Martha wanted to give her a sensible answer. She wanted to explain the cost of transporting a nonrunning combine, the possibility that a cylinder was damaged or the fuel system contaminated, the parts that could absorb months of earnings. Instead she heard her father's voice saying that an uncertain reading needed verification. "We're going to look," she said. "Looking is free. Getting carried away is expensive."
They drove to the auction lot the following Saturday, three days before the scheduled sale, and found the old John Deere standing at the edge of a row of equipment beside a grain cart. It was bigger in person than it looked in the photographs. Its faded paint and worn steps did not trouble Martha as much as the haphazard evidence of previous repairs. Two battery clamps showed wrench marks. A filter housing had been wiped clean while the surrounding metal remained dusty. Someone had left a stripped screw beneath a service panel. The engine compartment smelled of stale diesel rather than hot oil.
Calvin Briggs was there watching a forklift move pallets. He was fifty-eight, heavy through the shoulders, with a clean red cap and a reputation for winning arguments by making sure his voice reached the far side of the room. His family had sold farm machinery for decades. He knew enough about tractors and combines to speak confidently, but had stopped doing the actual mechanical work years earlier. He looked at Martha's work boots, the service truck, and June's notebook and made his decision about them before either woman introduced herself.
"You ladies need a grain cart?" he asked. "We've got a couple of nice ones."
"We're interested in the 7720," Martha answered.
Calvin barked a laugh. "For what? Yard decoration?"
"To see whether it's repairable."
"Three professionals already tried. One had his own shop for twenty-five years. That machine's dead."
"What did they test?"
"Everything worth testing."
Martha waited, but he did not offer records or measurements. "Can I see their reports?"
"You hear that?" Calvin called to a man loading tie-downs nearby. "She wants to audit the mechanics."
The man laughed without looking over. June stiffened, then forced herself to write down the visible damage instead of answering. Martha had seen this routine before: make the question ridiculous, and no one has to respond to it. She asked Walter whether the machine had any outstanding liens, whether its serial matched the sale record, and whether the header really would be offered separately. Walter checked the inventory file and answered each question. Calvin watched the exchange with a smile that had stopped looking friendly.
When they left, June rode in silence for almost five miles. Then she said, "I hate that he talked to you like that."
"I didn't enjoy it," Martha said.
"You didn't even get angry."
"I did. Anger isn't always useful information."
June looked out at the corn stretching along the road. "You think the engine's really dead?"
"I think he doesn't know. That's not the same thing."