The Cost of Empty Talk

In the dusty lanes of Willow Creek, where the cotton fields hummed with cicadas, folks gathered at the Blue Moon Café to swap stories over biscuits and gravy. Lately, the talk was sour.

A slick-talking drifter named Cal had blown into town, promising to fix the old mill and bring jobs. He’d charmed half the county with big words, but the mill stayed rusty, and Cal’s promises evaporated like dew.

Miss Vera, who ran the café with an iron skillet and a soft heart, watched young Danny, a lanky seventeen-year-old, hang on Cal’s tales. Danny, eager to prove himself, had been toutin’ Cal’s plans to his pa, who’d lost work when the mill shut.

“He’s gonna save us,” Danny said, eyes bright.

Vera shook her head, “Boy, if you always have to eat your words, you’ll end up starving. Say what you mean, and mean what you do.”

Danny, stung, didn’t listen until Cal skipped town, leaving nothing but unpaid tabs and the broken-down mill. Danny’s pa felt crushed, and Danny held the weight of his own loud hopes.

“I told everyone he’d deliver,” he muttered to Vera, mopping her floor to earn pocket money. “Now I look a fool.”

Vera handed him a rag. “Ain’t about looking foolish, son. It’s about filling your words with truth. Empty talk’s like a bucket with no bottom, it don’t hold nothing.”

She told him of her uncle, who’d promised a new barn to neighbors but never built it, losing their trust. “Words gotta have roots, Danny.”

Spurred, Danny rallied his friends. They scrounged tools, cleaned the mill’s gears, and studied old manuals under the café’s lamplight.

Vera brought coffee; farmers pitched in lumber. And Danny spoke plainly.

“We’ll fix this ourselves, slow but sure.”

No grand boasts, just sweat. By summer’s end, the mill creaked to life, grinding grain for the first time in years. Jobs trickled back, and Willow Creek breathed easier.

At the café’s harvest supper, folks toasted Danny, who blushed but stood tall.

“Didn’t promise the moon,” he said. “Just did what I could.”

Vera grinned, setting a plate of food before him. “That’s the meal that fills you, boy, words you don’t gotta choke down.”