Editing Libraries of Faerie (section)

===Amos Freeman's Front Porch===

In the United States, Nebraska, specifically, there is a small town name of Benton.

Not much of a town, Benton. Just a few stores and a stretch of road runnin' between a few small farms.

One of these farms belongs to Amos Freeman, and had for as long as anyone can remember. 

In the 30's, the farm was huge and bustling, and Amos didn't turn down nobody who came with an empty wallet, hungry stomach an' strong back. Amos Freeman, a black man whose pa told him stories of bein' a slave every night at bed time, kept damn near all of Benton fed and workin' during that time.

Its mostly run down, now; though. Everything needs fixin' but there no one around do it. No ones lives at the Freeman farm now, 'cept for Amos and his nine granddaughters. 

Amos' nine granddaughter care for the farm as best they, milkin' the cow, feedin' the chickens and pigs, and keepin' some of the crops growin', but it just ain't much of a farm no more.

Thing is, any time of the day or night, Amos' nine granddaughters (all nine of 'em, just old enough to be considered grown women, all nine of 'em pretty as sin, eight as dark as night, and one as white as the moon) can be found cookin' up one hell of meal. Fried Chicken, spiral-cut honeyed ham, collared greens, corn on the cob, buttermilk buscuits, black eye eyes, an' a whole mess of other stuff. Homemade icecream an' pie for dessert. Apple, blueberry, or strawberry-rhubarb. 

While they're busy making up the meal (always more than enough for everyone to stuff themselves and take home left overs, no matter how many friends or strangers show up), Amos just sits in his favor rockin' chair on the front porch. Looks, for all the world, like a skeleton wrapped the wrinkly skin of a raisin, kept alive by sheer stubborness. He's got a piece of that drawin' charcoal and a stack of nice, heavy-stock paper sittin' in his lap, but he ain't drawin' nothin'. 

He just sits, and rocks, and looks up at the sun, or the stars, whatever the case may be.

Anyone who talks to him, they don't get an answer, they don't even get a look or a nod. He just sits, and rocks, and looks up at the sun, or the stars, whatever the case may be.

The granddaughters - their right friendly - always happy to have guests, and always willing to fetch a glass of iced tea or lemonaide, or a shot of bourbon, from a bottle older than they are. If asked about Amos, they get a real sad look on their faces, and they just say he's been like that, quiet, an' starin' up at the sky for as long as they can recall. But their sadness doesn't last long, because they have guests to take care of, and they sure do love to have guests, and make new friends.

Odd thing, though, about Amos, somethin' that the granddaughters are willin' to speak on if someone tickles their fancy...

While Amos is rockin' in his chair, if you ask him, "tell me the story of the Bible", he'll tell you the story of the King James Version... startin' with Genesis, and endin' with Revelations, he'll recite the whole thing. He'll even draw those timelines and maps that show up at the end of most Bible now days, usin' his drawin' charcoal an' paper.

It ain't just the Bible, though... he can reciet any book, as long as you ask for it. He don't even need to know the lanuage its in, or have ever read - or heard - of the book. Old Amos, he can tell you, word-for-word (in perfect French) what's written in some little French girl's diary from 1941.

Even though he never does anything no more, and the nine granddaughters don't get out much, word of Amos' strange gift has spread. 

The only men in the world to know everything written in the Dead Sea Scrolls are a few high-falootin' guys from New York City who came to pay Amos and his granddaughters a visit, meanwhile, an old woman from Plano, Texas came up to see Amos one day, to hear him read her love letters from her husband, who died in the same fire that destroyed the letters.

He ain't never gonna be famous, but there are people who know about him, people from all over the world. 

People from beyond it, too. 

The nine granddaughters, they've had guests far stranger than humans, but as long as they mind their manners, and wipe their feets (or tenticles) before comin' in the house, they ain't about to judge them, or turn them away.

No matter how long or short a book, or a series of letters, Amos always finishes one book when the sun goes down, and finishes another when the sun comes up.

If'n someone wants, they can stay a spell at the Freeman farm. The nine granddaughters are more than happy to make up rooms, especially for the people that they take a likin' to. Guests will eventually wear out their welcome, though, especially if the the granddaughters think they are takin' advantage of old Amos, and are usually asked to leave after a week or two. 

No one has ever refused the granddaughters' polite request.