turning the last of the late harvest fruits and vegetables into preserves or pickles. Mama did piles of mending, while I cleaned out the barn. We worked so hard I almost didn’t have time to worry about what was happening to Jack.
Almost.
Almost
. Because the truth was that it was all a ruse. Mama knew it just as well as I did. Even as our hands flew from one task to another, our minds were fixed on the World Above.
By the middle of the third week, I think both Mama and I knew the truth. Jack was not coming home. This was not to say that something dire had occurred. It might be that it had taken longer to reach de Trabant’s fortress than Sean the giant had predicted, which could mean, in turn, that it would take Jack longer to return home. Perhaps Jack had even discovered an unexpected way to get close to the harp and was attempting to get it back.
The trouble was, maybe’s and perhapses were all Mama and I had. We didn’t
know
. And the only way to turn uncertainties into understanding was for me to journey to the World Above.
“It’s all my fault,” I said at dinner that night, the fear I’d been harboring ever since Jack had vanished up the beanstalk at long last bursting out. “If I hadn’t suggested that Jack try to use the wizard’s gifts to prove who he was in the first place—”
“No,” my mother said firmly. Fear and frustration ran through her voice. “If anything, the fault is mine. I’m the one who filled both your heads with tall tales.”
She threw her hands up, the way you do when you concede an argument even though you think you’re right.
“I just wanted you to know who you really are,” she said. “Is that so wrong?”
“Of course it isn’t,” I answered at once. “It’s just . . .” I paused. “It’s not a story anymore, is it? I guess it never really was. Our father really was murdered. If Guy de Trabant could have caught you, there’s every chance he would have killed you as well.”
“And now,” my mother said, “for all we know, Jack may be in the same danger.”
“We
don’t
know,” I replied. “That’s the problem.” I pushed my plate of food away. I wasn’t eating it anyhow. “The good news is that I can remedy that fact.” I stood up. “And I should do so.”
“I just wish we knew more about this Sean and Shannon,” my mother said as she rose in her turn. She went into the kitchen and got down the sugar bowl. “What if they’re not as virtuous as they seem? What if they’re leading Jack into a trap of some kind?”
“Jack’s a pretty good judge of character, Mama,” I consoled. “If he thinks we can trust them, my guess is that we can.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right,” said my mother. She removed the lid from the sugar bowl. Heads close together, we peered inside. Just four speckled beans remained.
“They look like four wishes,” I said softly.
“Perhaps they are,” my mother replied.
“Well,” Jack said. “Here I go.”
Mama threw her arms around him and held him close. “Good luck,” she whispered. “I am proud of you, my son.”
She stepped back, and I moved in for a hug of my own. Jack gave me a squeeze so powerful I swore I felt my ribs crack.
“You know,” he murmured, for my ears alone, “I almost want you to come after me. You need an adventure of your own. And I’d really like for you to meet Shannon.”
“The most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen,” I teased, even as I tightened my hold.
“You’ll see what I mean when you meet her, however it happens.”
Jack released me and turned to face the beanstalk. Without another word, he walked to the sinuous green trunk, set his foot against it, grasped the leaves firmly with both hands, and began to climb. The last I saw of him was one brown boot-clad foot, disappearing into the clouds.
One week went by, and then another. My mother and I did our best to keep ourselves occupied. We spent several days over the hot stove turning the last of the late harvest fruits and vegetables into preserves or pickles. Mama did piles of mending, while I cleaned out the barn. We worked so hard I almost didn’t have time to worry about what was happening to Jack.
Almost.
Almost
. Because the truth was that it was all a ruse. Mama knew it just as well as I did. Even as our hands flew from one task to another, our minds were fixed on the World Above.
By the middle of the third week, I think both Mama and I knew the truth. Jack was not coming home. This was not to say that something dire had occurred. It might be that it had taken longer to reach de Trabant’s fortress than Sean the giant had predicted, which could mean, in turn, that it would take Jack longer to return home. Perhaps Jack had even discovered an unexpected way to get close to the harp and was attempting to get it back.
The trouble was, maybe’s and perhapses were all Mama and I had. We didn’t
know
. And the only way to turn uncertainties into understanding was for me to journey to the World Above.
“It’s all my fault,” I said at dinner that night, the fear I’d been harboring ever since Jack had vanished up the beanstalk at long last bursting out. “If I hadn’t suggested that Jack try to use the wizard’s gifts to prove who he was in the first place—”
“No,” my mother said firmly. Fear and frustration ran through her voice. “If anything, the fault is mine. I’m the one who filled both your heads with tall tales.”
She threw her hands up, the way you do when you concede an argument even though you think you’re right.
“I just wanted you to know who you really are,” she said. “Is that so wrong?”
“Of course it isn’t,” I answered at once. “It’s just . . .” I paused. “It’s not a story anymore, is it? I guess it never really was. Our father really was murdered. If Guy de Trabant could have caught you, there’s every chance he would have killed you as well.”
“And now,” my mother said, “for all we know, Jack may be in the same danger.”
“We
don’t
know,” I replied. “That’s the problem.” I pushed my plate of food away. I wasn’t eating it anyhow. “The good news is that I can remedy that fact.” I stood up. “And I should do so.”
“I just wish we knew more about this Sean and Shannon,” my mother said as she rose in her turn. She went into the kitchen and got down the sugar bowl. “What if they’re not as virtuous as they seem? What if they’re leading Jack into a trap of some kind?”
“Jack’s a pretty good judge of character, Mama,” I consoled. “If he thinks we can trust them, my guess is that we can.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right,” said my mother. She removed the lid from the sugar bowl. Heads close together, we peered inside. Just four speckled beans remained.
“They look like four wishes,” I said softly.
“Perhaps they are,” my mother replied.
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