The Seamstress's Wish

Nestled into pretty green hills and held in the palm of a valley so lush and fertile that it was said that flowers would grow from seed to full bloom overnight, a little village sat quite contentedly next to a quaint, placid lake that would sparkle and shimmer in the late afternoon sun. The villagers were blissful for the most part, no one poor or wanting for anything. They worked happily every day and enjoyed the moments of life as they came. But, on the edge of the little village, a lady tailor held a secret sadness in her heart. She wanted children but could have none.
Her husband was the town’s best grower of tomatoes and revered farmer (for all of the other farmers asked for his secrets in growing things, to which he would reply, “I just have a green thumb, I guess,” and would laugh at the disgruntled grunts before telling them how they must work the earth to get their desired results.) He wanted so desperately to give her children and make her happy but she just seemed unable to bear them.
One night, while the rest of the world slept under the giant moon that smiled silvery moonbeams down upon them, the seamstress lamented her sorrow quietly, beseeching the moon for a solution. Now, it is quite well known that if your heart has a great desire and you are gazing up at the moon as it kisses your face with moonlight and if you live in a lovely little valley that is fertile and good next to a placid little lake, amazing miracles can happen. And so, she wept her sorrows to the moon as she knelt next to the lake until she was very tired and went to sleep. (It was said that strangely enough, the lake grew in size that night quite significantly enough that it was noticed not only by the pollywogs that lived in the water but also the dragonflies, golden scaled fish, full grown bullfrogs and the villagers!)
So adamant was her plea to the moon that the moon could not help but notice. Speaking to the sun in that speech that no human person can hear, the moon whispered to the sun a plan. Laughing and nodding (which only seems like the sun playing peek-a-boo to us tiny humans), the sun agreed and with brilliant rays of sunshine, touched the woman’s heart to make seven quilted likeness of children. When the thought entered the seamstress’s mind to make seven quilted children, she laughed it off and continued to hang the few items of laundry she had just washed in the lake (wondering also to herself if she had indeed cried so much as to make the lake much larger than it had been before.)
“Hmm,” the sun said to the moon. “It seems she will not listen to the thoughts. You must continue to touch her heart until she does what is asked of her.” With that, the sun retired and the moon peeked out over the swells of the valley and grinned at its reflection in the lovely lake. Closing one of its eyes (which looks very much like a waning moon to us), the moon focused and concentrated the thought of the task into a persistent dream that haunted her sleeping hours until the morning when she woke. Telling her husband of the dreams and thoughts, her wise husband urged her to do as she was compelled to do.
Taking up her most colorful and rich fabrics and her must luxuriant threads, the woman set aside the blacksmithing apron she was making and set to work on making the seven quilted children. The first was experimental and her hand wavered while making it, causing curves and interesting angles to the first child’s likeness. Once she was done with the first, she looked it over and decided it looked very much like a girl and sighed, thinking to herself that she had wanted a boy first. But her work remained stunning and she was pleased with her own work as she inspected the flaxen stitching, colorful accents and beautiful dress she put on the child. Working more eagerly now, she carefully made six more children, all boys this time, and each was smaller than the one before it. As she ran low on cloth, she worried if she would have enough.
The last bit of thread and with the last square of cloth, she completed the last boy. She had worked furiously for an entire week, causing people to wonder if she was alright (and if she were still sane.) Wearily, she fell asleep at her workbench and her dreams were quiet at last.
That night, the moon winked with its other eye (a waxing moon that smiles down is known to be one of good luck and miracles) and aimed soothing dreams and beams down to the tired seamstress, keeping her asleep as he worked quietly.
Reaching down with a strong thought of silvery light, it rubbed over each of the red velvet hearts that had been carefully stitched into each child, granting it life. The stitches soon disappeared and the patterns of roses on all of the cheeks faded into one happy, warm coloring. The flaxen lashes became more soft and fluttered against the cherubic cheeks. Slowly, as the night wore on, the children were granted life and became very real. The moon, giving all of its special magic which makes the miracles happen, retired gratefully for a full morning’s rest and left the gift for the hard working lady to find.
Rubbing her eyes, the woman awoke to seven brightly smiling faces and shining eyes. “We made you breakfast, mother,” they said in chorus. The seamstress was so shocked at the real children before her that she merely gaped. “Are you alright,” they asked. They hugged and kissed her to show her their concern. Tears of happiness flowed (but only for a short bit for though humans have an endless supply of tears allotted to each, she had nearly used up her quota for the month) and the children laughed and embraced her warmly again. She recognized each one. The girl had her soft smile and nimble fingers. She had the bright red hair that she had carefully sewn on her with which she used the leftovers to make the second brother’s head of hair. All of her sons were strong and looked like herself and her husband.
Reminded of him, she called to him excitedly and all together, the new family rejoiced together by moving through the village and telling the story. It was not unbelievable that such a thing happened for just the year before, the village Thatcher had been out of work until he besought the moon and a whole ten feet of snow dumped itself on the poor unsuspecting village in the middle of July, ruining all of the roofs. Though the snow melted the day after, most were not happy with the predicament but soon realized the blessing that it was for the Thatcher.
This miracle was indeed more welcomed and so the whole village celebrated with a large feast of fresh fruit and vegetables from all the farmers’ gardens and lovely sweetened pastries that felt like a tiny giggle in your stomach once you ate it. They danced, played, sang, and ate well into the night where it was hardly noticed that the moon did not even show in the night sky (for he was one worn out moon). And the village that stayed contentedly in the palm of the lush valley and next to the lake that danced happily with life and the warmth of the captured noon day sun lived thoroughly happily ever after.