3 Red Marbles
During
the waning years of the depression in a small southeastern Idaho community, I
used to stop by Brother Miller's roadside stand for farm-fresh produce as the
season made it available. Food and money were still extremely scarce and
bartering was used extensively.
One particular day Brother Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I
noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily
appraising a basket of freshly-picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was
also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas
and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Brother
Miller and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today ? "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya'.
Jus'admirin' them peas - sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma ?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla'time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas." "Would you like to take some
home ?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas ?"
"All I got's my prize aggie-best taw around here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for
red. Do you have a red one like this at home ?"
"Not 'zackley - but, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way
let me look at that red taw."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile
she said: "There are two other boys like him in our community. All three
are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas,
apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and
they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home
with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later
I moved to Utah but I never forgot the story of this man and the boys - and
their bartering.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I
had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was
there learned that Brother Miller had died. They were having his viewing that
evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the
deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the
other two wore short haircuts, dark suits and white shirts obviously potential
bankers, lawyers, doctors, ministers, educators, or administrators. They
approached Sister Miller, standing smiling and composed, by her husband's
casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly
with her and moved on to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped
briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each
left the mortuary, awkwardly wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Sister Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the
story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening, she took my hand and
led me to the casket.
"This is an amazing coincidence," she said. "Those three young
men, who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they
appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could
not change his mind about color or size, they came to pay their debt."
"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she
confided, "but, right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in
Idaho."
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband.
Resting underneath were three magnificently shiny, red marbles.
Author Unknown - Submitted by Keith Moore