There is a type of writing where you take a story and rewrite it. How many different Cinderella stories have you read or seen? At Writers In The Mountains http://www.writersinthemountains.org/calendar.html there was a workshop called Writing on a Footprint which touched on this. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to take the workshop, but I did try my hand at rewriting the fairytale Rumpelstiltskin. Enjoy.
The Indian Maiden
Once upon a time an Indian maiden lived in the land where the purple mountains meet the sky. Her grandfather was old and dying. Worried his grand-daughter would not have a home after he died with his last efforts he went to the chief of the tribe.
“My grand-daughter is young and needs someone to take care of her after I die. She would make you a good wife.” In order for the chief to look on her favorably her grandfather told him she knew magic.
The young chief wanted to trade with the white men who had come from Dutch Land and were moving into the purple mountains. In the mountains were many animals the tribe hunted and traded the furs for guns and hatchets and metal pans and glass beads. The chief took the maiden in for he could use her magic to help his trade with the white men. He put the maiden in a teepee with two beaver pelts, and told her she had to tan them and make him a pair of moccasins by morning or he would not keep her.
The maiden would not bring shame on her grandfather by telling the chief he had lied about her. She knew it took days to tan hides and they had to be stretched and scraped before they could be cut and sewn into moccasins. That night as she sat crying by the light of the lamp a strange little man entered the teepee. He was not of her tribe. Dressed in green buckskins, he hobbled forward on a wooden peg leg. His long tangled hair stood out in all directions. His face was wrinkled and had one brow that crossed over both of his small black eyes. She wanted to scream, but she was too frightened.
“Why do you cry pretty maiden?” He asked.
“If I am to have a place to stay I must take these skins and make a pair of moccasins for the chief by morning.”
“What will you give me to do this for you?” The little man asked.
She took the beaded necklace from her neck. “I do not have much, but I will give your this necklace my grandmother made me.”
“Then it shall be done,” the odd little man said. He sat down with the scrapping knife and went to work on the skins; tanning them with the lamp, then cutting and sewing the moccasins. When the chief entered the teepee the next morning he found a pair of moccasin boots. Pleased with them and wanting more he put the maiden in the teepee the second night with another task. He put guards around the teepee to make sure no one helped her.
That night the odd little man entered the teepee quietly, and found the maiden crying. “Why do you cry pretty maiden?”
“The chief left me with these deer sins. I am to tan them and make him a pair of britches and a shirt by morning.”
“What will you give me to do this for you?” He asked.
She gripped her medicine bag. She had been told never to let it leave her presence, but with no place to live what would it matter? “I will give you my medicine bag with the herbs and roots for strong medicine.”
“Then it shall be done.” He picked up the knife and the lamp and started tanning the hides.
The next morning the chief entered the teepee and found a wonderful pair of deer skin britches and a shirt for him. The maiden slept on a grass mat on the ground. Being a wise chief he was still not convinced of the maiden’s powers. He devised one final test. This night, the third night, he would leave her all the skins the warriors in the village could get for him that day. These were to be made into bedding furs. If she could complete this task he would marry her giving her a place to live for he was taken by her beauty and a maiden who could tan hides as fine as these would make her husband a wealthy man.
On this night the chief built up the fires around the teepee and put more guards on. He, himself, stood watch. As the maiden cried inside the teepee the strange little man entered quietly. “Why do you cry pretty maiden?”
The maiden waved her arm at the teepee full of skins and said, “I must tan all these skins for bedding before the morning or I shall have no place to live.”
“What will you give me to do it?” He asked.
“I have nothing left,” she answered.
“Nothing?” The little man looked at her. He treasured life above all else for living alone a very long time made him realize how important life was. “Will you give me your first born when you marry the chief?”
Thinking she would never marry the chief she agreed.
“It shall be done,” the little man said. He sat down with the knife and lamp and began to work.
teepee the next morning he found the maiden sleeping in all the tanned furs. He was so taken by her beauty and skill he married her that day.
One year later, as she sat playing with her newborn son by the rocky shore of the river the strange little man appeared to her. “I will take my payment now.”
“Your payment?” She remembered how this man had saved her from being thrown out and having no one to take care of her, but to give up her child would kill her. She begged and pleaded with him for a chance to keep her son. “I will meet you here for the next three days. If you can guess my name by the end of the third day I will not take your son from you.”
“Is your name Shagonee?” She asked.
“No.”
“Is it Towashdadah?”
“No.”
She went through all the Indian names she could think of and he still answered no each time she asked.
The next morning she asked the warriors to tell her all the names they knew of their tribe and their relatives' tribes. When the little man came she asked, “Is your name Atuata?”
“No.”
“Is it Putwahnahe?”
“No.”
By the end of that day she had worn out all the names she had gotten from the warriors. The next morning again she sent the warriors over the mountains to new villages to search out new names. As each warrior returned he gave her the names he’d found that morning. They were all names she’d heard before and were wrong. The last warrior returned to tell her, “I have not found any new names, but I did see a strange little man. He was like a forest elf. He danced around a campfire singing, ‘The maiden will never win at this game. To keep her son she must pass the test. Rumpelstiltskin is my name’.”
The maiden thanked the warrior and waited on the rocky shore of the river for the strange little man. When at last he came he asked her if she knew his name.
“Is it VanBotchsen?”
“No.”
“Is it DerBanch?”
“No.”
“Is it Rumpelstiltskin?”
“What!” He screamed. “You cannot know! Who told you? You have been spying on me!” He jumped up and down so hard as he screamed; he jammed the wooden peg leg into the rocks and broke it off, then he fell into the river. He was still screaming as the swift current carried him down river and away from the maiden and her son.
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