“You did it,” said Papa. “You conquered the giant.” My vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.
There was a crashing sound of metal. Papa and I came apart and I wiped my eyes. The giant soldiers were all dropping their swords and axes and shields. One of them stepped forward and kneeled down before me. “What is your name, boy?” he asked gently.
“Jack,” I said in a trembling voice.
The giant scooped me up in his hand and raised me high for all to see. “Hail, Jack! Conqueror of King Bartholomew Archibald Reginald Fife!”
“Hail, Jack!” the other giants cheered, except Frederick. He shoved between the soldiers, still holding Sir Bluberys in his hand.
“So what?” spat Frederick. “So the king was fool enough to fall for elf tricks. They’re still littler than us! They’re still our slaves!”
Suddenly Bruno came hurtling at Frederick like a battering ram. Sir Bluberys went flying out of Frederick’s hand, and Papa and I rushed to help him up while Bruno grabbed a sword and pointed it at Frederick’s neck.
“Being bigger does not make you in charge!” Bruno shouted.
Frederick gulped as the sword got closer and closer to his neck. I guessed Bruno had been teased and bossed one too many times.
“That’s right, lad!” shouted Sir Bluberys as he staggered to his feet. “Stand your ground!”
Frederick slowly backed away toward the ropes. Bruno gestured with his sword, and Frederick scuttled up like a frightened beetle. He disappeared beyond the Blue, a sprinkling of dirt falling in his wake.
The news of King Barf’s defeat spread quickly. Queen Opal commanded that all elves be returned to their homes and compensated for any food or animals that had been taken.
Over the next few weeks our village was returned piece by piece. Baker Baker’s bakery was extracted from the dungeon and replaced in the village, as were the cobbler’s shop and the mill. Widow Francis requested that she be given the shoe she had lived in at the cobbler’s because her children preferred it. And the children brought home Milky White’s calf, George. Widow Francis tried to return him to us, but Papa refused. He said those kids loved George more than Horace loved his pig, Cindy.
Miss Lettie Nettle settled for one giant cabbage in exchange for her stolen field, and even though we did not have a village festival, everyone agreed it would have taken the prize in vegetables.
The queen appointed Bruno as Ambassador to the Elves and Frederick as his lowly assistant in charge of manure distribution. And plenty of manure was needed, because the crops were growing again, both Above and Below.
I told Bruno about the dungeon beneath the king’s fireplace and the seeds that were inside the golden eggs. Since the magic contained in the seeds made them grow very fast, the giants were able to build up enough stores to last them through the winter. We also had enough of the giant seeds from the golden eggs to grow our own food. Tom, Annabella, and I spent a day at target practice, throwing giant seeds all over the fields surrounding the giant beanstalk that had grown out of King Barf. We grew giant tomato vines, berry bushes, and pumpkins as big as carriages. We called it Barf Gardens.
“It doesn’t sound very appetizing,” Mama complained one day as she was harvesting a squash.
“But it’s funny,” I said. “And besides, the garden grew so fast, it’s almost like the ground barfed it up.”
Mama rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Jack’s right, Mama,” Annabella chimed in. “And it will always remind us how something as horrid and sour as King Barf can be turned into something sweet and delicious.” She took a bite out of a strawberry as big as herself.
“Like sour milk turns into cheese,” muttered Tom, looking up toward the sky. I knew he was missing Martha and giant cheese and his sugar bowl. He probably missed getting swallowed every now and then. No one said he had to stay, but something seemed to keep him here.
When winter came, the giant world was closed to us. The beanstalk still stretched to the sky, but even if we could reach the top in the driving rain and snow, we suspected the Blue was frozen, and surely above all the dirt were miles of snow. I didn’t really care to dig through that. So we waited patiently for spring. We sat by the fire and told stories. We told the tales of Grandpa Jack, and we told true stories of our own adventures.
Our friends and neighbors brought back endless stories from the giant world, many of them sad and dreary but some of them funny, like one about a giant who secretly dropped elves into his children’s pockets, so whenever the children were naughty, the elves would whisper things to scare the children! We all laughed at that one. If I had been one of the elves in a child’s pocket, I probably would have just helped her be naughtier.
Really, I wasn’t very naughty anymore. Not very. Except when there’s snow, it’s so easy to just pack it in your hands and peg your little sister….
“Jack!” Annabella screamed. She ran away, and I thought she was going to tattle—same old Annabella—but a minute later there was a load of snow going down my back. I yelped and did a dance to get the snow and cold out of my shirt, and Annabella just stood there laughing. Then Tom threw a snowball at my butt, and we had an epic snow battle. We built forts and threw snowballs and wrestled in the snow, until Tom suddenly froze up like a snowman. He didn’t move, even when I hit him with a snowball as big as his head.
“Tom?” I tapped his shoulder, but he just kept staring off into the distance.
“Do you think he turned to ice somehow? Like a spell?” asked Annabella.
Tom’s eyes widened, and I followed his gaze. There was Jaber the tinker, hobbling down the road, leading a cow in one hand and pulling a cart with the other. He sang:
Tommy boy, Tommy boy,
Full of lies and mischief.
Tommy boy, Tommy boy,
Angerin’ the mistress…
Tom continued to stare. I guessed he was staring at Jaber’s wooden leg. “That’s Jaber,” I said. “He’s the one who gave me the beans to get to the giant world.”
“Jack traded our milking cow for them,” said Annabella. “Mama was furious.”
“Well, it was worth it, wasn’t it? We got Papa back.”
Tom mumbled something, too quiet for me to hear. Something about Papa.
“Yes,” I said uncertainly. “Jaber helped me find Papa.”
Tom just kept staring, and Jaber’s eyes were now fixed on Tom, too. He also seemed to have frozen where he stood.
“Jack,” whispered Annabella, “do you think Jaber could be Tom’s—”
“Papa!” shouted Tom, and he burst into a run.
Jaber let go of the cow and the cart, and he ran as fast as he could on his wooden leg.
Of course! Why hadn’t I realized it before? Tom was Tommy, the boy Jaber was always singing about. And that story Jaber told, about the man and his son who had been taken by the giant, that was Tom and Jaber. Jaber had been dropped, his leg broken so badly it had to be removed, and Tom had been taken up to the giant world without him.
As soon as they reached each other, they fell down in the snow. They laughed and cried and hugged one another so tight, I didn’t think even giants could tear them apart.
And so Jaber and Tom stayed with us that winter. We were cozy in the house, and sometimes I think we drove Mama a little crazy, but if we ever got in her way, she took delight in whacking us on the head with giant beans. She stacked them all neatly in the cellar, and though I still did not think they were the most delicious food in the world, I ate them because I grew them and growing is a magical thing.
EPILOGUE
Great
“Hurry, Jack! Climb faster!” Annabella shouted down the beanstalk.
“I’m coming,” I huffed. I was out of climbing practice. I had done very little all winter, and the distance to the Blue seemed greater than I remembered. I looked down. Our village looked like nothing more than a few blocks and sticks, with little bugs crawling all around the
m. So small, and yet it was my whole world.
At last we reached the Blue. It felt cold and moist, like it was thawing from winter. We found the edges of a seam, pulled it apart, and got a dirt shower.
When we reached the giant world, it was completely transformed. Everything was alive and green and growing. The grass was thick and reached over our heads, the flowers were budding and blossoming, and the butterflies, and beetles, and birds—
“Watch out!” shouted Tom. We all had to duck beneath the beanstalk as a crow swooped down and tried to snatch us.
Yes, the giant world was still a dangerous place, even when the giants were friendly. It was probably more dangerous now that the land was green and growing again. More snakes and toads and other menacing creatures.
Mum Martha cried tears of joy when we popped out of the mousehole into her kitchen, and we all had a giant slab of cheese to celebrate—cheese she made herself from a giant cow. Tom wanted to try to milk it, but I didn’t think that was the best idea.
News of our arrival spread quickly, and a giant feast was given in our honor. Queen Opal sat at the head of the table, wearing a green gown and a crown of yellow roses, not a stitch of gold on her or in sight. The golden place settings had been exchanged for silver and pewter and crystal, the linens for creamy silks and rich red velvets. Apparently Queen Opal had been working hard to remove all the gold from the palace. It wasn’t worth so much anymore.
Prince Archie was next to the queen. He had grown twice as big since the winter. And he had learned to walk. He ran around the table banging everything with a silver spoon, singing, “Fee! Fie! Fo! Fum!”
“He’s probably the most dangerous giant in all The Kingdom,” I said.
“But the cutest,” said Annabella.
“Cute can be very deceiving,” said Tom. “Speaking of which, here come the pixies.” A swarm of pixies flew through the window and shot straight toward us.
“Get some dirt!” I shouted, and hid behind a goblet.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Annabella. “I asked the queen to invite them.”
“And she said yes?”
“Of course,” said Annabella. “She thought it was a grand idea. They’re helping her remove all the gold from the palace.”
The pixies descended upon us in all their color and sparkle. They were delighted to see Annabella, and the green pixie prince brought her a crown, delicately woven with strands of gold.
“Oh, thank you, Saakt!” she said. “I shall wear it always.”
“Does this mean I have to call you Princess Annabella?” I teased.
The green pixie snapped at me in a shrill voice, showing his razor-sharp teeth. I backed away slowly. I could feel my old bite scar throbbing.
Annabella smirked. “Saakt says you’re to call me Queen Annabella.”
Snakes and toads! I do not like pixies at all.
But that didn’t matter. I liked the giants, and the giants loved me. Martha had cooked up a storm of pies and stews and cakes. There were mountains of giant berries and potatoes and bread. There was a roasted chicken, but it wasn’t Treasure, for she had become Bruno’s pet. After a few months of no one commanding her to lay, the magic faded from her, and she went back to laying regular eggs, though the shells were speckled with gold.
Tom sat next to Martha, and I sat next to Bruno. Sir Bluberys was still with him, now clad in shining armor with a sword and shield. Sir Bluberys even had a real horse to be his noble steed, though it still bucked him off.
Kessler the magician sat next to Bruno and Sir Bluberys, with two guards standing directly behind him. The queen had forbidden him to ever use magic again, and if he cast even the tiniest spell, the guards were to chop off his head. Kessler did not seem at all worried by this, because he believed his head was really a pumpkin.
“I think it’s growing, don’t you?” He patted his orange hair, which poufed out in a way that actually was quite pumpkin-like. “In the fall I will turn it into a pie!”
“He’s barmy as a barnacle,” said Sir Bluberys.
Someone tapped on a glass and everyone hushed.
Queen Opal stood. “I’d like to make a toast,” she said. “To our little friends who helped us in The Kingdom’s time of need.”
“Hear, hear!” said a few.
“And to Jack”—the queen smiled down at me—“who showed us how to grow again.”
“To Jack!”
“Jack!”
I blushed as everyone stood and raised their goblets.
“Jack,” said Annabella, “they think you’re great!”
“Yes, well, I knew that all along,” said Tom, who was devouring a giant pie. “Knew it from the moment he catapulted off a spoon.”
I tapped on a giant spoon. “Shall we do it again?”
“I get to go first!” shouted Annabella.
Life on the farm was quiet after all that adventure, but I didn’t mind. I worked with Papa in the fields, planting and growing and harvesting giant food. It fed our village like royalty, and royalty came to see it—this giant garden in a little village. All kinds of people came from near and far. They offered us gold and silver and treasures just for one piece of giant food, but we didn’t take it. Firstly, what good was gold and silver to us? We couldn’t eat it. And secondly, we had more than enough, and it all kept growing, so we just shared as much as we could.
“Isn’t she a sight, Jack?” Papa said as we looked out over our fields. For the first time I saw what he saw: oceans and mountains and rivers of treasure, all of it green and growing.
“She’s great,” I said.
Papa wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I was almost as tall as he was now. “You’re great,” he said.
I smiled. I felt great. And it wasn’t because I had conquered a giant or become a hero. It wasn’t because I had gone on a noble quest and had so many adventures. It was because of all the growing. It was the things growing up and down, in and out, and around and between us all. It was the things growing inside me. The growing was magic, and the growing made the whole world great.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Fee, fie, fo, fum.
I smell the blood of an Englishman.
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.
These words, spoken by a giant, appear in both “Jack and the Beanstalk” and “Jack the Giant Killer,” English folktales collected by the folklorist and historian Joseph Jacobs. These “Jack” tales share many similarities—so many that for years I thought they were just slightly different versions of the same tale. But upon closer inspection, I came to realize that despite all their similarities, they are also wildly different.
When I began the process of writing Jack, I thought I would just stick with “Jack and the Beanstalk” for inspiration, but there was something about “Jack the Giant Killer” that kept poking me every now and then, refusing to leave me alone. Clearly he felt he deserved a role in the tale as well, as any self-respecting adventurer would. I just couldn’t see where this Jack fit, exactly.
As I was thinking about these two Jacks and how they might be combined, I stumbled upon an old video of my great-grandfather shortly before he died, just a year before I was born. What a treasure! Here was my great-grandfather, ninety-two years old, telling hilarious tales of stealing eggs from the neighbors’ chicken coop, getting expelled from school, and skipping work to meet girls at the state fair. He was a rogue and an adventurer, much like Jack. These stories of my great-grandfather felt a little like fairy tales.
I think it was this experience that led me to bring together both “Jack and the Beanstalk” and “Jack the Giant Killer” in a way that would honor their similarities and their differences. What if these Jacks were somehow related? I decided that my hero, Jack, had been named after his great-grandfather, the famed Jack the Giant Killer, or “Grandpa Jack.” He would grow up on his adventurous tales of conquering giants and, as his namesake, believe
he was destined to be a heroic giant killer himself and claim fame and riches. As his journey unfolds, Jack looks to the stories to guide him, to inform him of who he is, but he also learns to make his own path.
Jack is my ode to the stories of my great-grandfather, and to all my ancestors whose stories have been passed down to me from long, long ago. I feel deeply connected to them. Their stories have rooted me, and yet, like Jack, my own life story has grown in wildly different and unpredictable ways. I can’t wait to see what unfolds next.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was a huge undertaking for me. So big, it took a giant village to bring Jack to life, so it is only appropriate that I give giant thanks to all those involved in this story.
To my heroic editor, Katherine Harrison, whose insight, faith, and encouragement kept both this book and me from dying an untimely death. You saved our lives!
To the gorgeous team of copy editors, Renée Cafiero, Marianne Cohen, Artie Bennett, and Alison Kolani. You possess superpowers to make magic logical and logic magical.
Thanks to Jinna Shin, Katrina Damkoehler, and Heather Kelly for their beautiful design.
To my super agent, Michelle Andelman, who possesses great calm and good sense. I can always trust you to say what needs to be said.
To Kate Coursey, Peggy Eddleman, Janet Leftley, Jenilyn Tolley, Krista Van Dolzer, and Tamera Wissinger, my trusty critique partners with sharp eyes and big hearts.
To my girls (you know who you are), who helped raise my children, fed me good food, and lifted my spirits every day. Your friendship means the world to me.
To Dad, who always knows what to do, and to Mom, who always listens. And love and thanks to all my siblings, who are always a great source of inspiration, but Patrick takes the cake with this one. Thanks for the torture, brother. It’s paying off.
To Whitney, Ty, and Topher, my biggest fans, always too happy to give Mom her writing time. (Quit sneaking snacks, little thieves!)
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