Jaclyn and the Beanstalk

by Mary Ting

  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I held my hands together to keep me steady. His words were beautiful. I had no idea he was capable of saying such things to me. Jack kept surprising me, not just with his charm, but with the good things he’d done.

  There were no words to describe my feelings. My heart thumped faster, expanding from bliss, so full to the point I thought it would explode. Jack filled me with his love and devotion, and I could not have asked for anything more. I would give him that day, the next, and forever.

  “Yes, Jack. I would be honored to be your wife.”

  Jack cupped my cheeks and seized my lips. He shouted and twirled me around.

  “So, let me see that sapphire.” I took it out of his hand when he released me. It was as big as my palm. “Where did you get this?”

  Jack rested his hand over mine. “While we battled Longinus, my father and his men took some of the treasure out when they could not find Richard. They took it to the rock edge and threw it off. Some was destroyed in the fire along with the mountain, and some was safe. My father and his friends took the treasures and spread them to the towns the monsters had destroyed.”

  I nodded in understanding, recalling the little girl’s words. My question had been answered.

  “We thought it would be best to help the people back on their feet quickly. However, I admit I picked this one out especially for you. I was planning to make an extravagant necklace. I know you’re practical, and you’re going to tell me you don’t need it, but I think we should think about what we’re going to pass down to our children.” Jack furrowed his brow, questioning.

  I crushed my body to his. “You’re brilliant, Jack. And I do love you.”

  He pulled away to meet my eyes, as if he could not believe me. “Say it again. I want to hear those three words.”

  I tilted my head to the sky and belted. “I love you, Jack.”

  To my wondering eyes, the trees began to stir. Then the flowers on the trunks burst, spinning around us like wild wind. They were not flowers as I’d thought, but instead slumbering butterflies awakening to celebrate my proclamation.

  Oh, what a splendid sight.

  The fluttering butterflies pirouetted in the air, their wings like a whir of silk ribbons floating about. Then they ascended to the endless canvas of blue.

  “Oh, my.” I watched them soar. From below they looked like tiny, colorful angels.

  “I just made that happen for you.”

  Jack broke my stare.

  I laughed. “You can believe you did.”

  “You don’t believe me?” He chuckled. “For that I won’t show you what’s under the cover.”

  “I don’t need you to show me.” I pulled back from him. “I’m going to find out.”

  I ran around the horse, but Jack blocked me. Then I went the other way, but Jack ran faster.

  Damn this dress.

  “Jack, get out of my way.”

  “Not until you tell me you believe me.”

  I circled the wagon countless times until Jack caught me. Out of breath, I said, “Okay, you win. You made the butterflies appear.”

  Jack smirked and lifted the cover to reveal a few lanterns, another basket filled with food, blankets, and even a couple of swords.

  “Your mother has given me permission for us to spend the night on the wagon. I gave her my word I would not compromise your virtue. I will keep my promise. She knew I was bringing you here. I told her how much the land has changed. I wanted you to see. I know your heart is heavy that you could not bring your father’s body back to be buried. But look around you. This is where he was buried. No one has ever had such a beautiful resting place before. So forgive yourself. The last bean was for your father. You did well.”

  Oh, my heart. Bless you, Jack.

  Tears flowed and fell faster with Jack’s words, and my heart swelled from somber to heaven blessed. This was my father’s grave—beautiful and breathtaking.

  “You’re right.” I wiped my tears and smiled. “My father was buried here. I want to be married here. Let’s take away the evil and make it good.”

  “I agree.” Jack planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

  Jack and I spent our time climbing the beanstalk for fun. I took great pleasure in embarrassing him as I stripped off my dress, only to reveal a tunic and breeches underneath. Though the wind nipped my nose, the need to climb gave me all the warmth I needed to ascend higher. When I reached the top, the grandeur of the town and what the last bean had created revealed its beauty.

  Spectacular.

  When the light faded, I lay on the blanket inside the wagon with Jack. Blankets layered on top of us to keep warm. Jack held me in his arms, stealing a few kisses at times, but he kept his hands to himself.

  I talked about our wedding while gazing at the infinity of diamond specks against the black-void of night sky, so mystical, filling me with serenity and wonder. So many, and so close I felt like I could reach out and touch them, reminding me I was small and not alone in the grandness of the universe.

  Then, when I could no longer stay awake, I fell asleep in Jack’s arms while the angels’ eyes watched over us.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Eight Years Later

  Before Jack and I married, Jack built a house for us next to my parents’ home, so my mother wouldn’t be alone. He also hired good men to tend to the animals and the farm for Mother. Mother only needed to oversee their work. The men would also go to town with her as her companions. No woman should travel alone.

  Jack had apprenticed to a master carpenter and with his skill built a respectable name for himself as J and J Tradesmen. The first J stood for Jaclyn. He said he would always put me first, and he had kept his word.

  His brothers also worked with him. They would playfully argue the initials stood for James and Jonathas, and we had a good laugh.

  To remind the town what we all had endured, Jack designed the front of his shop with vines growing like beanstalks. Jack thought people needed to remember how precious life was and how easily it could be taken. The reminder would help people heal together, a common bond to make the town stronger.

  He even had a local jeweler design a beautiful gold beanstalk necklace for me. The beanstalk curved into a circular pendant, leaving an empty space in the middle.

  Upon seeing Jack’s shop and my necklace, the townspeople bought cloaks, tunics, fabrics, and hats embroidered with vines—even the fancy hats had vines made of felt instead of feathers. The bakers too rode on the trend and made bread and pastries shaped like beans and vines. The children sang songs about the giants and the beanstalk. Even after many years passed, it was still the most famous story in the towns.

  As for Father’s hat, I’d left it in my room at my parents’ house, so Mother could look at it whenever she felt the need. It seemed silly a hat could mean so much, but we needed it to heal, bringing us close to Father, as if he remained among the living.

  I might be biased, but I believed our wedding was one that would be the talk of the towns for generations to come. We had our wedding where Black Mountain used to stand, just as we’d discussed. We had waited until spring, when the weather was perfect.

  It was magical and enchanting, a fairytale wedding, especially when the butterflies fluttered all around us at the end of our ceremony. I liked to think of it as a blessing from Father.

  Our plan to have a small family wedding did not happen. The townspeople heard, and just like my father’s funeral, came by with lots of gifts. I was sure it was their way of thanking us.

  A year after our wedding, we had our first child. We named him after my father, just as Jack had promised.

  “Can you tell us a story?” Richard asked, taking his last bite of a chicken leg.

  I did not know how it was possible, but Richard had similar features to my father. At almost seven years old, he already acted like a young man.

  “Of course.” I kissed his cheek. “I have the perfect story in mind.” Ruffling his ha
ir, I turned to my daughter, who sat next to him. “Elizabeth, would you like more chicken soup?”

  “No, thank you. My tummy is full,” she replied in her cute little five-year-old voice, tossing her braided hair from side to side.

  “How about Father?” I asked Jack. “Would you like more soup?”

  “No, thank you.” Jack turned to little Jaclyn sitting next to him, picking up a little chunk of carrot from her dress.

  Little Jaclyn was definitely her father’s girl. For a three-year-old, she was quite independent, but not when it came to her father. Jack would tease me and tell me our daughter was just like me. I had to admit, he was right—right down to her stubbornness and courage.

  Little Jaclyn also had the same birthmarks and healed like me. That worried me. What the future held for her, I did not know. But I could not stop fate.

  Everyone has a story to tell, Mother had said before. Fate will lead you to a path on which you are meant to be. And fate would do the same for our little Jaclyn, and perhaps generations to come. And she too must be brave. I may be a woman, but women have their own bravery, Mother had once said. And I believed it to be true. Those words would be instilled in my sons and daughters, and on through the ages.

  “Would you like more soup?” Jack asked little Jaclyn.

  “Would you, Father?” Jaclyn smiled, looking at him admiringly.

  Jack pounded lightly on the wooden dining table he had built for eight. “Yes. We eat like giants,” he grumbled with a deep, gruff voice.

  The children laughed, even our one-year-old son, Jeremiah, who had no idea what his father had said. Jeremiah sat securely on Jack’s lap, and Jack kept all the bowls away from him.

  “Jeremiah looks just like you,” I said to Jack.

  The way Jeremiah’s beautiful green eyes sparkled, the sound of his laughter, even the way he looked mischievous, I already knew he was going to break girls’ hearts.

  After dinner, while I brewed hot tea, and children sat around the fire, a knock on the door startled us. Jack got up to open the door and the children’s happy voices cheered.

  “Grandmother.”

  They all hugged her at once. Jack had to hold Mother steady so she would not fall from being cuddled from all sides.

  “One at a time.” Jack chuckled.

  “Mother.” I gave her a hug and a kiss, and then she handed me boxes.

  Sometimes Mother went to town to visit friends. I was happy she did. She needed to live her life too.

  Mother had bought baked pie for our family. She had just come home from visiting William and Clarisse in town. Clarisse was William’s new wife and my mother’s longtime friend.

  “These look delicious.” I cut them into small pieces for everyone. The children patiently waited at the table with their drooling mouths.

  “You must visit Clarisse’s bakery, Jaclyn.” Mother’s blue eyes twinkled as she placed the plates on the table. “She has so many different kinds. I brought the children’s favorite.” She looked at each of them adoringly.

  “Can you tell us a story while we’re eating our pie, Mother?” Richard begged with his beaming brown eyes, so like my father’s.

  “Aye, Richard.”

  It used to hurt when I called his name, and I had wondered if we’d made a mistake, but I was glad we had honored my father by naming our first son after him.

  “Father will join me.” I sat next to Jack and began a tale that I’d heard spreading the town. “Once upon a time, there lived a boy named Jack.”

  The children laughed.

  “That is Father’s name.” Elizabeth pointed at her father with a mouthful of apple pie.

  “Yes, it is.” Jack gave a silly grin. “Jack’s family was so poor, his mother sent him out to trade their cow for something better.” He looked at me to continue.

  His affectionate eyes locked on mine, and I melted on the spot.

  “Jack met an old man along the way. He told Jack he would give him some magic beans that would become a beanstalk and grow to the sky.”

  The children’s heads tilted to the ceiling when they saw me look up.

  “Then what?” Richard took a bite of his pie, but kept his eyes glued on me.

  Jack jumped in, “Who would not want magic beans, right?”

  “There’s no such thing.” Richard laughed, almost choking before he swallowed.

  Jack cocked a brow, and we exchanged glances with a smile. The children had no idea.

  I held out my hand as if I held the magic beans. “Jack’s mother was not pleased at all. She threw the beans out the window and sent Jack to bed without supper.”

  “That’s mean.” Little Jaclyn pouted, placing her fists on her hips.

  She was always the one to speak her mind. Jaclyn was so much like me.

  “Aye.” Richard crossed his arms in agreement, as if he’d been the one sent to his chamber.

  “The next day...” Jack lowered his voice for dramatic effect. “When Jack woke up, the giant beanstalk had grown to the sky just as the old man had proclaimed. He climbed and climbed until he reached the clouds. Before him was a giant castle. When he went inside the castle, treasures of plenty filled his eyes, and then...”

  The children’s eyes grew with anticipation.

  “And then ... he saw the giants.”

  The children’s mouths parted in shock, and then I jumped in to tell the rest. I made up bits about a golden harp, a golden egg, giants following Jack down, and how he chopped down the beanstalk.

  At last, their father shared the giant’s treasures to help the poor and the hungry, and, of course, his own family. The children, Mother, and Jack clapped when I ended the story.

  “’Twas a great story.” Richard pretended to chop the beanstalk with an imaginary sword. “I’m faster than a giant.”

  Richard, being the typical boy, would likely fight giants later with the wooden sword that had once belonged to me, out in the field. And his two sisters would join him, especially Jaclyn. Jeremiah, being only one, would watch and laugh.

  “Your mother told us many stories in her younger years. She has told you many, has she not?” Mother asked.

  “She has. I love them all.” Richard smiled at me adoringly. “Can we hear that story again tomorrow, please?”

  “Only if you behave.” Jack set the cup down after taking a sip of his tea.

  “I shall.” Richard licked the plate of his finished pie, and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “May I have another, please?”

  Mother got up from the table. “I shall return.”

  “What’s this story called?” Elizabeth held out her empty plate to ask for more, flicking away a tiny piece that had fallen on her lavender dress.

  I looked at Jack and winked. “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

  Epilogue

  The End

  That night, as I cuddled in bed with Jack, I dreamt of Father. It wasn’t the first time and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. It was said dreaming about your departed loved ones meant they were visiting you spiritually. I did not know the truth of it, but I wanted to believe it so.

  I could not remember Father’s words, but I awoke feeling he was proud of me. Sometimes I would awake sobbing, like I was saying goodbye again, and other times I woke with pooling tears.

  Jack was always there to comfort me, holding me until I was back to myself again. The nights I dreamt about Father, I would visit his burial site behind my parents’ house and talk to him. It was a way to help me heal.

  I missed him so much it hurt. Sometimes I did not know if I could make it through the day, and sometimes I held my father’s hat and cried next to Daniel. But knowing he was in my heart and all around me made it bearable. It was so true what people said. He might not be there physically, but he was there with me in other ways.

  I felt my father’s love through my children’s laughter. His love had never left me and never would. His memory would live on, not just in our hearts and souls, but also through the
many lives he had touched. People praised him still with talks of his courage and good heart when I visited the towns. He was well loved by many.

  Eight years before, when the news about my father, the monsters, and the men who’d died on Black Mountain was still fresh in people’s minds, the story spread throughout the towns as a tale for children, called Jaclyn and the Beanstalk. However, the story had changed over the years when my children shared my version of Jack and the beanstalk.

  Jack and I laughed at such nonsense, and so did the people who knew the truth.

  Jack and I decided not to tell our children about what happened on Black Mountain until they were old enough to understand. In a way, we did not have a choice, since little Jaclyn was just like me in many ways. When the time was right, all would be revealed.

  As parents, we tried to shield our children from the evil. We wanted them to hear and see all that was good, so they too could follow such examples.

  Evil could never conquer good. As long as there was love, evil would be overcome. So my father taught me before he died, and so I would teach my children. Love was the truest savior. I believed it in my heart to be true.

  The true story might never be told again. But one day, it would resurface again when Jack and I decided to tell our children. Who knew? After all, stories changed all the time, and the way towns gossiped, I’d bet this one would. They might even rename it once again...

  Jaclyn and the Beanstalk.

  Acknowledgements

  To my agent, Italia Gandolfo, who told me I had to write Jaclyn’s story and for giving me that push I needed to make it the best it could be. To, Liana Gardner, for always being there for me through every process of getting this book done. Jessica Nelson, Holly Atkinson, Jane Soohoo, Cheree Castellanos, and Katie Harder-Schauer, for your guidance and expertise for fine tuning this novel.