Week 14: The Servant and the Thief (Storytelling)

An old servant sat in dining room, polishing the silverware for Lord Nathaniel. He was sitting alone, working slowly. His hands were knobbed and stiff. This mundane task used to take him less than an hour. Now he would be sitting working for a third of the day.

Cutlery by Cocoparisienne. Pixabay

He knew his master hated how long it took the old man to do simple tasks. Lord Nathaniel had not even been born when the old servant began working. He had been childhood friends with Lord Nathaniel’s father, Marcus. Marcus had promised the old servant a place in his house as long as he lived. But three months earlier, Marcus had died, leaving Lord Nathaniel in charge of the household. Nathaniel was still so young but thought he had the wisdom of the world.

Lord Nathaniel quickly began to run the household with a firm and hand, yet he was often shortsighted in his decisions. His young wife, Lady Gwen, on the other hand was kind to everyone she met and added compassion to the household. The lord and lady often argued, but they usually reached a compromise quickly.

Because of this, the old servant wasn’t too worried at first when their angry voices were carried down the hallway to the dining room where he sat. But then he began to listen to their argument.

“Nathaniel,” Lady Gwen said sternly. “You cannot just throw him out onto the street. He would be dead within a month!”

“Well, what am I supposed to do Gwen? Let him stay? Feed him, cloth him, give him a place to live? He isn’t doing us any good. I know he was friends with my father but that doesn’t mean I should have to pay for him now!”

“He’s just a kind old man. I’ve talked to him quite a bit and he has worked for your family for half a century! It would be wrong to not let him stay.”

“I’ve made my decision. Tomorrow I’m going to tell him to leave.” Lord Nathaniel ended the conversation abruptly,  and kept Gwen from arguing further.

The old servant sat in shock, the spoon he had been cleaning fell from his hand. He slowly leaned down to pick it up off the floor when Lord Nathaniel walked by the room. He paused for a second to stare unsympathetically at the old man before continuing on his way.

A minute later, Lady Gwen came rushing down the hall. She saw the old man struggling to get up and return to his seat. She quickly rushed forward to help him. “Thomas, are you alright?” she asked the old servant as she grabbed his elbow to pull him up.

“Uh… Well… Yes… Yes, M’lady. I-I’m  fine,” he stuttered, shaken from what he had just heard.

Lady Gwen sat beside him when he finally made it back to his chair. He slowly went back to work polishing the silver under her watchful gaze. “Did you hear?” she whispered.

He looked up at her, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “Yes,” he said just as quietly. “I did, Lady Gwen. I… I wanted to… uh.. thank you for trying to stop him.”

Lady Gwen finally looked up from the table at the old servant sitting next to her. “I’m just sorry it didn’t work. Do you have anywhere to go?” The old man looked back at the spoon in his hand without answering. “I didn’t think so,” Gwen whispered.

They sat in silence for a while, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally the old servant said, “I just wish there was something I could do to prove I was useful to Lord Nathaniel.”

Gwen looked up quickly, her eyes wide as a plan began to form in her head. “That’s it!” she shouted, then lowered her voice. After all, she didn’t want Nathaniel to hear. “You have to do something so he owes you. So you’re too valuable for Nathaniel to force you to leave.”

The old servant looked at Lady Gwen’s excitement hopelessly. “Thank you, M’lady. But what could an old man like me do?”

“We could set something up,” Gwen said. “Nathaniel’s father promised you a place here as long as you lived. If you do something heroic, I can convince Nathaniel to keep that promise.”

“M’lady, you had to help me when I tried to pick up a spoon.”

“It wouldn’t have to be real. I have an old friend who owes me a favor. What if I asked him to steal my jewels. If you caught him and returned the jewels to us. I could convince Nathaniel to let you stay.”

“That seems like trickery.” The old servant looked at the stack of unpolished silverware to his side.

“Thomas,” Gwen said, reaching out and putting her hand on top of his. “You have already earned your place here. Nathaniel is being unreasonable.” After more convincing from Lady Gwen, the old man finally agreed.

Later that night the old servant heard Lady Gwen shrieking for Lord Nathaniel to come quickly. That was the cue. As Lord Nathaniel rushed to his wife’s aid, the servant went outside to the front gate. There, waited the fake thief.

As the old man approached, the thief called out. “Are you Thomas?”

The servant nodded. They exchanged the pouch that held the jewels. Both glanced nervously around.

 After a minute or so they heard shouts coming from the entry way. The fake thief quickly went to stand close by the old servant. The old man grabbed fake thief’s arm, who then pretended to struggle enough to make it look good.

Lord Nathaniel came out with Lady Gwen standing behind him, smiling. The old servant returned the jewels  and turned the fake thief to the police, where Lady Gwen arranged his release.

Lord Nathaniel was so pleased with the old servant that he moved him to the most beautiful room in the house and never talked of making him leave again. 

Jewels by James DeMers . Pixabay.

Author's Note: The original story was called Old Sultan. In the original story a master was about to kill his old dog because he was no longer useful to the household. The dog and a wolf team up to make the master keep the dog around. In the original, the wolf  fake-kidnaps the master's baby and the dog goes after him and saves the baby. Later in the story the wolf asks for the dog's help in stealing a sheep but the dog refuses and they begin fighting until finally they reach a peace. 

For my verison I changed the dog to an old servant and had him and the lord's wife team up to save him from being kicked out onto the street. Instead of bringing back a kidnapped baby I have the servant stop a jewel thief. Besides those big changes, gave/changed names of the characters and moved their roles in the story a little. But overall the message and theme of the story is intact to the original.

Story Source: The Grimm Brothers' Children's and Household Tales translated by D. L. Ashliman (1998-2013).

Week 13: Leo and the Corpse (Storytelling)

It was dusk as we walked through the woods back to the village. Colors were muted and dull as the sunset faded behind us. The little light we had was filtered through the trees. I could hear Alex, my older brother, trudging behind me, breathing deeply. Up ahead I could hear Alex’s dog, Leo, trotting in front of us. His large shape was barely visible, a smudge of darker grey than the rest of our surroundings.

“I told you we should have left earlier,” I said. We would have to pass through the cemetery to get home. There had been stories told about corpses rising at night from the cemetery.

“Quit being a child,” Alex scoffed. “And anyways, I thought we were close on the trail of the deer. We both wanted meat to bring home to the family. It’s not my fault we didn't find it.”

"Clearing in the Forest" by Ivan Shiskin. Wikimedia.

Silence filled the air again, not even crickets sang. The silence felt eerie. Finally, we made it out of the trees. Only the field and the cemetery stood between home and us now. After we walked a little ways into the field, Leo stopped and darted back to us. The hair on his back was filly raised. He sniffed both Alex and me, as if making sure we were alright, before he turned and growled. I stopped; Alex pulled up short next to me. Leo stood a bit ahead of us, head down, muscles tense, a low rumble coming though his barred teeth.

We were nearly to the cemetery. I could see the dotting of grave stones on the horizon. Leo faced that direction. I squinted looking for what Leo saw or smelled. At first, I didn’t see anything. But Then Alex gasped and pointed. “Marcus…” he whispered to me, “That couldn't be…”

I focused on where Alex pointed. Finally, I made out a splotch of light grey fabric, probably white in normal light. It floated off the ground, unmoving but directly in the path we were set to take. “I don’t know… What do we do?” I whispered to Alex.

He subtly shook his head. “Well we can’t very well go back. There’s no where we can stay in the woods. The only thing we can do is try to go past it.” I nodded, trying to keep calm. We both took a step at the same time. Leo stayed a step or two ahead of us, keeping himself between the floating fabric. As we approached, the thing seemed to turn slowly.

Then it started towards us. My vision cleared as it approached. It was a dead person in their funeral shroud. It glided a foot or so off the ground, much more quickly than I expected it too. “Run!” I shouted as Alex and I both took off. Leo had other ideas. As quickly as we took off running towards town, Leo tore off in the direction of the corpse. “Leo!” I yelled at him as he began attacking the floating figure. “Leo! Come on!”

Alex was a good few dozen feet away now. He left me and Leo behind without a look back, although I hope he thought we were right behind him. I wasn't going to leave our the dog to die because of our stupidity for staying out too late.

I grabbed rocks and began throwing them as hard as I could at the corpse. I knew it wouldn't help much. But maybe at least it would distract it from attacking Leo. I was a little ways away, so if it came after me I would have a bit of head start.

It seemed disoriented. It would begin after me once rocks hit it but then Leo would bite at its feet until it turned back to him. And around and around we went until finally the thing seemed to decide we were being more trouble than we were worth. As quickly as it had come after us, the shrouded figure sailed back towards the cemetery and disappeared.

I was breathing hard, as was Leo. He walked slowly over towards me as I doubled over, trying to catch my breath. Gently, Leo sighed and licked my face. A thank you, I think. I smiled and petted before we began to walk back home again.

We finally arrived back home, exhausted and ready to fall asleep. All of my siblings and parents rushed out to meet us. They were all wide-eyed with worry, no doubt having listened to Alex’s story after he fled. It seemed like he had been home a while.

Alex walked slowly out the door, eyes downcast, not looking directly at me. Before I knew what happened Leo lunged at him. He snapped at Alex only a little gentler than he had bit at the corpse. 

Everyone was shocked but jumped into action, pulling the dog away from Alex. My other brothers and sisters struggled against Leo’s weight as Alex tried to make it inside. I rushed forward, petting Leo and trying to calm him. After a minute or so he finally stopped. After one last growl towards Alex, he turned back towards me.

That night Leo became my dog. Alex complained about it, since he had been the one to take care of Leo as a puppy. But are parents said if Alex really wanted the dog, he wouldn't have left Leo and I to the ghost corpse. Leo has never forgiven Alex. Every time Alex comes into the room Leo growls and walks over to sit at my feet. I like having my own protector dog. And I will never do anything to get on that Leo’s bad side. 

By Caroline Granycome. Wikimedia

Author's Note: The original story was called The Dog and the Corpse from the Russian Folklore Unit. The story was about a man whose dog saved him from a corpse/ghost and then he leaves the dog to fight and die. The dog finally gets away and tries to attack the man for leaving him. After the dog keeps attacking the man the dog is killed.

I changed a few things in this story although the basic concept is the same. The character, Marcus which I made for my point of view character was not in the original story at all. I added him because I wanted there to be one character that did help the dog. Also the Marcus left a way for the dog to not be killed at the end, because I didn't like that part of the story. The only other real change I made besides the addition of a new character was naming the brother and the dog. 

Week 12: The Fairy and the Woodsman (Storytelling)

I walked through the woods with an ax swung over my shoulder. The air was warm with a light breeze but the clouds hid the sun. It kept the heat bearable in my thick clothes. Overall, it was a very nice day for work.

"Redwood Forest" by Michael Schweppe. Wikimedia

I looked around for the best possible tree. I was commissioned to make a table for a wealthy lord in our village. It had to be a huge tree to make the planks long and thick enough. Finally, I found a suitable tree, Red Oak that was at least double my width and stretched far into the sky. This would definitely take all day to chop down, but I think it will be perfect for the lord’s table.

I circle the tree a few times. There are some strange markings in various spots around the trunk, but they are gibberish to me, unlike any language, I’d ever seen and written tiny. From my bag, I took out a piece of paper and charcoal and made a rubbing of all the markings. It was habit. Just in case someone could read it, I was curious about what it meant.

After I had finished I put the paper back in my bag and hoisted my ax, ready to begin the chopping of this huge, fine tree. I took a deep breath, before bringing the tree around quickly. Suddenly, a streak of blue came down from the tree.

“Wait! Don’t!” called a small voice from the blue light. Just before my ax hit the tree, I had a second to redirect its direction, burying it in the dirt instead.

I looked up to the blue light, a small, pretty fairy floated there in front of the tree. Her eyes were wide in fear and she was breathing heavily from her flight to the base. She must have been high up in the tree.

As she caught her breath, she murmured “Oh, thank you. I thought I might have been too late.” I stared at her, trying to figure out what was going on. She seemed to notice my confusion and continued, “Please, don’t cut this tree down. It’s important to my people. We live up there. It’s the oldest tree in the forest. You can have any others, but this one is ours.”

She watched me wearily, probably wondering if I was going to argue with her. But I wasn't. “Okay,” I said. At first, she looked suspicious but I began gathering my things and she seemed to relax a little. “I won’t mess with your tree. Sorry to bother you. If I had known you lived up there I wouldn't have even considered it.”

She looked fully at ease now and smiled at me. “Thank you! You wouldn't believe how many woodsmen come through and still try to cut down our tree after we talk to them. You saved yourself and us a lot of trouble by not pushing it. Since you were so kind and understanding, I’ll grant you your next three wishes… no matter what they are.”

Before I could say anything, she was gone. Were fairies like genies? I didn't know they could grant wishes. I mean, I’d heard a story about a man who makes wooden toys. They say he wished on a blue star, which was actually a fairy and he got a wooden doll turned into a boy. But honestly, I’d always thought that was like, a psychotic, drug induced dream or something. Especially when he started going on about being swallowed by a whale.

Whatever. I’ll think a while and make three really good wishes in a couple days… Just in case. I continued my day like normal. I found another tree, although not as grand as the first. Still, it was suitable. I finally got home, to the smell of my wife cooking stew.

“How close is dinner, honey?” I asked, putting away my tools and changing out of my work clothes.

“It’s running late. Probably about an hour.”

I groaned. “I’m starving. I wish I had a big bowl of pudding in front of me right now.” There was clanking and suddenly, pudding was in front of me.

I stared silently at it while my wife came in to see what the ruckus had been. “Where did you get that?” she asked, looking suspiciously between me and the huge bowl of pudding.

 I recounted my run in with the fairy and she stared at me in disbelief. “You mean you received three, unlimited wishes… and you just used one for a bowl of pudding?” I nodded, realizing that I had just messed up. “How could you not think of that!?” she shrieked. “If I had a wish I would wish for that pudding would stick to your face for your forgetfulness!”

Before I could reply, the pudding jumped out of the bowl, sticking to my face. Now my wife was really shrieking, not knowing what to do. Through the pudding I mumbled, “I wish this pudding would stop sticking to my face.” Just as suddenly as it had stuck, the pudding sloshed back into the bowl. Both of us stared at it wide-eyed.

“I’m so sorry,” my wife whispered. “I didn't think the wish would count if I said it.”

I nodded. “I know. It’s okay. I messed it up first by forgetting to not say ‘I wish’ to anything…” We continued to stare at the bowl.

“Did we just use three magical fairy wishes on one bowl of pudding?” She stared at the pudding in continued shock.

“Yep,” I said. “I think we did.” I picked up a spoon and took a bite. “It’s really good, though.”

My wife sighed and picked up the other spoon. I could swear I heard tiny giggling coming from the window. 

"Fairy with wand" Source

Author's Note: The original story was from the second English Fairy Tales unit, called Three Wishes. Most of the plot points and characters all the same between my story and the original. I added more details and explanations in the story and made the dialogue much more modern. Still, even with the more modern dialogue, I kept the story set in an enchanted forest and small English village close by. I added more detail about the tree and the fairy, but a lot of what I added was at the end of the story. The original pretty much just says that the couple ate the pudding and that was it, but I wanted to show how they felt at their accidental wasting of three wishes on pudding.  

Week 11: Haunted Cemetery (Storytelling)

I've always been a relatively normal, unsuperstitious person. I’m in my third year of college. Eventually, I want to be a wardrobe and prop designer for movies and TV shows. I was good at making prop weapons. I created an Etsy shop where I make custom designs. It wasn't like I was making a living by making them, but it was some extra spending money and I loved doing it. So, when my friend, Nick came to me, asking for a prop knife, I jumped on the opportunity.

For Halloween, he decided to be some sort kind of killer ghost from a movie. Anyways, he wanted a ‘ghost dagger’ made out of resin then painted to look like some old magical knife. After making the mold, I showed it to him before I started painting it.  Nick had been researching ghost stories in our area. That’s when he came up with a ridiculous bet.

 “I dare you to paint the knife in the haunted graveyard at night,” he said as his eyes sparkled with the challenge.

I scoffed. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. And no, that’s stupid. Why would I want to go to a cemetery at night to paint something I can paint in the comfort of my own apartment?”

“I’ll pay you double if you paint it in the graveyard tonight.” He didn't think I would do it. 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Fine. Get ready to pay up.” He took me to the cemetery and showed me the grave I was supposed to work at. According to an internet source Nick swore was reliable, this spot had the most ghost sightings. I rolled my eyes but agreed.

It was much harder to be sarcastic when you were alone at night with headstones surrounding you. The moon was high overhead as I walked through the quiet cemetery. “I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts,” I whispered to myself as I moved towards the gravestone that Nick had shown me. The white plastic bag that held my paints, brushes, and the knife swayed in the breeze. 

Finally, I found the headstone marked, James Marcus O’Riley, a man who whose death date was almost a century ago. I took a deep breath before I set down the bag and pulled out my paints for Nick’s ghost knife.

I sank to my knees beside the supplies, leaning against the headstone. My body was tense as my “I don’t believe in ghost” mantra continued to run through my mind. I quickly began painting the knife. I may not believe in ghosts but that doesn't mean I want to spend the whole night in a cemetery.

Suddenly the wind picked up and began swirling leaves around the grave where I sat. My gaze shifted back and forth between the painting job in my hands and scanning my surroundings for movements. I jumped at ever crack of a twig or rustle of a leaf.

Then I saw something moving a few graves down. It was like something coming out of the ground, something translucent. My heartbeat picked up and my hands began to paint faster. I watched a translucent head break the surface of the earth.

In a booming voice it said, “Do you see me? Why have you trespassed this night?”

I stuttered, staring but not believing my eyes. “Yes, I see you. I’m here to paint this… then I’ll be gone.”

Now more of the ghost’s body rose out of the ground as his eyes glared at me. The wind continued to pick up, blowing my hair into my face and sending leaves flying. “Do you see me rising more? Leave this place at once!” His voice continued growing along with the tightening of my chest and the quickness of my breath.

“Yes I see you! But I've got to finish this!” I shrieked in panic. Was an extra thirty bucks worth this? That could be like three meals out. Yes it was. My hands were shaking, slopping the paint a bit. But I kept going, trying to watch the rising ghost and the prop I painted in my hand. I was almost finished. It was much more difficult with the wind slapping my face with hair, grass, and leaves.

Now the ghost was almost completely out of the ground. “Do you see me standing? This is your last warning! Leave now!” I looked down at the knife. Just a couple more seconds and I’d be done.

“Why do you keep asking if I can see you?” I yelled, my voice breaking in panic. “Can you see how much I’m shaking? Obviously I’m terrified of you! But I need money to afford to eat something besides Taco Bell!” My eyes stung, whether from tears of fright or the continual dirt the heavy wind threw into them, I’ll never know. I glanced down. The painting was done and the ghost was completely above ground. I grabbed the knife, trying to keep the still wet paint from smearing. With the knife in one hand, I grabbed all the supplies I could reach in the others and took off. I left some paint bottles behind but I didn't care.

As I ran I heard shouts behind me. Mistakenly I turned around. The ghost was chasing me. I ran as fast as I could through the cemetery. The wind was so intense it obstructed my vision, but finally I saw Nick sitting in his car in the parking lot. I turned one last time; the ghost was getting closer. I yanked open the door breathing hard. “Go! Now!” I screamed. The ghost would catch up in a few seconds.

Nick did as I asked but looked concerned. “Why were you running?” I looked back towards the ghost again. There was nothing. The night air was still. I didn't answer as Nick drove away. I just stared, trying to find any trace of the ghost that I hadn't believed in. 

"Ancient Cemetery" Source

Author's Note: The original story was from the Celtic Fairy Tales called The Sprightly Tailor. In the story a tailor who doesn't believe in ghosts is commissioned to make a wealthy man a pair of shoes. the man says he will pay the man more money if he makes the shoes in a haunted cemetery. The tailor does. As a ghost slowly rises from the ground, the tailor inists that he will leave as soon as he finishes the shoes to claim receive is bigger price. When the ghost fully rises from the ground and the man finishes the ghost chases him away.

For my story I made it a modern day setting and changed the characters and what was being made in the cemetery, but the overall plot stayed the same. I picked this story because I thought it was very fitting for Halloween being later this week. 

Week 10: Legend of Pleiades (Storytelling)

There once was a young man, who never fit in with his village. He was a daydreamer and never connected well with people his age. Instead of going hunting with the others, he would rather watch the clouds in the day and the stars at night. He would lie in the grass, looking up, imagining what it would be like to live sky. But the other villagers believed that reality was where people should stay.They would whisper about the young one who was always lost in his mind.

When his parents insisted he find his own place to live, he moved to the very edge of the village’s land. He built his house on a lake that marked the end of their territory. It was peaceful there. The sunsets and would glisten off the lake and the moon’s path would be reflected across the clear water at night. Here his mind could wander without the judgmental eyes of his village.

Lake Shoreline by Norm Andreiw. Wikimedia

For the first few nights he stayed at the house, the quiet filled the air, broken only by the gentle lapping of water on the bank and the sounds of animals in the distance. One night, a week after the man moved to the lake, he woke to hear voices in the distance. The wind carried soft singing and laughter into his house. He stood quickly and listened to be sure he wasn’t dreaming, but the sounds continued.

He quietly snuck out of his house and followed the sweet sounds. He had rounded the side of the lake, when the sounds became clearer. There was splashing and giggling and singing from a group of girls close by. He continued to walk, trying to find where they were. Finally, he pushed some tree branches to the side to reveal seven young women. They were singing and dancing in the lake, splashing one another and giggling in the moon light.

The young man began to move towards them, when his foot slipped, sending rocks tumbling down the bank. The girls froze, searching for the source of the sound. Before he could move again, all of the young women grouped together and disappeared.  They seemed to somehow ascend into the sky, but they boy didn’t understand how they could. After staring silently at the now calm lake, he made his way back home, trying to work through what he had just seen.

The next morning when he woke, the young man decided it was probably a dream. Yet, he couldn’t shake his curiosity. So he decided to sleep that day, and return to the place he thought he had seen the women that night.

When the sky turned to the darkest shade of blue, he left his home once again. The faint moonlight revealed footprints. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream. He made it to the other side of the lake. When he reached the tree line, a scuffmark was etched into the ground where his foot had slipped. The man walked a few steps forward and sat on the rocky bank of the lake to wait for the women he was certain wouldn’t come.

For a few hours, nothing happened. The man watched the stars and the rippling of the water as the wind brushed across it. As he gazed up again, he looked for patterns in the stars. Suddenly, the star he was looking at dimmed, and seemed to streak toward the earth. He sat up. He shifted his gaze back to the lake, where one of the women stood before him, the water rising a little above her ankles.

She looked at the man suspiciously. Her only movements were the wind catching her long dark hair and her eyes looking over the man and the forest behind him. When she spoke, her voice was as clear and beautiful as the man had heard the night before. “You were the one spying on my sisters and I last night?” An angry edge seeped into her soft voice.

“I… I didn’t mean to spy on you,” he stuttered. “I just heard the singing…”

She continued to watch him cautiously. “So, why are you here now?”

“To… uh… to see if I imagined you… and apologize for startling you, too.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman or form a coherent thought. She began to relax a little, although she didn’t move any closer.

She looked up at the sky and nodded. He managed to tear his gaze from the woman to see six other stars streaking towards the earth. Then there were six women standing behind the first. Her sisters.

“This man means us no harm,” she said to the girls standing behind her. He nodded, trying to reassure them. That night he stayed by the side of the lake. The younger sisters played in the water. The middle sisters sang and danced together. The oldest, the first woman to come down, sat with the man and they talked.

She asked him about his life and world. She told him about their lives, living in the stars. Then at the end of the night, she and her sisters rose again into the sky world. For many weeks after, the oldest sister and the man would talk nightly, while her sisters played and sang. During the days, the man waited until he could see her again. Finally, after months of these meetings, he asked the oldest sister to marry him.

She told him she wanted to but she couldn’t leave her sisters. They sat in silence for a while before she said, “Would you come with us? I know you have your family here, but you could come and live in the sky with us if you wanted.” After some thought, the man agreed. He and the seven sisters ascended to the sky. Even today, in the night, you can see the seven sisters shining bright. But one stays close to another star, her husband. This is the constellation Pleiades. 

Pleiades by NASA. Wikimedia.

Author's Note: The original story was called The Origin of the Pleiades from the British North America reading unit. I kept the overall plot the same, and the third person narrative, but I changed a lot of details in the plot and added more back story. In the original, the young man just spied on the seven sisters for a long time and never approached or talked to them. When he decided he wanted to marry one of the women, he ran at them from the trees and just grabbed the most beautiful one before she could get away. He then said she would be his wife and would stay on earth with him. The woman agreed to be his wife but said that he had to go to the sky world with her for them to marry. I wanted a less creepy/stalkery version of the main guy and a bit more of a romantic story, instead of a type of bride capture. 

Story source: Myths and Legends of British North America by Katharine Berry Judson (1917). 

Week 9: Fire Thieves (Storytelling)

My sister and I sat by the warm fire in our hut. I could hear the wind whipping outside. A smiled when I thought of the chill that would surround all of the nearby tribe. Unlike us they were without fire. We’d taken it.

My sister and I had lived in peace for many years with our husbands. But one day, a new tribe came onto our land. We welcomed them to visit. We gave them food and water after their long journey to our home. As they explored our land the following days, they decided it was more bountiful than theirs. And they had a tribe of thirty, while our group was just four.

When I shut my eyes, I could still see my husband yelling at them to leave us alone. That it was our land, but they were welcome to share a part of it. I can’t untangle that memory from the memory of the blood.  They let my sister and I live.

While I was always pretty, my sister was clever. She asked the gods for help, and they did. They taught her how to capture fire. Now fire was ours. It still wasn’t the retribution we wanted for our husbands’ deaths, but it was a small consolation prize to know they were living off of our land, but freezing and unable to cook.

I sat at the fire one night, as my sister was collecting water to boil, when a coyote approached. My sister had warned me about coyotes. The gods had granted them deception and cleverness. But I was a human, the coyote wouldn't outsmart me.

“It’s quite cold out,” the coyote said, while eyeing our fire.  

I studied him for a moment before responding. “Yes. It is. We stole the fire from the tribe to the North. But we have no hatred for you. You should warm yourself by the fire, Coyote.” He pranced in, thanking me repeatedly. He laid down across from where I sat in our hut. We talked a bit about the weather. I had never met a coyote before, but this one was very funny and insightful.

Soon my sister returned from her water and wood run. She stopped suddenly when she saw the coyote laying by the crackling flames. “What is this?” she asked.

“Sister, this is Coyote. He was cold. He isn't a part of the tribe who wronged us, so I let him in.” My sister’s gaze flitted between the coyote and me. My sister said nothing for the rest of the night and neither did Coyote. I fell asleep a little while later. The two were still staring at each other as I drifted off.

The next morning Coyote left. I was sad to see him go, but my sister seemed relieved.  But to my surprise, the next night he returned with the same request. I invited him in once again, as my sister nervously began watching the Coyote again.

But then, I began hearing rustling and crunching outside. Before I knew what was happening, a man from the Northern tribe rushed into our hut. As quick as lightning, Coyote grabbed a stick from the fire in his mouth and took off running. My sister and I ran outside after the Coyote and the man, but by then we could see the fire disappearing into the distance. 

(Coyote, by Larry1732)

Author's note: The original story was called The Theft of Fire. The story was about two women who stole fire from a neighboring tribe, and a coyote who helps the tribe retrieve the fire. I made one of the women the Point of View character and I gave her more of a back story, along with the other woman I made her sister. While the back story is all made up, I thought that they should be a little more sympathetic than the original story, because they did let the Coyote share the fire two nights in a role. 

Week 7: Wishes and Flights (Storytelling)

I was walking through my village when I saw him. He limped a little, but there was no noticeable wound. Maybe it was for sympathy or maybe he was actually hurt. He stopped by every food stand, asking for food. More than once I heard him promise that he would forever remember their kindness.

Yeah right. People think they have long memories, but have you ever asked somewhat what they had for lunch a couple days before? Unless they are the kind of people who eat the same thing every day, you will be waiting a long time for an answer while the retrace everything they did that day. That’s assuming you ever get an answer.

I began walking towards this man. Between the limp, his tattered clothes, and the desperate look in his eye, he obviously was in need. I stopped him while he was between food stands. He held one apple in his hand, half of it rotten. So far that was all he had managed to scrape up.

I put my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Once he turned my way I said, “Excuse me. What have you been saying when you ask for food?”

The desperate look didn’t disappear, but this brown eyes flitted up and down me, talking in my long grey cloak and hat. “I said that if anyone gives me all the food I need, I would never forget that person’s generosity.” He looked like he meant it, but I have always been the type of person who is skeptical.

“Lots of people make lots of promises. Most are ungrateful and never keep them.”

A sort of defiance entered his eyes now. I shouldn’t be surprised. To him it was probably like I was questioning his honor. “I would keep my vow. I will never forget and I will be indebted to that person.” The man pulled away and began walking on. I decided I would show him how ungrateful most people are.

There was a dog a few steps down from the man, then a buffalo a few more paces away. I mumbled a string of incantations towards at the old dog and buffalo. When the man neared the dog, the dog began talking to him. The man briefly looked shocked but didn’t seem too concerned about the fact a dog was talking to him. That was disappointing. Usually when I make animals talk I get more entertainment from their first reaction.

Watched from a short distance as the dog told the man of his ungrateful masters and how they wouldn’t feed him anymore since the dog could no longer work. The poor man assured the dog that he wouldn’t be so careless and continued on his way. Next the buffalo came up to the man.

This time the man didn’t seem at all shocked when the animal began talking. Seriously, how many time had other wizards made animals talk in front of this guy? This wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it would be. By the time I got over my disappointment, the buffalo was telling the man about how his owners had ran him off when he couldn’t work anymore. Once again the man assured the animal that he would never be so ungrateful.

Maybe this man really was a kind hearted person. I rushed after him, my long white beard fluttering in the wind. I stopped him. “Will you really be grateful and remember who helped you?” I asked him again.

“Of course I will.”

I reached into my pocket to find the gems. After some digging I found them. He looked at me suspiciously, as I showed him the two gems in my hand. If I was going to help him, I wanted to see if he really would be grateful for what he was given.

“This gem,” I said, holding up the red one, between my fingertips, “this gem will give you anything you desire when you hold it in your mouth and make a wish.” The man’s eyes widened and he stared incredulously at the gem. “And this one,” I switched the red gem for the blue. “This one will make you fly if you hold it in your mouth.”

The man continued to look at me in disbelief, mixed with longing. I slowly handed him the second gem as he began stuttering, but soon his thoughts organized themselves a bit. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much! I will never forget this. If you every need anything I will help you! You are so kind! I’ll pray for your life to be blessed in every way possible.”

The man hurried off home. I stood, watching him go. I hoped he was as grateful as he sounded. I’m sure I would find out soon.

And I did. Three days later, I looked out my window and I saw the man walking towards my house. He was dressed in the finest clothes. He had put on weight and his limp was nonexistent. In his hand he held a knife. Behind him was another man with an ax.

I guess I had my answer. I walked outside and greeted him. “Why didn't you come to see me sooner? I would have loved to see your fancy new clothes.”

“I was busy,” He said roughly, lifting is knife towards my neck. “Give us the other jewel or we will kill you.”

These men’s minds were clouded with desire. Mine was clear. “Okay, but do you have the wishing gem? I’d like to see it one last time.” The man lowered his knife and reached into his pocket. Meanwhile I popped the blue gem into my mouth. When he opened his hand, the jewel laid inside. 

But I was already floating a foot in the air. I snatched the red gem from his hand and before he knew what happened I was thirty feet up. 

Can Cau Market by Arian Zwegers Wikimedia

Author's Note: The original story was called the Wizard and the Beggar. A beggar is confronted by a wizard and then animals about if he would keep his promise to be grateful if someone gave him all he needs. The wizard eventually helps him but the man then is unsatisfied and tries to kill the wizard for more. For my story I made the story from the Wizard's point of view and then I made him be the one who made the animals talk. 

Week 6: The Enchanted Fiddle (Storytelling)

Almost a year ago, I had left my home because it had run out of food. Now I was returning. I had spent the year with my cousin, Nia, who lived a few days walk North of where I had lived my whole life. The people in my home village had hunted out most of the animals and food had become hard to come by.

I had recently received news that everything was returning to normal, so I decided it was time to go home. I had worked hard for Nia in the last year, and she had given me food and shelter. I was perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, as Nia was not wealthy. However, before I left, she have me two gifts to return home with a bow and arrow, and a fiddle.

Now, Nia was her village’s healer/psychic. She was the only person for miles who could speak with the gods and bring magic into our world. Therefore, these gifts were not like their ordinary counterparts. The bow and arrows where enchanted so they wouldn't miss a shot. Any animal I shot with the arrow would go down. The fiddle was also very special. Anytime it was played, everyone around would have to dance to the music.

I was very excited for both gifts. With the bow and arrow, I would never go hungry. While the enchantment on the fiddle didn't excite me as much, I was already the best fiddler in the surrounding four villages. Because of this, a new fiddle always made me extremely happy.

I was nearly home, when I came across and old friend named Berko. He had been hunting a deer all day but couldn't catch it. I said I would help him, eager to try my new bow. I told Berko about the bow and arrow Nia had given me. He was very skeptical.

I don’t blame him, of course. I would be too if our roles were reversed. But it didn't matter. When I saw the deer, I notched an arrow and pulled back. Then I smoothly released, sending an arrow flying at the deer.  The arrow hit true. The animal immediately fell.

Berko looked between me and the fallen deer in shock. We had been a great distance away and I hadn’t taken the time to aim. He knew then that I told him the truth. Together, we walked over to the deer and began preparing to carry it back to our village.

I was feeling proud of my bow and so excited about how well it had worked. I glanced up at Berko, but he wasn’t paying me any mind. He was just staring at the bow. Normally this wouldn't bother me, but the way he stared made me nervous. While we finished up, I heard someone walking towards us.

I turned to see who it was. I heard Berko scamper behind me. I turned back and saw him holding the bow and arrow in his hand, looking at me victoriously. The person who was walking down the path towards us came into view. It was another of the villagers from my home, Desta.

I greeted her quickly before turning back to Berko. I told him to give me my bow back.

He glared at me then turned to Desta. He told her that the bow was his. He said I had become jealous and tried to steal it from him. Desta looked between us, not knowing whom to believe. Finally, she recommended we go to our village and let the village elders decide.

While I knew, Desta meant well. I was very unhappy with the entire situation now. First Berko stole from me and lied about my honor, now I have to go try to convince our village elders that the arrow and the bow was actually mine. These were the same village elders who caused me to leave so long ago because they had hunted all the animals, leaving none for us ordinary people.

Nevertheless, I went. The last thing I wanted was a scene my first day back.

We arrived to the village council a short time later. They told both me and Berko to tell our sides of the story. Berko went first. He told them the story that I had told him, making me seem like a liar or a copier when I tried to say that what he said was not true of him but of me. The council believed Berko.

I argued with them a couple minutes before seeing it was useless. They said that for my lies and thievery I would be killed. Then I had an idea. I pulled out my enchanted fiddle. I hadn't told anyone about this fiddle’s special properties, but everyone knew I played the fiddle beautifully.

I begged the council to let me play one last song before my death. They agreed.

I began playing slowly at first, to see if it worked. It did. Before I knew it, everyone was dancing and mumbling in confusion. Then I began to pick up the pace. They were all dancing wildly unable to stop. I kept going, determined to make them see their error.

They begged me to stop as their exhaustion overtook them. The head elder even offered to give me the village if only I stopped playing the fiddle.

I told him that wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want the village. I just wanted my peaceful life back, as well as my bow and arrow. They agreed and did what I asked. Then I thought of one more thing I wanted. 

I began playing slowly while they begged me to stop. I told them I would stop for good if Berko admitted what he did an apologized. He was furious, but he obliged quickly, as he was as exhausted as the rest of them.

I’ve never had to play that fiddle again because no one will ever forget the last time someone questioned my honor. 

"Goje" by Musicas Resonantes Wikimedia

Author's Note: The original story was called The Monkey's Fiddle. In the original story a monkey travels away after he runs out of food. When he leaves to return home, orang outang gives him an enchanted fiddle and bow. A wolf becomes jealous of his bow and steals it, claiming monkey stole it from him. When they talk to a jackal , she says they should go to the animal court. They do, and the court believes wolf. Because of this they sentence monkey to die. But monkey plays one last song on his fiddle, making them all dance. The then believe him and return his bow, and wolf admits his lies.

The main change I made to this story was making all of the animal characters humans. I thought that made the story more relatable, especially since it was dealing with tools that needed thumbs to use, like a bow and arrow.

Story source: South African Folk-Tales by James Honey (1910).

Week 5: A Dog's Life (Storytelling)

I had been trotting along for a couple hours with my brothers when I felt a tug at my leash. I stopped and turned around to keep from choking myself. So did my older brother John, who was a few steps in front of me, his collar tight against his neck. Thomas, our youngest brother had stopped to talk with the crying man and the old man who were setting up near the trees.

John barked at Thomas and I did my best annoying dog whine, trying to communicate that we needed to keep moving. Thomas glared up at us and gave a sharp tug on the ropes, pulling us both backwards. John and I exchanged a look and began slowly meandering back. John growled quietly to show his discontent with the whole situation.  

When we got back to Thomas, he was listening intently to the old man, and looking very interested in the crying guy. “Wow!” said Thomas, “Mind if we hang out here too? I’d love to see what happens with the genie.” I yipped at him and he turned towards me. “We can stay a few hours Will.” I whined again.

“That’s fine,” the old man said. “Just make sure your dogs don’t try to eat my deer. The genie should show up soon”

I really didn’t want to see a genie. Last time I saw a magical creature, my fantastic opposable thumbs were turned into useless paws that can’t do anything but walk. They could scratch too, but apparently, I used them on Thomas too much, because he cut the nails short. Seriously, how was I supposed to communicate something as a dog? Whining and yipping, growling, and scratching only get you so far and now I couldn’t even scratch.

Thomas sat down and I reluctantly followed him. I walked a few steps away from Thomas and laid down, keeping as much distance between me and Thomas with the old man and his pet deer. John came and joined me, sighing heavily. Soon, another old man came. I didn’t pay him any mind, but Thomas started talking to him too.

I dozed off sometime, dreaming about standing up straight again and being able to go somewhere my brother doesn’t lead me. John and I had lived almost ten years as dogs, and we had almost made it.

I’ll admit I’m scared to see the fairy again. Who knows, maybe she’ll decide this last decade of torture wasn’t enough and kill us anyways or refuse to change us back. If that happens, I swear I will become an attack dog. I was dreaming of eating soup with a spoon again when I smelled smoke, or dust or something. I opened my eyes and turned my head towards the others.

There a huge genie stood, sword in hand, holding on to the crying man. I could smell the fear throughout the entire group; John could too, for he went and stood by Thomas. I followed. If anything happened to Thomas, we would never be turned back into humans. We had to make sure this crazy genie didn’t turn on him suddenly.

The first old man began babbling about something, I don’t really know. But the genie was listening intently, as was Thomas and the crying guy. I heard something about a cow, a son calf, and a deer wife… Oh, his wife is the deer he had on a leash. What a weird coincidence.

Then the genie looked at Thomas expectantly. Thomas began to tell our story, but he got it all wrong… Okay, maybe not all wrong, but we did not deserve to be turned into dogs.

Basically, ten years ago we all decided to go traveling. Yes, Thomas had to give us some money to make due, but between you and me, I think he was ripping off some of our business. Seriously, how does the youngest brother make so much more money than two older brothers, who happen to be in the same? Because of that, and maybe a little gambling, John and I kept going broke.  Anyways we left, and it was all good for a while.

We were all making some money, having fun, and seeing the world. This this crazy chick comes up to Thomas and starts begging him to marry her. And let’s be honest, Thomas is a push over. This girl is obviously a gold digger. I mean she’s dressed in rags, and the first thing she gets Thomas to do is buy her a new, fancy dress.

My memory gets kinda sketchy here. After they were married for a while, John comes up to me and says he’s annoyed at Thomas and the new bride. She’s taking some of our money, not working, and Thomas just wants to hang out with her all the time. So John says we should play a little prank on them.

I remember thinking it was a good idea at the time, because I was sick of them too. But looking back, throwing them overboard doesn’t seem like such a good prank. I didn’t want them to die, but maybe John did, or maybe he wasn’t thinking straight either. Anyway, we threw them off the ship.

But lo and behold, the crazy girl is a fairy. I mean, we never would have messed with her if we knew she had magic and stuff. So she saves them both, then goes and turns us into dogs and sends us to Thomas. Then she told Thomas were to take is in ten years to turn us back human after our punishment was over.

Thomas finally finishes the story and the genie seems satisfied. I yip at Thomas, trying to spur him on. If he were a dog, he’d definitely be in more of a hurry right now. Then the third guy starts talking to the genie, and I lay back down. It’s gonna be a long night.

By Audrey. Black German Shepherd. Wikimedia

Author's Note: This rewrite was of Two Black Dogs, with a little bit from The Merchant and the Genius, and The Old Man with the Hind. All three of these stories were interconnected which is why mine had a little bit from each of them. In the Two Black Dogs story, two brothers get turned into dogs by a fairy after they throw their brother and the fairy off of a boat. The story is being told by the human brother to a genie inside of the Merchant and the Genius's story. 

I made the point of view as one of the dog brothers, just to change it up a bit. Also I thought the dog brothers would probably have a little different view of what had happened that led to them being turned into dogs, so I tried to include that. 

Bibliography: The Arabian Nights' Entertainments by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1898).

Week 4: The Heroic Archer (Storytelling)

I had heard of this man before. Muhammad Tirandaz. He came to the palace for a little while, but I had never crossed paths with him before. Now, here I was standing in a room with this legend, about to go to battle.

He seemed smaller than I would have expected, although I suppose it takes more skill than strength to kill two lions with one arrow. I can’t even understand how that would be a possible thing to, but everyone who has met him swears it to be true.  I continue to study him as he comes out of the throne room.

He was the first man the king summoned when news of the impending attack arrived at the palace. Muhammad walked towards me and the two other men who were standing nearby.

“The king instructed me to ride out to meet the approaching army. You and you,” He pointed to me and the man to my left, “help me with my horse.” He strode past us then, he seemed so confident, but his voice and hand shook ever so slightly. Even a man who killed two lions with one arrow had the right to fear riding up to an army.

I rushed ahead of the other man he had pointed to. “Of course, sir,” I said. “The stable is this way. I led through the palace into the courtyard. I took a sharp left and the stables were up ahead. One of the other men had run up to join me.

I wrestled with the saddle and centered it on the horses back, and then the other man began attaching all of the leather strips of the reigns and such. We finished and stood back, expecting Muhammad to climb onto the horse. Instead, he looked suspiciously at the saddled horse. He circled it twice, before coming to a stop beside us again.

“So I should just… jump up?” He asked slowly, continuing to eye the horse.

“Yes, sir…” I said, trying to hide my bewilderment. “You have ridden before, sir?”

“Of course! What sort of soldier would I be if I hadn’t ridden?” With that, he went up to the horse cautiously and painfully pulled himself up inch by inch. Finally, he was positioned into the saddle but looked very unsteady. “Could you… um… could you tie my feet together underneath the horse?”

The other man and I looked at each other and then turned back to Muhammad, “Yes, sir.” I said and began walking towards him, the other man close behind me. I believed the stories about Muhammad. Therefore, I’m sure he is just doing something unusual but ingenious. I was just not smart enough to understand. However, if anyone else had ever asked me to do this, I would have said they couldn’t ride.

We did as Muhammad asked and tied his feet under the horse. As soon as we finished, the horse started galloping, probably feeling very uncomfortable. Muhammad swayed as he left, but I just knew that he would save us and defeat the army.

I turned to the man who I had worked with, he didn’t look so sure. “If he’s the hero we’re all going to die.” I disputed him, but he quickly walked away. I sat by the gate for the rest of the afternoon, waiting for news from the field.

Only a little time had passed when the word came, Muhammad had scared off the enemy, and our army had chased them down and defeated them. I was right. Muhammad was a heroic warrior. 

"Archer 1" Clip Art by David Longbine Source: Clker

Author's Note: The story I retold was Muhammad Tirandaz, The Archer. In this story a man, Muhammad, who accidentally kills two mice. He is praised by his friends and they tell him he should become an archer.When he leaves, he decides to say that he killed two lions. He also decides to quit his job and become an archer. He goes and gets a fancy bow and arrow and has it engraved that he killed two lions with one arrow. He goes out alone to hunt. One of the kings men finds him, and believing the man, invites him to be apart of the kings army. Muhammad agrees and spends his days leisurely about the palace until and army comes to threaten the kingdom. He is sent out in the front. His inadequacy leads at riding and fighting leads to series of events that ends up scaring the opposing army so much that they flee.

 I made the Point of view character be someone watching Muhammad do all these things and believing they were real and intentional.

Bibliography:Persian Tales, translated by D.L.R. Lorimer and E.O. Lorimer and illustrated by Hilda Roberts (1919).

Week 3: My Name is Theodora (Storytelling)

I lay on the floor of my room. Silently, I stare at the ceiling and think of my life over the past decade. This wasn't the life I had wanted. But in the end I was happy for it, in all of its difficulties. I knew I was close to death. I felt a movement to my side where Peter was sleeping. I turned and looked at him, what a boy he had grown to be. I felt the motherly pride for him. While I may not have given birth to him, I had raised him from an infant, taught him how to love and follow God. He would be ten soon. I won’t be there for his birthday. I felt sadness swell, not for myself but for him.

As I watch him sleep, I think of how glad I am that we are at the monastery again. It’s only been two years since they let me back in with Peter. We lived on the streets together for seven years, as punishment for my infidelity. That’s how I always thought of it. While I didn't get Peter’s mother pregnant, (obviously, that would be impossible) this was punishment for my real affair. The one that made me run away from my husband in the first place. Still, Peter was the best thing that had happened to me since leaving my husband. Through these years of raising him, I tried to make him into a man like my husband, a holy man with strong morals. I tried to make him better than me. I hope I succeeded.

I turned back to the ceiling, suppressing the sorrow. My thoughts turned to the other love of my life. My husband. I had left him too. I wondered if they would find him after I died, once they figured out who I was. I wondered if he would mourn for me. I hadn't seen him for about ten years. Moreover, the last time I saw him, he didn't recognize me because I was dressed as a monk. The sadness rises again. I still miss him so much. However, guilt soon replaces the sadness.

What would my life have been like if I would have remained faithful to him? I most certainly wouldn't be dressed as a man, about to die in a monastery. But I also wouldn't have Peter. Still, I hope they find my husband, and I hope he can forgive me, even if I never forgave myself. Over a decade of penance and I still can’t shake the guilt. I know it must have been horrible for him, after I ran away. But I hope he eventually had a happy life. He deserved one. He deserved a better life than I could give him. A sob escapes my mouth, but I quickly silenced it to keep from waking Peter.

My mind jumps again. Images of our life on streets flood into my head. Demons and tricksters constantly tested me. I was so thankful for my time in the monastery again. From my brothers, I had learned how to cast away the devil, which kept Peter and me safe. And the way God provided for us still filled me with joy and wonder. While to everyone I was a disgraced monk with a child, God still helped me keep Peter alive.

So many emotions are pumping through my body, but I begin to grow tired. I remember the flood of relief when the monks said that we could return to the monastery. I nearly cried tears of joy. Finally, I had a safe home for Peter. Now, after two years, Peter is settled and close with many of the brothers. They will watch over him after I’m gone. And once they know the truth, I hope they will tell him my story. To Peter, I have always been Theodore, his father and a monk. My eyes start to close. Using all the energy I have left, I lean over to Peter while he sleeps. I whisper, “My name is Theodora. And I love you so much.”

I lie back down and begin to drift off into a sleep that I know I won’t wake from. 

(Russian icon)

Author's Note: The story I rewrote was the story of Saint Theodora from the Women Saints reading unit. The story is about a woman, who after cheating on her husband, dresses as a man and runs away to join a monastery as penance. While at the monastery she is accused of fathering a child. She is cast out of the monastery and is given the child to raise, all the while still pretending to be a man. After seven years, she was allowed back into the monastery. She dies there, and it is only after her death when they learn she was a actually a woman the whole time. I changed the voice to first person, and focused on the end of the story, when Theodora and her son are in a cell and she knows she is close to death. This entire scene is made up, but I think she would have been thinking a lot in the end about how she ended up where she did in life. I also named her son, because it was much easier to refer to him by a name instead of 'the boy' over and over again. 

Bibliography:  The Golden Legend edited by F. S. Ellis (1900).

Week 2: Nice for a Wife (Storytelling)

I was raised to be nice and hospitable to strangers. When I helped someone, I would feel like I had a good purpose.

I was sitting in the corner of the family room weaving when my mom shouted. “Rebekah! We need water. Can you go fetch some?”

“Okay, but if I do, I’m going to finish this pattern when I get back.” I motioned to the weaving I had been working on. It was just over half done. “I think it’s my best one yet.”

Mom rolled her eyes dramatically, “You say that about all of them.”

I grabbed the empty pitcher skipped towards the door. “Well they just keep getting better.” I glimpsed my mom’s smile as I shut the door behind me.  

The well was only a ten minute walk, but I would get distracted along the way. I stopped and talked with a friend of mine and then one of my mothers. I helped David, the old man who lived down the street, find his grandson who had wandered away during his afternoon nap.

Finally I made it to the well. 

I lifted up mom’s filled pitcher and balanced it on my shoulder, before turning to go back home. A man I’d never seen before stood nearby the well. He held ropes that circled many camels. He must me a traveler. The man walked towards me. He stared intently and looked a bit anxious.

“Excuse me, miss… May I have a drink from your pitcher?” He was still staring, studying me.  

I was a little nervous but I nodded to the man. “Of course.” I handed him the pitcher and he drank deeply from it. His camels were staring at me too, but not as intently as the man. The man handed the pitcher back to me. “I’ll go get more,” I said, “For your camels. If you were so thirsty, I’m sure they are as well.”

He smiled widely but continued staring. “Thank you, miss.”

After the camels had drunk what they wanted, I filled one more pitcher for my mom. The man never stopped studying me. I fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze.  We made some small talk but soon he asked, “Who is your father? Do you live close by?” he asked. “Would your father have room for me and my camels for the night?”

“Umm… Yes, I do. And I think so. My father is Bethuel…” He didn't say anything else, just stood staring and smiling. “I’ll run home quickly and get everything arranged with my parents and brother.”

“Alright,” he said. “But before you go, I want you to have these… for your trouble.” He handed me an earring and bracelets he had been wearing, along with some money and gold.” I held the pieces in my hand, not quite knowing whether to accept. Eventually I thanked him and took off for home, spilling some water along the way. By the time I got home the pitcher was only half full.

“Mom!” I yelled as I haphazardly took the pitcher off my shoulder and put it on the table, more water sloshing out. “There’s a guy by the well with a ton of camels and I gave him water and now he wants to stay here. And he gave me these.” I showed her the jewelry and money as I breathed hard. I was out of breath, both from the running home and the quick relaying of information.

“Who is he?” she asked, my brother came into the kitchen from the family room to listen.

“I don’t know but he’s waiting by the well. He kept looking at me weird, like he was studying me or something.”

My brother, Laban, laughed. “You’re too boring to study… or to give fancy presents to.”

I shot him a glare and turned back to mom, she was looking around the room. “Okay, Rebekah,” she said, “I’ll start getting things around here, why don’t you go get him. But on your way back walk slowly. The house isn't presentable yet.”

“Mom, please no! I don’t want to go get him and get stared at for another twenty minutes of slow walking. Let Laban go get him!”

My mother sighed but agreed despite Laban’s complaints. “How am I even supposed to know who he is, Rebekah?”

“It’s like I said, Laban, he’s the only one with a dozen camels.” Laban huffed out the door and mom started rushing around straightening everything. She sent me out to find dad. I told him what happened and the two of us went to the stables and moved around some things to make room for the camels. When we were done we went back inside where my mom was finishing up.

A couple minutes later Laban came in with the man. He greeted my family and quickly pulled my parents aside. Soon after my father called my mother and me outside, leaving Laban to entertain our guest.

My father looked seriously at me, “He’s a servant, sent to find a kind woman for his master’s son.” I stared blankly at my father trying to process what he said. “He thinks you’re the one.”

“What?” I asked dumbly. “Who does that? Send a servant to find a random wife?  What should I say?”

Mom and Dad both exchanged looks, “He is well off. You would have a good life. We think you should.”

I thought for a while, they both stared, similarly to the way the man had earlier. “If you want me to I will.”

A couple days later I was on the road, with the man and my nurse, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. We traveled a long time before we finally reached a field. I saw a middle aged man walking towards us. “Is that him?” I asked.

“Yes.” And so began my new life as the wife of... wait... what's his name?

By Gustave Dore "Eliezer and Rebekah"

Author's Note: This is adapted from the story in the Bible about Issac's wife Rebekah. The story is found in Genesis 24 & 25, as well as the online version here. Issac sends a servant to go find him a wife. The servant devises a plan to find a kind woman who will allow him  and his camels to drink. Rebekah is the first to respond in the correct way and the servant asks her family if he can take her to Issac to become his wife. Everyone agrees and they soon leave. 

Work Cited: King James Bible (1611) Gen. 24-5