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Storyteller's Cabin |
After awhile, the door creaked open to the darkened house. Standing there was a feeble old man in weathered overalls, his skin tan and leathery from years in the fields. He looked through tired, bloodshot eyes at Jack and said, "Can I help you?"
"Some fellas in town told me you were lookin' for a farmhand," said Jack.
"I do need a hand 'round here," said Mr. Davis. "But did those fellas tell you 'bout the problems we've been havin' with the help?"
"I heard about it, but I ain't scared," answered Jack with a touch of brashness. "I worked on a farm many a time. And I'd appreciate the opportunity to work for you."
Mr. Davis sighed and walked out of the house. "You look like a strong young man. If you wanna work here, that's fine with me. But don't say you weren't warned."
Mr. Davis then showed Jack to an outbuilding beside the creek. Inside was one large, comfortable room with a bed, a couple of chairs and a fireplace. A row of windows stretched across the top of the room, filling the space with sunlight. The sound of the water outside was gentle and soothing. This is the best deal I've found yet, Jack thought to himself.
"We'll bring you some food to cook on the hearth," said Mr. Davis as he slowly turned toward the door. "There ain't no power out here, but when the moon's out, you'll get plenty of light. You've had a long journey, so just make yourself comfortable and you can start work tomorrow."
He then turned around and said in an ominous voice, "Just make sure you're careful."
Jack was so tired from his trip that he went straight to bed, not giving a second thought to whatever strange things might be happening on the farm. The next day, he went out to work in the fields. Hard work never bothered Jack, but the hot Mississippi sun eventually wore him out. He returned to his room that evening and collapsed into a chair.
Beside the fireplace, Jack could see that the Davis family had left a fat meatbone, along with some rice, biscuits and fresh vegetables. Jack hungrily put the meatbone in a pan and cooked it on the fire. He noticed that Mr. Davis was right about the moonlight - between the fire and the bluish shafts of moonlight streaming into the room, one didn't need a light bulb.
When the meat had finished cooking, Jack took out his prized carving knife, cut the meat into thin slices, and poured the gravy onto the rice. Mr. Davis had left a kitchen knife with the food, but Jack preferred his trusty silver knife - a knife his grandfather in Georgia had carried with him while serving in the Confederate army. Jack didn't have many possessions, but his knife was one thing that stayed with him.
Jack leaned back in his chair and slowly ate his food, savoring every morsel. In fact, he was so intent on his food that it took him a while to notice that a black cat had somehow entered the room. The cat sat at Jack's feet and started at him as he ate - looking at him more with curiosity than hunger. Being a kind fellow, Jack cut off a small piece of meat and dropped it on the floor beside the cat. But instead of eating it, the cat jumped onto the arm of Jack's chair, staring down at his plate.
Jack shrugged his shoulders and resumed eating. The cat stared at him for a moment, then tried to stick its paw in the gravy. Annoyed, Jack swatted the cat off the chair and said, "Get out of here, cat. I just gave you some food!"
The cat growled at him and whispered, "Sop Doll."
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