by Christina Ladd
(540 words)
Once upon a time there was a farmer with one son and six daughters. When he died, his son inherited the farm. His daughters inherited: the eldest a milch cow, the second a goat, the third a slaughtering knife, the fourth a bucket, the fifth a red ribbon, and the youngest nothing at all.
“Come, let us go to market and see what we can get,” said the eldest.
They sold milk from the cow for two pennies, but drank the goat’s milk, for they had had nothing to eat.
“We can slaughter the cow, then we will have nothing to sell.”
“We can slaughter the goat, but then we will have nothing to drink.”
“We can sell the knife, but then we cannot slaughter anything.”
“We can sell the bucket, but then we cannot collect the milk.”
“We can sell the red ribbon, but then we cannot attract the customers.”
The youngest, who had nothing but her cleverness, shook her head. “Let us go back to our brother and see if he will not help us.”
So they returned home, but their brother had discovered pride in their absence. He liked to be head of the house without his sisters asking questions and eating up his profits.
“You have your inheritance and I have mine,” he said. “If you wish to stay here you must earn your keep.”
They offered him the two pennies, but he laughed. “I will have two pennies from each of you.” And he told the youngest she could remain, but the rest would have to sleep outside.
The next morning, sore from the cold, the girls set to work. They did the work better than any hired hand, for they knew their own farm well. But at the end of the day, their brother said their work valued only two pennies, and only one could sleep inside.
The youngest again remained. And this time, she crept down and unlatched the door.
“Come, let us go inside and see what we can get,” said the eldest.
The fifth tied up their brother with the red ribbon, and the third stabbed him with the slaughtering knife, right through the heart. The fourth caught the blood in the bucket. The second fed parts of him to the goat, and eldest finally buried the rest in the barn, underneath the cow’s midden.
The constable came the next day, waved down from his rounds by a girl fluttering a red ribbon.
“Oh sir,” said the eldest, “our brother has run off. See how he has left us. Now we must work this farm alone. Thank heavens there are six of us, but will you not watch over us?” All of them wept, including the youngest, who brought him a cup of milk.
“You are good girls,” said the constable, and took the cup. When he set it down, they were smiling at him. The girls all stayed and worked the farm. They sold their goods in the market, and the townsfolk were eager to buy. The women came to support poor girls left by such a blackguard brother, and the men came to see all six lined up, smiling and pretty, each with a new red ribbon in her hair.
END
Christina Ladd (she/her) is a writer, reviewer, and librarian who lives in Minneapolis. She will eventually die crushed under a pile of books, but until then she survives on a worrisome amount of tea and pizza. You can find more of her work in Moonflowers and Nightshade, Cosmic Horror Monthly, Strange Horizons and more, or on Twitter @OLaddieGirl.