The
Three Red Marbles
During the waning years of
the
depression in a small southeastern Idaho
community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand for farm-fresh
produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still
extremely scarce, and barter was used extensively.
.
On one particular day, as Mr. 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. Upon paying
for
my potatoes I move to leave, 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 Mr. 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 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 orange perhaps."
.
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short
time
later I moved to Utah but 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 Mr. 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...very professional
looking.
.
They approached Mrs. 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, placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the
casket and left the mortuary awkwardly wiping his eyes.
.
As our turn came to meet Mrs. 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 boys that 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 magnificent shiny red marbles.
.
We will not be remembered by our words but by our kind deeds.
.
~ The Author is W. E. Petersen and the story was first
published in the October 1975 issue of "Ensign" magazine. ~
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