Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin by Liesl Shurtliff Read Free Book Online Page B

tightening our belts. Begone.”
    I tried to speak, but my tongue felt heavy inside my mouth, like it had swelled and hardened. I figured what I carried would speak louder than words, anyway, so I took the bundle from my jacket and revealed the gold.
    Quickly the miller stepped close, blocking the gold from Opal’s view. He looked from side to side, making sure no one else was around, then lowered his big nose to my bundle. His fat face spread wide, and the gold glinted in his greedy eyes.
    He reached for one of the skeins, but I pulled away. I thought of all the things I could demand, all the food. I would ask him to take me into the storehouse and let me choose as much as I wanted: honey, oats, apples, onions, carrots. He would mill my grain to a fine powder. But my tongue was so heavy and the words would not come.
    “What will you give me?” I said in a strangled voice. “What will you give me for this?”
    The miller smiled as if he felt my struggle. “Clever boy,” he said. “Opal, go and get a sack of flour and a sack of oats. Ten pounds each.”
    I wanted to say that wasn’t fair. I had three skeins of gold. That should be worth more than twenty pounds of food. I should get salt, honey, at least a little meat, but I couldn’t say it. It was as if the gold were pressing down on my tongue.
    When Opal came back with the food, she placed it at my feet. She looked from her father to me. She stared at the bundle in my arms, now covered up. “Leave us, Opal,” said Oswald. She licked her lips and then hurried away.
    I held out the gold like a dumb puppet, and the miller snatched it from my hands. “Such a clever boy,” said the miller, adding sugar to his oily voice, but instead of sweet he sounded rancid.
    I heaved the food onto my back and took it home. I made a runny mush with the oats and held a spoonful to Gran’s mouth. She twitched when the food touched her mouth and turned away.
    “It’s food, Gran. You have to eat.”
    “Where …?” Her question trailed away.
    “Shhh. Just eat.” I spooned the food into her mouth, willing her to get better.

    Gran’s fever raged for the next three days. I made more of the oat mush, biscuits, and bread soaked in milk, but she wouldn’t eat. She was so thin I thought she might sink right into the mattress. Soon she would just be straw.
    I kept talking to Gran aloud, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead and hoping that she would respond. One day faded into another as I told her stories, all the stories she had told me about witches, and trolls, and wolves, and ogres. I talked late into the night, until I had repeated every story I knew a dozen times, so tonight I told a real story. The story about me. I told it just the way she had told me, how I was born and my name and my unknown destiny.
    “And now I have a spinning wheel,” I said as I reached the end. “From my mother. And I can spin gold. I can spin straw into gold, just like my mother. Did she show you her gold? Did she tell you about her magic? She gave it to me.” It suddenly struck me how different things would be if my mother had lived. All that was wrong could be set right. I’d know my whole name and I’d understand my destiny.
    Gran’s eyes flew open, and she grabbed my arm witha surprisingly firm grip. She gurgled a little, trying to speak.
    My heart leapt. Gran was getting well! “Gran?” I asked. “What is it?”
    She gurgled some more, and then, with great effort, she said my name. “Wah … Wah … Wump … my boy …”
    “Yes, Gran, I’m here.” I held her frail, gnarled hands tight in mine.
    Gran’s eyes didn’t move, but they filled with tears, which rolled down the sides of her wrinkled cheeks. “You … spin.” Slowly she raised a trembling hand and placed it on my chest, right over my heart. “Spin … gold … here.” She tapped on my chest. “Gold … here.” She closed her eyes then, but gently muttered, “Spin, spin, spin.”
    I tried to spoon more