by S. T.

Created on: September 10, 2009

Mr. Churchill's light footsteps echoed down an empty street on a Friday morning. The little town of Recourveur was still soundly asleep with occasional gurgles of waking pigeons stirring the peaceful morning silence. The old man continued running down the cobble stone path, curving behind a pharmacy that demanded attention with its bright sign of "CLOSED: BE BACK AT 6 A.M.". Mr. Churchill glanced at his watch and picked up the pace, splashing through the puddles left as a gift by last night's rain.

"In a hurry today, Mr. Churchill?" a young paper boy pedaled by and waved, revealing a caged row of crooked teeth.

"Yes, yes, Tommy, the train changed its schedule," he paused and yelled, "Would you be a kind lad and ask Mr. Paolini to wait for me?"

At that moment, the old clock tower struck six and Mr. Churchill's request was drowned in the booming clock's song. Tommy disappeared behind a corner without any reply. Now at full sprint, Mr. Churchill could make out the shiny red roof of the train station and the wagons with foggy windows cozily parked awaiting their passengers.

At the top of the station platform, stood a plump middle aged man with thick curly whiskers, too preoccupied with making "O"s with the cigarette smoke to take notice to Mr. Churchill's approaching footsteps. A scrawny old woman paced back and forth close to him.

As Mr. Churchill climbed up the steps to the platform, he recognized his wife.

"Margaret? What in the world are you doing out in your robe?"

The two startled at the sudden appearance of Mr. Churchill.

"Brent, dear, you forgot your lunch," Mrs. Churchill took out a crumpled brown bag from the sagging oversized pocket of her robe and shoved it into her husband's hand, "I had Tommy's father give me a ride here. Oh and I asked sweet Mr. Paolini here to wait on you," Mrs. Churchill's eyes glistened with warmth, "and he promised to come over for dinner tonight, isn't that right?"

Mr. Paolini chuckled and nodded.

"Margaret, really, this wasn't necessary. You're still in your slippers. Go home, dear, or you'll catch cold," Mr. Churchill unwrapped his thick scarf and drooped it over his wife's shoulders. Large round eyes peered back at him and smiled.

"I hope you'll be home on time today, Brent. I'm going to call Mrs. Rose and insist she give you a ride home if it gets to be too dark."

"You will do no such thing, Margaret," Mr. Churchill waved a thin finger, "We will be able to afford a car soon enough but until then we'll just have to bear with

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