Margot and the Muddy Guest

The rain had stopped over the field outside Montrichard, but the ground still slid beneath their feet. Margot hitched up the hem of her blue wool dress and trudged after her father. Her wooden clogs sank into the mud with every step. Philippe had come to the far end of the field to see the crack the rain had opened; Margot had only thought they might take a shortcut home.

Ahead of them lay a freshly opened pit. A thin whimper rose from the bottom of it. Margot leaned over and saw a floppy-eared brown puppy thrashing in the mud. Its front paws were enormous, and every time it tried to climb out it slid back down the wet wall.

“Papa, down there!”

The moment Philippe reached her side, a piece of the pit's edge broke away. Margot jumped back. Her father pushed up the sleeve of his patched coat and stretched out flat on the ground, on the side that looked solid. His broad hand closed around the puppy's middle and lifted it out in one motion.

“Stay back,” said Philippe. “The ground might give way again.”

The puppy shook itself. Flecks of mud spattered Philippe's coat. Then it clung to the heels of the man who had just pulled it out and followed him wherever he went. When Philippe stopped, it stopped too. Margot bit her lips to keep from laughing; her father looked down at his coat and shook his head.

As they turned back toward the road, Margot thought of Perrine, their neighbour. Perrine spent all day at her loom, but she could never see a puppy like this and not help. Ever since Margot's mother had died, Margot had liked seeing her father talk with someone. All the more when that someone was Perrine.

“Let's tell Perrine,” she said. “To get the puppy away from this field, the two of you could work something out together.”

Philippe gathered the puppy into his arms. Margot looked back at the pit. If she put the puppy back down there for a moment, before Perrine came, they would both have to help. Another clump of mud slid from the edge. Margot looked away and followed her father.

When they reached the narrow road at the edge of the field, the puppy began to squirm in Philippe's arms. He held it tighter, and its muddy paws braced against his patched coat. Margot glanced back once more. A thin trickle of water was running from the edge of the pit; the place where the ground had slipped looked wider now.

“Papa, if Perrine comes, she'll find us here,” said Margot.

Philippe stopped. Still holding the puppy, he looked at his daughter's face.

“Do you want me to leave the puppy here?”

Margot scraped at the road with the toe of her clog. Mud had splashed the hem of her blue dress too.

“Just for a little while. When Perrine comes, you can work out what to do. The two of you together.”

“Next to that pit? No. I won't do that.”

Philippe's voice had not risen, but Margot lifted her head. Her father's hands were still under the puppy, holding it so it wouldn't be frightened into running.

“I wanted to bring you here with Perrine,” said Margot. “I thought the two of you would find a way together. If the puppy came home with us, I was afraid Perrine wouldn't need to come.”

She heard, as she said it, how it sounded. That morning she had seen Perrine at her loom and her father out in the field. The first thing that had come into her head to bring them together was the thing she had clung to.

Philippe looked at the pit, then turned back to Margot.

“If you want to talk to Perrine, you can say so. But we can't leave this puppy here.”

“I know,” said Margot. “Let's take it home. I'll clean it myself.”

Just then the puppy wriggled out of Philippe's arms and dropped to the ground. A few steps away it stopped and looked at them both, its hind paws on the loose edge of the pit. Philippe reached for it. The ground under his foot broke away.

Margot grabbed her father's arm. The three of them slid down together and came to rest on a narrow ledge inside the pit. The road above was a little higher than Philippe could reach. The puppy pressed itself against Margot's clog.

Philippe, not moving an inch, studied the crumbling edge.

“Don't try to climb up,” he said. “Let's find solid ground first.”

At the far end of the ledge, Margot saw a shallow passage curving upward. It was so narrow that only she could get through it by stooping; Philippe could never have squeezed in with the puppy. There were no cracks in the earth there. Philippe edged along the ledge to the mouth of the passage and felt the bank with his hand, then nodded.

“You can get out that way. I'll wait here with the puppy,” he said.

Margot ducked through the passage. When her clogs touched firm ground she straightened up and ran to the weaving shed of her neighbour Perrine. When she opened the door, the steady clack of the loom stopped. While Margot explained what had happened, Perrine took a ball of flax twine and a thick rope. The two of them ran back to the field, and Margot was out of breath, but she did not slow down.

At the head of the pit Perrine stopped. The cracks ran right up above the ledge where Philippe was.

“I won't step on that edge. If one more of us falls, we can't help anyone,” she said.

Margot was about to protest. Then she saw her father at the bottom of the pit, waiting with the puppy tucked inside his coat.

“I thought about leaving the puppy in the pit for a while,” she told Perrine. “I didn't do it, but that's why we lingered here. The puppy slipped out of my arms, and Papa reached for it, and the ground gave way. I'm sorry. But look, that tree is on the safe side. We can tie the rope to it.”

Perrine looked at the tree, then at the place where the cracks ended. She tested the ground with her foot.

“We can come at it from there. Give me the end of the rope.”

They wound the rope twice around the trunk. From the spot she could reach without stepping on the cracks, Margot threw the free end down to Philippe. Holding the puppy with one arm, Philippe caught the rope with his other hand. As Perrine had told him, he put the flax twine under his arms and passed the rope over it. The puppy's muddy ear poked out of the collar of his coat.

“Ready?” Margot called.

“Ready. You pull, and I'll push with my feet.”

Perrine took hold of the rope; Margot got right behind her. Together they pulled. Philippe set his foot against the firm slope and rose. When Margot felt the rope slipping through her hands, she gripped harder. Perrine pulled once more, and Philippe came up beside the tree, next to them. The puppy stretched its head out of his coat and licked Margot's hand.

Philippe sat down at the foot of the tree and lifted the puppy out of his coat. He looked first at its ears, then at its big paws. The puppy pushed its nose into his muddy palm and wagged its tail. Philippe let out a long, easy breath. Margot leaned against the trunk, her hands still stinging from the rope.

As Perrine wound the wet rope around her arm, Philippe lifted his head.

“Thank you, Perrine. If you hadn't come, we'd never have got out of there,” he said.

“Margot showed the way,” said Perrine. She shook the mud-caked end of the flax twine.

Margot looked at the twine. Perrine had brought it from her loom, and now she would have to take trouble to wash it.

“When we get home, shall I help you wash the twine?” she asked.

“You can help. But first, clean those hands. You pulled so hard on the rope that your palms are bright red.”

Margot opened her hands and looked. Perrine was right. She opened her mouth to tell her father what they should do about the puppy, then stopped. At the edge of the pit she had decided that what she thought was best for everyone. This time, asking was not easier, but it was truer.

“Papa, do you want to take the puppy home?”

Philippe stood up. As he settled the puppy in the crook of his arm, he looked at Margot.

“I do. First we'll dry it off and fill its belly. Then we'll think about the rest together.”

They walked toward Montrichard. The rain had stopped, but the mud still squelched under their clogs. The puppy sniffed at the wet coat button dangling from Philippe's sleeve. As they neared the village, Philippe slowed his steps and turned to Perrine.

“Would you walk with me along the Cher after Sunday Mass? If you'd like, of course.”

Perrine straightened the last loop of the rope.

“I would like that. If the rain holds off,” she said with a smile.

Margot ran ahead and opened the door of their house. As the three of them went in, the puppy lifted its head and sniffed the threshold. Margot closed the door behind them and went to fetch the basin for Perrine's muddy flax twine.