“She’s trying to make the bank payment herself.”
Samuel asked only one more question.
“What time is the auction?”
Now he stood twenty yards from the tractor, watching Clara say goodbye.
Samuel had not seen her in years.
He had met her only a handful of times when Daniel was alive.
He doubted she would recognize him.
That was fine.
He had not come for recognition.
He had come because of something Daniel Bennett had done twenty-three years earlier.
Something Daniel apparently never told his wife.
The auction started at ten.
The crowd pressed toward the first row.
A portable loudspeaker crackled.
Auction assistants moved between buyers wearing fluorescent hats.
The auctioneer, Marvin Ellis, climbed onto a mobile platform.
Marvin had been calling Miller County auctions for thirty years and could turn the sale of a rusted cultivator into an athletic event.
“Morning, ladies and gentlemen. Appreciate everyone coming out in this beautiful tropical weather.”
That earned a few laughs.
“Terms are posted. Buyer numbers visible. Announcements today supersede printed material. If you buy it, you own it. If your spouse doesn’t like what you bought, that’s between you and the Lord.”
More laughter.
Samuel stood near the back.
Clara remained beside the red tractor.
The first lots moved quickly.
A hay rake.
A manure spreader.
Two grain carts.
A stock trailer.
Three pallets of irrigation fittings.
Prices rose and fell.
Some equipment brought more than expected.
Some less.
Samuel watched Clara rather than the bidding.
She checked the tractor twice.
Once she opened the hood.
Touched something near the battery.
Closed it again.
At one point, a man in a green jacket came over and asked her a question.
Samuel moved closer without appearing to.
“What’s the compression like?”
The man asked.
“Still good.”
“Burn oil?”
“A little when it’s cold.”
“Hydraulics?”
“Daniel rebuilt the pump four years ago.”
The man nodded toward the mismatched tire.
“That rear tire throws the ratio off?”
“No. Same rolling height. Different tread.”
“You sure?”
Clara’s expression tightened.
“Yes.”
The man shrugged.
“Just asking.”
“I know.”
He walked away.
Clara exhaled.
Samuel smiled faintly.
Daniel had always hated being asked whether he was sure about a machine he maintained himself.
Apparently Clara had inherited that irritation.
At 10:54, Marvin Ellis looked down at his list.
“All right, folks. Lot forty-seven.”
Clara stopped breathing normally.
An assistant climbed onto the tractor.
The engine turned twice.
Caught.
A little gray smoke left the exhaust.
Then the old machine settled into a rough but steady idle.
Samuel knew that sound.
Not the exact tractor.
The kind of sound.
A machine showing age but not defeat.
The driver moved it forward.
Marvin began.
“Older red utility tractor. Runs and drives. Hydraulic system functional. Rear rubber mismatched but serviceable. Seller represents it as operational. Obviously she's seen a little work.”
Someone shouted:
“A little?”
Laughter.
Another man called:
“Parts machine!”
Clara looked down.
Samuel saw her fingers close around the edge of her coat.
Marvin kept going.
“Parts machine that'll probably outlive half of us.”
More laughter.
“Who gives three thousand dollars?”
Nothing.
“Three thousand?”
Silence.
“Twenty-five hundred?”
A buyer near the front raised his card.
“Twenty-five hundred, thank you.”
Someone offered twenty-six.
Then twenty-seven.
Two thousand eight hundred.
Samuel stayed still.
He knew auctions.
Jump too early and you create interest.
He wanted to know where the market stopped.
Three thousand.
Three thousand one hundred.
Three thousand two hundred.