She was sent there with her two little brothers, although she was only six she’d been used to caring for them. Her mother sent her this morning, told her to go to the corner grocer and pick up bread, eggs, milk, and as a special treat an orange for herself and each of her two brothers.
On the way she herded her little ducks in each time they’d get distracted by the sounds of the city. Once she had to go back and collect them from a store front window where their frosty breath was fogging the glass between them and a shiny red train set going round and round. Once she had to pull their hungry eyes away from the bakery window where fresh muffins were fogging the inside of the glass.
At six she had already herded her little crew with bags and baggage through three changes of households, back and forth from her mother’s house in the city to her father’s house in the country. And now, because of a storm, and because her daddy was not home during the storm they were back in the city with her mother.
Daddy gone on a date and then there was thunder, the boys were scared (and so was she a little) so she went to the neighbor’s house. About a quarter mile through the thunderstorm. The neighbor looked down at the three little soggy scardies, “Heavens what are you kids doing out this late in this storm?”
The reply came, then some hot cocoa, then men with badges and more questions, then the move back to Mommie’s.
Mommy didn’t leave the apartment much. So shopping trips meant three little tykes would go out into the world to get sustenance. The oldest six, but experience had made her wise.
The milk and eggs made her basket heavy but she could manage, she put the oranges in the bottom so that they wouldn’t crush the bread. Not that mommy would notice but her brothers wouldn’t eat sandwiches made from crushed bread, then mommie would notice and yell.
The grocer looked down with some pity, he’d seen these three before. He’d seen their kind a lot lately. Even honest folks were having trouble finding work, and he was extending credit to proud fathers and families who were trying to get by. He gave the corners of his mouth just a slight rise as she looked up at him over the counter. Those corners dropped when he lifted the bread out of the basked to reveal the oranges. “Oranges?” his voice was rough on her little ears, to her it sounded like a question but felt like she was in trouble. “You want oranges on credit? No, no I can’t. You get the bread and eggs, but oranges? I’m going broke so that you’re lazy mom can have oranges?”
Suddenly she felt hot on her ears, she felt the heat go down the back of her neck. “Mommie told me to get oranges for me and my brothers, not for her though.”
The man’s face got red, “No, no oranges. I won’t have you go hungry but oranges are for paying customers. You go put them back now.”
Her two little brothers watched her as she walked back and put them on the shelf. When she came back to the counter she saw the lip quiver and watery eyes that meant the little one was going to cry. If he threw a fit it meant he would sit down and she wasn’t strong enough to lift him to keep going home and he would cry and probably wet right in the store.
“Please mister, can I just get one for my brothers to share? They don’t ever get anything sweet. I don’t need one, but for them to share?”
Something was going on in the man’s face, it was going red and white, and his lip was doing just like her brothers. “Sweetie I can’t give them away… but… but I need someone to sweep my stoop. If you sweep it I’ll give you an orange in payment.”
Her face exploded with a smile at the thought of being able to earn an orange for the boys, “Yessir! I will, can you watch my brothers?”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer, her shoes clacked the floorboards of the store as she raced to get the broom from the doorway. It towered over her as she struggled to get the bristles to work against the grain of the wooden stoop.
The boys were wrestling on the ground arguing over the orange the man gave them. She scrunched her face and looked up at him, “Mister that stoop wasn’t even dirty… What’d you need it swept for?”
“Oh young lady, sometimes stoops need to be swept for different reasons, you run home now before your milk spoils. Come back next week and I’ll have more work for you to do, you can start working of your mother’s credit.”
Next week came around but she wasn’t there. A morning when mommie wouldn’t get out of bed lead to more men with badges, more questions and a move back to the country. That little girl had always remembered the embarrassment of having to return those oranges, but even better the opportunity of being able to earn one. She never forgot that store owner either.
My grandmother told me that story of her life during the depression when I was about 10 and asked her why she always put an orange in the toe of our stockings each year at Christmas. I hate oranges… but after that story I realized what an amazing gift she was giving us, and I’m so happy to have that part of her life, so saddened by what she had to go through and so inspired by the way she overcame the challenges she faced.
And now, every time I see an orange I think of that story, and of her courage as I reach past the orange to grab some bananas.
On that day my grandmother learned a lesson about humility and grace, about work and pride.
Psalm 32:8 tells how God will teach us and guide us toward a path of grace and light.
I will instruct you and teach you in the way which you should go; I will counsel you with My eye upon you.
Great to Good 