I am posting pages from my recent book available at the Book Shelf, on Mission Street, Mt. Pleasant. For more information click HERE.


He approached a village carefully. From the brush, he could see people in warm coats bustling from there to here and back, carrying bundles and baskets full of groceries. Their dress was most unusual to him. The cut, fit, and colors seemed bizarre. That night, he “borrowed” some clothes hung out to dry behind a house. He made a mental note to himself to pay for what he took when he could. He was no thief!

There was a flour mill at the edge of the town. He went to the person who seemed in charge. As best he could imitate the language, he inquired, “Vork todaze?”

The frosty foreman looked at him, noting he was unshaven but brawny. “Jes,” the foreman replied, “Vork filling sacks.”

The work was hard for he still had not eaten well, but he kept after it. The gristmill was in the center of the building. There were four spouts, and four burly workers filled empty sacks and took them to the scales. The foreman would look at the weight and add or take out enough to satisfy the label on each bag, a quarter kilogram. Three other men had taken their place filling sacks. As their sacks were full, the original four would take over with an empty sack. He became the fourth member of the small crew. This went on until the afternoon suns were low in the sky. The foreman blew a whistle, and the workers stopped the mill. Each came, hand open, to the foreman who gave each a few coins. As the newcomer approached, the foreman looked at him carefully. “Vork morrow?” he asked. The drifter nodded and was given five small coins.

He hurried from the mill, hoping to catch a store still open. The bakery’s door stood wide open, and in he went. The fragrance of freshly baked bread and cakes caused his knees to weaken, and he quivered as he went to the counter. “Vun bred und vun roll?” he asked, holding out his coins.
The woman behind the counter looked at him strangely as she placed his order in a bag. “Ver you from?” she asked, leaving him three coins.

“My hom east,” he replied slowly. “I vork in mill.” This seemed to satisfy her curiosity. “You sell fresh milk?” he asked, holding the three coins out to her. She took a coin and gave him a container of cold pure milk. He smiled and nodded his thanks.

He went back to the mill and entered what he took to be an empty shed. There was straw on the floor and two animals, a feeding trough, and a basin of water. He recognized them as jackalopes, amiable creatures. They were used for pulling wagons and plows. They looked at him shrewdly.

A jackalope has the general shape of what we call a rabbit, with large acute ears and a set of antlers. It is a sentient mammal and with schooling can learn to understand and speak two or three languages. It is a beast of burden as long as it is well cared for. As a steed, few animals could keep up with a good lope. In anger, however, it can be very dangerous. If one bonds to a person, it is determined to protect him or her, regardless of the danger. This male was very large and quite strong. From his chin to his tail, his underside was solid white while the rest of him was tawny brown with black hair scattered well amongst the rest of his coat. The female, a bit smaller, was dappled throughout like the autumn sun casting shadows through dry leaves about to fall.

The male said, “My name is George, and my lady friend is called Gracie.”
She nodded amiably and asked, “What is your name?”

Strangely, he understood her to a greater degree than he could the people in town. “I don’t have a name. Not one I can remember,” he responded.

“How about Jack? That’s a nice name and easy to remember. What’s in the bag?” Gracie asked curiously.

George interrupted, “Jack is all right for a child’s name, but he is an adult. Perhaps John would be more suitable.”

John smiled and shared his bread, roll, and milk with his new friends.



The Weather Vane

The job at the mill only lasted a few weeks as the winter store of grain had been ground. John had saved his money carefully and slept each night in the shed with George and Gracie. The foreman asked John if he knew anything about blacksmithing. “Yes,” he replied. “Well, if you’re up to two jobs a day, the village blacksmith broke his leg and needs some help. He pays pretty well.”

At lunch, John visited the smith at his shop. He was brawny as a bear and sat with his bandaged leg awkwardly out and up on a stool. “I’m very sorry to hear of your accident,” John began. “Could you use some help?”

The smith looked at him shrewdly. “Can you cut?”
“Yes, with shears on soft metal or a saw on tougher.”
“Shape?”
“With a hammer and an anvil.”
“Braze?”
“I can join pieces of metal together. Yes, I can, sir.”
“Okay. Do you see the town hall on the other side of the street?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Well, the mayor wants a weather vane for the top of the bell tower. Give me a design, and I’ll consider it.”
“If you can lend me a ladder, a shingle, and some charcoal, I can.”

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