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                               MARCIE'S CHOICE                                                                               

   Distant thunder and a bitter wind promised an early winter storm.  Marci shivered and walked faster, trying to shut out the muffled diatribe coming from the burlap sack in her arms.  Grandmere was right.  She had let her heart rule her head.  Steps echoed along the river pathway as she thought back to that morning.  It had all started so promising. 

She'd skipped and jumped her way to the market.  A total of six francs bounced in her pocket, two for the yams she must buy and the rest for the cheese.  Whatever she managed to save, Grandmere had told her she could spend.  Grandmere was very cautious with their money so today was rare.  She'd choose wisely, a new notebook for school and, maybe, a pencil.  Grandmere would be proud of her for being so careful.  Rations and the war left little for extras.

"Take care of business first."  Grandmere had said.  "I want you home in time for me to cook supper for Grandpapa."

"I will be, I promise." 

The dirt road along the river veered off through the bare field.  No harvest this year, maybe next year Grandmere had said.  Marci could see the village ahead.  Once so beautiful, she thought. 

The church spire had stood proud and gracious, jutting into the sky.  Now, it stood a tribute to four years of war bitterly waged on this soil.  Timbers of the shattered spires pierced the gray sky.  Bombed out buildings and pockmarked streets made her want to cry.

 At the edge of the village, market stalls were close to empty but Henri's produce cart stood as if it waited for her. 

"G'morning, Henri," Marcy chimed.  She was careful to approach the cart on Henri's good side.  He was very proud of his black eye patch, but he startled easily.  Marci smiled wide for him, being careful not to mention the war.  She did not have time today to sit and listen to the many tales he told of his adventures in the French resistance'. 

"Wee, mon ami, that it is and did you see, ten of us here today." 

He chuckled as he stacked fat cabbages into a pyramid next to the yams. 

"Are you looking for cabbages this day?"

"Non, Henri, I need two large yams for Grandmere to cook for supper. Do you have any on this fine morning?"

"What's this, Marci?  She let you out to shop."  He wagged his finger at her.  "Your Grandmere not so smart as I think." 

He had poked fun while she directed his fingers away from the cabbages to the largest yams.  Two francs lighter and the yams in her shoulder sack, she'd continued to the carts of French cheeses.  She'd have to haggle, but she already knew from which merchant she would buy her cheese.

Examining and sniffing the cheeses at the other stalls, she'd moved closer and closer to the right cart.  Then, ignoring the rest of the hawking merchants, she paused.  Jacque, the merchant puffed up like the blowfish he was. 

"You have decided.  My cheeses are the best in the land."

"I stopped here because yours are the best, but your prices are too much.  I'll go to the cart at the end.  They always have pieces.  I'll buy one of those."

Jacque's face fell; Marci almost felt sorry for him, but she had learned well.  There was a long pause.

"Non, mon ami," he'd finally sighed, beaten.  "I give you a good price, just between you and me.  Okay?"

Marci nodded seriously.  Soon, an excellent piece of cheese was in her pouch and the price Marci wanted to pay was in the merchant's hand.  Grandmere would be proud of her.  Smiling and waving, she headed where the school supplies were.  

Two of them sat in the cart.  Roly-poly, with soft brown fur, not much more than six or seven weeks, Marci thought.  The man stood there watching the pups, no words spoken.  At his knee, a little boy with silent tears running down his cheeks, held the stained and dirty hand of the hard rock farmer.  Marci had picked up the tinier pup and looked into its big round brown eyes. 

"That one's the runt.  We don't want to sell them, but we must.  We can't care for them."  She'd leaned forward to hear.

Marci gazed at the man and boy.  Her supplies would wait.

A few minutes later, Marci had left the cart, the last of her money gone and two rag-a-tag pups wrapped in burlap demanding their freedom.  Grandmere would be angry, but she'd done what she thought she needed to do.  The farmer, not because he'd wanted to but rather had to, would have drowned them in the river.  No one had money for puppies.  How she would break it to Grandmere nagged at her all the way home.

***

Hands on her hips, Grandmere had frowned with her soft, beautiful face. 

"How could you have done this, Marci?  You chose to spend your money on - not one - but two waifs instead of your school supplies.  Who is to buy your supplies?  We barely have food for ourselves, much less worthless pups."

"I will do it, Grandmere.  I'll give them my food, stay up at night if they're sick.  You won't have to do anything.  I promise.  The family needed the money and the little boy was crying and hungry."

Grandmere paused and, for a moment, Marci thought she had won.

Then, "No, child.  They will go back and you will get your money back.  Then you will make the right choice for your money, what you need, not what you want.  It is very difficult with Grandpapa ill and your father off to war and never back these many years." 

Marci couldn't believe it.  She could talk the merchants out of the biggest yams and the best cheeses, but couldn't talk Grandmere into keeping the pups.  It wasn't fair.  The sky had reflected her misery as Marci hurried to return the pups before the storm hit.

The empty buildings and pockmarked streets of the village greeted Marci once again, but the cart with the boy and man was gone.  She was too late.  Now what?  She couldn't just turn them loose.  They would die and she'd be without her money.  It seemed as if the storm had already arrived.  Tears flowed.

"Here, here, what are you crying about?  The storm won't be that bad; besides, we can use the rain.  Stop those tears."

Someone thrust a gray piece of cloth into her hand; soon her tears had smudged the many stains of dirt.

"Merci, monsieur."  She hiccupped and looked up into the clearest blue eyes along with the dirtiest face and body she'd ever encountered.  The pups struggled. 

"My child, what do you have in the sack that will not be contained?"

Marci opened the bag and the pups jumped from her arms to relieve themselves in the dirt.

"I'd say that was just in time.  Tell me your name, little girl, and how you came by those puppies.  I believe I am ready to listen to a tale."  He settled on the ground next to her.

What a beautiful smile even if most of his teeth were missing.  Marci couldn't help but smile back.  She relaxed and told him the story.

"Ahhh," he mused as she finished.  "So we have the old conflict.  Do we do what seems right or do we do what we must?"

Marci looked at him in wonderment; somehow, she knew things were going to be okay.  Grandmere told her many times not to talk to strange people, yet here she had just finished the entire story of her predicament to a very strange man. 

"Here's what I suggest.  Suppose I take those pups off your hands.  They'll have a warm place to sleep and villagers will throw scraps of food."

Marci's tears had dried.  "But that won't work cause I still won't have the money to buy my notebook and pencil."

"Problems, always problems.  Are you willing to work for it as you told your Grandmere you were?" 

Marci nodded.

"Then you will come to the village three times a week and run errands for me and the other merchants so we don't have to leave our carts.  After three weeks, I'll pay you the centimes for your school supplies.  And you will see the pups." 

Marci felt her face light up, "Oh yes and I can see the pups too?  It's a deal.  But," Marci hesitated.  "I don't even know your name.  Grandmere will not like for me to make a deal with someone who she doesn't know."

"Not too worry my little one.  Your Grandmere knows me quite well." 

He bent over, placed his mouth close to her left ear and whispered.  Marci felt a warmth pass over her and stepped back to giggle at the wonderful surprise.  The man put his finger to his mouth in a silent gesture.

She stuck out her hand to have it gripped by that large and filthy hand.  Even Grandmere would like this choice she thought as she skipped home.  Marci glanced up to see the warm blue sky above her.  A kilometer behind, the man followed.

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