Little children imagined that she was a gypsy. Marie’s dark eyes, thick accent, and earrings dangling from earlobes stretched downward by the weight of the ornaments bolstered that impression to children and adults alike.  She preferred wearing a floral scarf tied tightly under her chin, to sporting any sort of fashionable hat.  And the abundance of rings worn on at least five of her ten fingers were a curiosity that could not go unnoticed.  I was one of those kids who believed the gypsy rumor, and stayed as far away from her as I could.

 Marie was married to a local merchant who owned a simple mom and pop grocery store in our tiny rural Alabama town.  John T. Green had married Marie and brought her home to Ashland in 1919 when he returned from service in World War 1.  Stories abounded about Marie’s arrival in town as a newlywed who knew very little English.  And the scant amount of English she had learned in the old country sounded nothing like the Alabama English she heard in her new home nestled in the southern Appalachians. 

According to local storytellers, Marie’s introduction to society in Ashland got off to a rough start. For her first few weeks, she stayed inside their little house while her husband worked. When she did venture out, it was only while tightly glued to John T’s arm.  Her husband was protective of Marie and not inclined to explain anything about his new wife to anyone in town.  And no one in town had the gall to ask.  There were plenty of whispers, but not much information.

Eventually Marie determined to risk a shopping excursion without her husband as an escort.  So while John T was minding the grocery, Marie strolled around the town square with a shopping basket on her arm, and finally into C. M. Pruet’s dry goods store. Pruet’s Department Store was a busy place in the small town. For almost an hour, Marie sauntered around the store totally amazed at the sheer abundance of goods that were offered.  It was nothing like the scarcity she was accustomed to in war torn Europe, and the tremendous variety of items was mind-blowing to the young bride.

All eyes were on Marie as she shopped, finally placing several items into her basket.  She had chosen a small tin of sewing needles, several spools of thread, two lead pencils, a large box of matches, and a lovely embroidered scarf.  Cradled firmly in her left arm she held a set of three glass mixing bowls as she made her way up the aisle and toward the cash register.  Several people strained to watch Marie’s interaction with the cashier. How would she communicate? Did she have any understanding of American currency? Would she be able to complete the transaction? As it happened, those questions were of no consequence at all. Customers and store clerks alike were dumbfounded when Marie ambled gracefully past the cash register and exited the store without paying!  

Astonished at her audacity, C. M. Pruet moved quickly from his perch in the back of the store toward the front, while two of his lady store clerks dutifully hurried outside to confront Marie. Curious customers hurried to catch a glimpse of the challenge sure to ensue, chattering all the while about whether or not the thieving gypsy would be arrested and thrown in jail.  Meanwhile, the sensible Mr. Pruet sent a stock boy running to fetch John T. Green from his grocery store. Customers heard the store owner dispatch the boy with, “tell him to hurry.”

Marie felt a gentle tug on her shoulder and was surprised as she looked back. She saw fear in eyes of the two lady clerks who were standing there.  Marie abruptly turned to them, face to face with mouth wide open, stuttering as her mind raced, unsure of what English word should be used. One of the ladies glanced backward toward Mr. Pruet who was fast approaching the trio of ladies.

“Hallow,” Marie voiced slowly with a trembling smile, searching for discernment in the eyes of the two ladies who stared her down.  C.M. Pruet arrived at the scene, holding up a dollar bill between his left thumb and finger. Then pointing at her basket of goods he implored,

 “Mrs. Green, did you forget to pay?”  For a brief second there was icy silence on the busy Ashland street corner. Then, thinking the kind store proprietor was offering to give her cash as a gift, Marie waved him off and said, “No, no, no.”  Embarrassed, she aimed to simply turn and continue down the sidewalk when a third store clerk blocked her way.  Boxed in on all sides, her bottom lip began to tremble as she at last sensed that something was wrong.  Fortunately she heard someone mention her husband’s name, which she hoped was good news. A growing curious crowd began to gather around the commotion, but sensing her fear Mr. Pruet tried his best to wave them away.  He knew John T would show up anytime.  Still, it didn’t stop tears from welling-up in Marie’s confused eyes.

Finally, John T. Green reached the southeast corner of the town square where the dustup was happening just as Marie whispered a desperate hail Mary prayer in French.  With a well-worn French/English dictionary in hand, John T began to unravel the confusion.  It seems that Marie had a huge misconception of how things are in America.  In her native Antwerp, Belgium, young Marie had been encouraged by her family to marry the American doughboy who had declared his love for her and move with him back to America—the land where EVERYTHING IS FREE.

 Marie Green never regretted moving to the land of the free and the home of the brave, and eventually learned a useful amount of English.  She became an American citizen and attended the local Methodist Church, although she always called herself a Catholic. There was just no Catholic Church in Ashland at the time.  She and John T remained married and devoted to one another for many years, but she was never able to have children.  She had been abused and injured by enemy soldiers during the Great War.  John T had been kind to her and became the brave American prince who rescued her.

As a gangly teen some fifty years later I regularly delivered medicine to Marie Green from my father’s pharmacy.  Every visit I made, she would invite me in and show me some amazing thing in her house from the old country, and tell me stories of the war, and of what atrocities she and her family had experienced.  Her accent remained strong, and she chuckled about how children have always thought she was a gypsy—with her deep wrinkles, gravelly voice, and loads of jewelry.  Still, Marie was a cheerful soul and had many friends in town, living all alone in the years after her husband’s death. With all her heart Marie loved America, the land of the free, and loved her hero, John T. Green.