Part 3 -4
Baba rolled up her eyes, which he deemed a sign of her faintness of his gallantry. She led him to the hut, which squawked and nearly shook him off the porch. Once inside, his eyes darted to everything: a window with ivy crawling into the kitchen, a spool of yarn fed into a spinning wheel, and wood beams overhead pegged with dried herbs. His eyes rested on a pile of spilled beans between chairs near the hearth.
“You’ve spilled your beans! No doubt from your frail hands. See this,” he said, and dashed over to pick up the jar on the ground nearby, “it’s much too heavy for you.”
Pursing her mouth together like she’d bitten down on a sour berry, Baba spoke up to the rafters. “Can you do the chore?”
“I’ll do it well,” Tomlin said and raised his chin. “Would you like me to clean up with a broom? Maybe you would fetch it for me, Baba.”
“I don’t have a broom. And the chore is to pick each bean up and put it back in the jar before nightfall. You do that, and you can be on your way. I’ll be finishing my own work.”
Tomlin turned towards Baba ready to impersonate his sympathies when he watched the front door slam. The steady whacks of splitting wood echoed moments later. Tomlin peeked down at his pile of beans, but muttered to himself, “well, I’ve got until nightfall.”
Tomlin liked Baba well enough but remained apathetic about knowing her any further. He left her to cut a pile of wood waist high and began what he thought a logical quest: to find if any wealth lay hidden in the odd hut. He wandered over to the bookcase and poked around at the spines of books with titles like, Stew Dishes for One and Crafting with Corpses.
“How lonely she must be to read these ghastly things. Good thing I’m here now,” he said and resolved they hid nothing of value. The hut gave a shake, and when he steadied his feet Tomlin said, “maybe I’ll pluck its feathers and cut down its legs. That would keep it still.”
Next, he went around and peeked at the floorboards. All of them were nailed down proper, with bits of hay sticking up between the cracks. Pulling up a rug, he found a large red stain seeped into the wood. Clicking his tongue, he dashed to the window to see Baba covered in a sheen of sweat.
“Yes?” Baba said and unfastened another clothespin from the line. She took down a pair of trousers and a men’s shirt, not so different than his own size.
“Are those for me?” he said and gasped with a less than genuine touch of his hand over his heart. “You’ve already thought of doing laundry for me. So considerate. Try and wash too before you come inside. No reason to drip sweat on the floors and have to wash them later.”
She gripped the shirt and pants with curled up fists, nostrils flared and at a second glance, he thought he saw a wisp of steam slip from them.
“Those beans aren’t done yet?” she pressed on.
“Just nearly,” he said and leaned over to lower his voice. “But you know, it’s dry you’ll need to mend it, because I do see a little row of holes near the shoulder. You must have bad moths! “
She narrowed her eyes thin as splinters, picked up the shirt, and wiggled her fingers in the holes. “Too big for moths. What could make a row of holes like that?”
Tomlin furrowed his brow in strained pondering. “Rats? Oh, maybe that why the floors need a good scrubbing because there’s a ghastly red stain. You should do that soon.”
“Right, well what about this,” she said and grinned wider than he’d ever seen. Each tooth wasn’t flat like his own but somewhat pointed. Large enough to make little bites. Or holes. “How do you like my smile?”
Maybe out in the woods, that’s what happened after years of eating nothing but ruffage and creatures that died on your doorstep. “It’s lovely, truly. But it does show how much you need some guidance on how to make it as a lady. I’ll tell you just what you need, so don’t fret. You’ll faint, you know.”
“The beans!” she said and pointed up her long index finger towards the sky. A dusk started to settle down around them. “Before nightfall.”
“Right of course,” he said, and spun himself around back inside. Over the pile of beans, he paced, and almost resolved to sit himself down and do the deed. But he heard a low caw from beyond the window, and any inkling of character went out of it too. Near the kitchen, a raven landed on the windowsill, stared down at a loaf of bread on the counter, and then to the strange man it had never seen before.
“Raven, you want that bread?” Tomlin said, and what he thought a clever idea knitted together in his mind. He ran to the kitchen, grabbed the loaf, and knowing of the cleverness of ravens said, “you put all those beans into the jar, and I’ll give you it.”
The raven nodded, flew into the house, and settled near the hearth. One by one, it plucked each bean and dropped into the jar with a cling. Tomlin cozied himself into the chair, ripping off chunks of bread and feeding himself. At the ping of the last bean in the jar, the Raven flew up to the arm of the chair. Tomlin, covered in crumbs on his shirt and belly taunt, said, “I got bored waiting.”
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