by Bruce Lansky
Suddenly Meghan screamed, making the same sound peasants use to call the pigs: “Su-u-u-e-e-e-e-ey! Pig! Pig! Pig! Pig! Pig!” Then she dropped down to her hands and knees and made grunting noises, all the while nipping at the chancellor’s ankles.
The queen stood up with her mouth hanging open.
“What’s the matter with you?” the chancellor cried.
Meghan jumped up. “Absolutely nothing,” she answered. “Second question?”
“What?” he yelped.
“I said, ‘Absolutely nothing.’ Third question?”
“Wait a minute, those weren’t the questions. You didn’t really think those were the questions, did you?”
“Of course,” Meghan snapped before the queen could say anything. “My! Those were three easy questions after all.”
Sunny, who had blown a kiss after every answer, motioned the trumpeter to do another fanfare, then leaped to Meghan’s side and kissed her. “My hero,” he whispered.
The queen stamped her foot. “You horrible girl!” she screamed.
“You know, we have a rule in my country,” Meghan said. “Anyone who is rude to the bride doesn’t get an invitation to the wedding.”
The queen threw her crown to the floor and wailed, “Oh, what’s to become of us?”
“That’s a fourth question, but I’ll answer it anyway,” Meghan said. “We’ll probably all live happily ever after.”
And she was right, for the queen calmed down and was invited to the wedding after all. The royal chancellor’s daughter ran off with a juggler from the circus. And Sunny and Meghan ruled together for many peaceful years.
Carla and the Greedy Merchant
ADAPTED BY ROBERT SCOTELLARO FROM A FOLKTALE
In the Sicilian city of Palermo, Italy, there once lived a poor shoemaker and his young daughter, Carla. The shoemaker worked with great skill creating fine leather shoes and sandals, which he sold at a nearby market. Carla helped in the shop by polishing the finely crafted shoes until they shone.
One day the shoemaker loaded his wagon with goods and hitched up his only horse.
“Wish me luck, Carla,” he said. “I am going to the market and hope to return before dark with my pockets filled with coins.”
Carla wished her father a speedy return, kissed his cheek for luck, and saw him on his way.
The shoemaker took a route that brought him onto a street filled with stores. As he passed by a shoe store, a wealthy merchant called to him, “Hey! Wait, my good fellow!”
The shoemaker stopped as the merchant approached.
“I see you do fine work,” said the merchant, picking up a pair of leather sandals and admiring them. “Very fine indeed!” Then he looked at the shoemaker with a sly grin. “How much for everything?”
The shoemaker thought for a moment about how much he would have charged for each pair in the market and named a fair price. “Twenty copper pieces for everything.”
“It’s a deal!” said the merchant firmly and handed the shoemaker the coins. Then the merchant climbed onto the wagon, seated himself next to the shoemaker, and told him to step down and be on his way.
“What’s this?” protested the shoemaker.
“Come now, my dear fellow, let’s not quibble. You did agree to sell me ‘everything,’ didn’t you?”
“Well, yes ... but ...”
“I take you at your word. Everything includes your wagon and your horse. After all, a deal’s a deal! If you wish to dispute my claim, we’ll go before the judge. There’s one just down the street!”
In shock, the shoemaker followed the merchant to the courthouse. When they were before the judge, the merchant explained what had been said, and the judge asked the shoemaker if he had indeed agreed to sell “everything.”
“Well ... yes ...” said the shoemaker. “But ...”
“Then a deal’s a deal,” the judge decreed. “And you must honor it.”
Dejected—without his horse, his wagon, or his pride—the shoemaker walked back home, with the cruel merchant’s laugh ringing in his ears.
When he got home, he explained everything to Carla just as it happened.
“What a greedy old buzzard!” said Carla, shaking her head. “But don’t worry, Papa, I have an idea.”
Early the next day, Carla selected six of the finest pairs of dancing slippers the shoemaker had ever crafted.
“Let me try my luck at selling these,” Carla said. Her father, seeing the determination in his daughter’s eyes, consented.
Carla loaded the beautiful shoes in a wheelbarrow and was on her way. She stopped to wipe her brow when she was in front of the wealthy merchant’s shop, and in a flash the merchant came running out.
“Signorina,” he purred, as he approached. “You look tired. Perhaps I can relieve you of your burden!”
“That would be very nice indeed,” smiled Carla.
The merchant looked in the wheelbarrow and studied the dancing slippers. “How much for everything?” he grinned broadly, thinking he would make another good deal for himself.
“How much do you offer me?” replied Carla.
The merchant reached into his pocket then held out three copper pieces. “Times are tough, Signorina. This is all I can offer.”
“Everything in your hand?” Carla asked.
“Yes, certainly.”
“Then it’s a deal!” said Carla firmly and held out her hand for payment.
The merchant grinned slyly and slid the coins into it.
“Oh, thank you,” said Carla with her hand still extended. “And I see that you have three lovely rings. I will have them as well, thank you. They are very colorful!”
The merchant was taken aback. “What’s this?” he bellowed.
“Come now, my dear man, let’s not quibble,” said Carla. “You did agree to pay me everything in your hand, didn’t you?”
Now the merchant was fuming, for he was a man prone to displaying his wealth, and on that hand he had three very valuable rings that glittered in the sunlight: a diamond, a star sapphire, and a ruby. They were among his favorite possessions.
“I take you at your word. Everything in your hand includes your three rings. After all, a deal’s a deal.” Carla continued, “There is a judge just down the street. If you are not content with our deal, we will go before him.” And so they did.
The judge listened patiently as Carla explained what had been said. The judge asked the merchant if he had indeed agreed to pay “everything in his hand.”
“Well ... yes ... bu—, bu—, but ...,” the merchant stammered
“Then a deal is a deal,” the judge decreed. “And you must honor it.”
Reluctantly, the merchant slipped the beautiful rings from his fingers and handed them to Carla.
Carla put two of them in her pocket and held out the ruby ring. “I am not a heartless person,” she said. “I’ll bet this ring means a great deal to you.”
“Why yes, it does, Signorina,” said the merchant sheepishly.
“Well then, I would be willing to trade it to you for my papa’s horse and wagon, which you have recently acquired,” said Carla with a broad smile. The merchant, realizing he had been tricked by his own brand of trickery, agreed.
And so Carla returned home to her proud, grateful father with their horse and wagon, three copper pieces, and the two precious rings as a bonus.
Even today the people of Palermo tell of how the clever Carla outsmarted the greedy merchant.
Savannah’s Piglets
ADAPTED BY SHERYL L. NELMS FROM A FOLKTALE
Just after the Civil War, when the American frontier was still being settled, few people lived on the Kansas prairies. Savannah, her mother, Liza, and her father, Jackson, were some of the first black pioneers in that Indian country. They came west in a covered wagon and bought a farm along the Blue River from the Pawnee Indians.
Jackson was a hard-working farmer who loved his wife and daughter. He’d started out working the cotton fields o
f Georgia as a slave but was now a free man with his own farm, planting acres of field corn in the spring and trapping red fox and mink by the river in the winter.
Liza, also a former slave from Georgia, now enjoyed keeping house, raising chickens, and growing vegetables in the garden for her own family.
Savannah enjoyed helping her mother take care of the chickens. She liked flinging golden kernels of corn around the yard for them to find. And she liked searching for plump, warm eggs in their nests. But Savannah did not like the feathers. She hated pillow-making time; that was a very sneezy job.
Savannah also helped her father with his hogs. She liked to watch the big black-and-white Poland China hogs crowd in to feed, squirming and pushing and squealing. The hogs always reminded Savannah of her cousins sitting down for Christmas dinner.
Liza, Jackson, and Savannah all worked hard. They sold their corn, hogs, furs, and chickens for good prices. They lived a good life along the Blue River, until one Wednesday morning when Liza woke up feeling nauseous.
Savannah hoped it was nothing serious—perhaps something Liza had eaten that didn’t agree with her. But that’s not what it turned out to be. Liza had cholera. Many of the pioneers passing through Kansas on the Oregon Trail had been dying from cholera, and now Liza had it, too.
She died on Monday morning in the stifling August heat.
Savannah helped her father bathe and dress her mother’s body in her favorite blue velvet dress. Savannah fixed her mother’s hair one last time and pinned it up. She helped her father lift her mother into a homemade cottonwood coffin, then helped carry it out onto the quiet Kansas plain.
Jackson prayed a long, solemn prayer and Savannah sobbed, “Amen.” They buried Liza on the tree-shaded hill behind the house.
Savannah did the best she could to help her father by cooking and cleaning, washing and mending, and feeding the chickens. She also sold their eggs and chicks and helped tend the hogs.
But that winter, Jackson grew more and more sad. Savannah tried everything she could think of to make him happy, but nothing worked.
One day, about a year after Liza had died, Jackson went to town driving his two mules with a wagonload of corn. He came home later that evening with a skinny woman in a red buggy.
“Oh, my,” thought Savannah as she glanced out of the front door. “What has happened to my pa? He was so sad. Now look at him. He’s smiling. He looks so happy.”
Savannah could not believe her father’s words when he marched into the house and began to speak. “I have found someone, Savannah. Someone to love me again. I’ve been so lonesome since your ma died. Now I have Billie!
“I met her this spring when I went to Marysville to buy seed corn. She came all the way from Kansas City to visit her sister. I’ve gotten in the habit of spending some time with her whenever I went to town. We enjoy each other’s company and have decided to get married.
“I sold the corn, the wagon, the mules, the hogs, and the chickens. Now we can both go with Billie to live in Kansas City.”
“I’m staying here,” Savannah said without a pause. “Ma is buried here. The farm is here. This is where I belong.”
“Okay, Savannah,” her father replied reluctantly. “You may stay. After all you are almost a grown-up.
You can live in town in the winter, with the Ottens. In the summer, Amos Otten will stop on his way to the sawmill to check on you.”
“Thank you, Pa,” Savannah said, “But I wish you would stay here, too.”
“Savannah,” her father said, “this may be my only chance for happiness. I may not have another chance at marriage, out here in the middle of Kansas. I wish you would come with us. I love you, Savannah, but I must go.”
“Goodbye, Pa. I will miss you. I love you. If you need me, I will be here. Remember me.”
And so they left, but only after Billie had rifled through all of Liza’s belongings. She took a trunk full of Liza’s dresses, including a beautiful red dress that Savannah loved, the utensils, and all the dinnerware.
Now Savannah’s father was gone, her mother was dead, and her mother’s keepsakes were looted. The wagon was sold, as were the mules, the chickens, and the hogs. “All gone,” Savannah thought as she looked around the empty rooms of the house her father and mother had built. “Well, at least he didn’t sell the farm,” she thought, glancing out the window toward the river.
A farm. Paid for by her parents after years of hard work. The land where her mother now rested. The land her father had just abandoned.
Savannah decided to hike up the hill, to visit her mother’s grave. As she made her way up the path, she noticed something black moving behind the empty chicken coop. Savannah stopped still, watching.
Slowly, carefully, a mud-covered snout peeked out from behind the corner of the coop. Then another. Then another. Savannah counted ten little pig noses wiggling at her.
“Pigs!” she exclaimed. “Ten baby pigs. Where did you come from? Were you hiding down by the river? Is that where you got so muddy? My pa sold your mother and father. He sold all of your other brothers and sisters. You are orphans. Poor baby orphans.” Savannah thought to herself, “We are all orphans.”
Savannah glanced around the yard. What to do with the helpless piglets?
She decided the chicken coop would be best. It had worked for the chickens, and it ought to keep the pigs safe from coyotes and foxes.
“I will put you in here for now,” she whispered, as she shooed them through the open door. “At least I’ll know where you are.”
Once she had the pigs in the chicken coop, she sat on a fence to think. “I am all these poor little piglets have,” she thought. “I must feed them. But, what will I feed them? Pa sold the corn.”
Then she remembered the ears of corn still in the field—bushels and bushels of corn. Her father had sold the corn he had already harvested, but the fields were still nearly full of ripe ears. She knew what to do. She would gather the ears of corn in her mother’s old bushel baskets and carry them to the pigs. Savannah knew that corn was the best food for pigs. Her father had taught her that.
She gathered heavy baskets full of corn and trudged up the hill. It was worth the effort; her little pigs ate greedily. As time went by, they grew bigger. Savannah built a fence around the chicken coop so the pigs could trot outdoors whenever they wanted to.
Meanwhile, Savannah started tending the garden. When her mother was alive, they had a huge garden. Savannah had helped plant and hoe rows of vegetables. It was hard work, but Savannah could do it.
This year her pa had planted the garden, but it had been neglected. To get the garden back into shape, Savannah had to water it well, weed it thoroughly, and pick the vegetables. It turned out to be a good garden.
Savannah knew how her mother stored the seeds from year to year, so she dried and stored some for her own spring garden.
In October, at harvest time, Savannah had bushels of vegetables. She stored enough for herself in the cellar, then packed sacks of extra turnips and potatoes and took them to town to sell. She took six of her fattest pigs to town to sell, too. They had grown so big that there wasn’t room for all ten of them in the chicken coop during the winter.
With all the money she made, Savannah bought back her father’s mules. Then she filled sacks with peas and beans from her garden, tied them onto the mules, and led them to town. Savannah sold her peas and beans and bought back her father’s wagon.
In November, Savannah told Mr. Otten she had to stay at the farm to take care of her mules and pigs. Somebody had to feed them. She couldn’t just let them starve. He agreed and said that he would check on her from time to time. He said it looked like she was doing a pretty good job of taking care of herself and the animals and that her father would be proud of her. That made Savannah feel good, but it also made her feel sad. She missed her father. She missed her mother, too.
As winter approached, Savannah realized that the garden would not keep her busy for much longer. So, she deci
ded to see if she could find her father’s traps. When Savannah got to the shed where her father had kept his furs, she saw the rusting traps hanging at the back of the shed. She decided to use them. They were just going to keep rusting if they hung there without someone scraping and oiling them.
Savannah set her trap line through the timber along the Blue River. She had helped her pa so many times, she knew how to set the traps and cover her scent. She was happy to have something to do through the long, cold winter. Savannah was glad her mother and father had shown her how to do so much. She could build a fire, cook potato soup, bake bread, skin a rabbit, and tan a hide.
Meanwhile, in Kansas City life was not so pleasant. Billie was not the person Jackson thought he had married. She was always complaining about something. She was not as kind and cheerful as she had been when they were courting. Billie did not have a mansion, as she had claimed. Instead, she lived in a peeling, gray boarding house. Jackson had to spend half of his money to buy a decent house for them. Then Billie managed to squander the other half on frilly dresses.
By spring, Jackson was pacing the floor at night, unable to sleep. What could he do? Nothing was ever good enough for Billie. Nothing was ever fine enough. He finally decided to leave, to go back to the farm in Kansas. After all, he was a farmer. Farming was all he knew. Even when he’d been a slave in Georgia, he’d been a farmer. He could not make a decent living in the big city. He told Billie that she could come with him if she wanted, but he was leaving.
Billie decided to ride back to the farm with Jackson. He guessed that Billie just didn’t want to risk losing her fringed red buggy. He wondered if she valued that buggy more than she valued him.
Savannah was furrowing the soil and planting corn when she noticed a brown dust cloud swirl down the hill. She stopped working and stood up. “It’s too early for Mr. Otten,” she thought. “Who could it be?”
When she finally recognized the person driving the buggy, she could hardly believe her eyes.
“Pa! Pa! Is that you? Oh, Pa, I have missed you so much,” she hollered as she ran down the fence row.
