The Auctioneer

“Well, he’s got a wife now,” Gore said. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Some wife too.” He gave Mim an appraising look. She smiled, a trace of color coming through the light freckles on the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know, Johnny, ’ he said. “If you and him can do so well, maybe there’s even hope for me.”

“Funny,” John said. “I pegged Red as one would never marry. Nor was I thinkin’, the way he always talked, he’d ever want to see the likes of Harlowe again.”

“Speakin’ of which,” Ma said, “don’t you think it a mite peculiar that this new auctioneer’d come here instead of back to his own town where everybody knows him?”

Gore let the question hang fire a moment. “It’s a pretty depressed area right now, northern New Hampshire,” he said.

“Guess you don’t call this depressed,” John said, gesturing toward the barn.

“There’s changes comin’ here,” Gore said. “Don’t forget the summer people. And all the new ones stayin’ the winter now too.

Gore leaned back in his chair. “Like I told you, Perly knows about land. And there’s big things brewin’ in Harlowe to do with land. It’s comin’, I tell you. You know them towns down near Massachusetts? They’ve got as bad as the city. Vandalism all the time and traffic and filth... . Perly figures he can help Harlowe get to growin’ right before it strikes us full on.”

“What if Harlowe don’t care to grow at all?” John said.

“You better go dynamite the interstate then,” Gore said, looking apologetically at Ma. “With Boston, and I guess everyplace, spreadin’ like gypsy moths in June...” He leaned forward in his chair. “Besides,” he said, “would you like to live in the city?”

“Not me,” John said.

“Course not.” Gore settled back. “Perly figures the only reason city folk make such a mess everywhere they go is that they need just what we got. They come here lookin’ for some good country values. A group of real people to feel part of. Some kind of connection. But we keep them at arm’s length now, never let them into things—”

“He just moved in,” John said. “He plannin’ to set up as a welcome committee already? Or is he goin’ to set you up at the edge of town to give out daisies—from your new cruiser maybe?”

“Damn it, John,” Gore said. “You was always such a one to mock. With all the new people comin’ in, how can it hurt to have someone around knows what he’s doin’?”

“What’s he got in mind for himself’s what I’d like to know,” John said.

“You ain’t got the picture of this Perly straight at all,” Gore said. “The thing is, he’s sort of a do-gooder. After me all the time to swear off beer and cigarettes. Like one of them old-fashioned preachers, ought to be wearin’ a black hat and a collar. He’s got this idea if we bring back auctions for a start, and square dances, and quiltin’ bees, and potluck suppers... Remember them spellin’ bees we used to have before they closed the old school?”

“Me and you,” John said, “we always used to go down near the first ones. You hankerin’ to go back to that?”

“Then he’s got this thing about farmin’, and well water, and firewood, and clear air. To his mind, all that’s part and parcel with Christian values.”

Mim chewed on the knuckle of her thumb uneasily.

Gore lit another cigarette and drew on it so that his whole front lifted six inches. He looked down at Hildie, then turned to gaze uncomfortably at the plastic daisies hanging between the front windows. “Fact, he was after me to ask who all would send their little ones if he started a Sunday School.”

“I taught Sunday School thirty-five years, for my part,” Ma said.

“Well I know it,” Gore said, nodding.

“Course Hildie’d go to Sunday School,” Ma said. “She’d love that. And she needs it bad.”

Hildie felt her grandmother’s complacent glance, caught her lip in her teeth, and scuttled to her mother.

There was a loud snap in the stove and the hollow sound of the fire momentarily blazing, not a comforting sound since the room was already too warm for everyone but Ma.

“That what you’re doin’ here?” John asked, starting to laugh. “Collectin’ kids for a Sunday School class?”

“Well, not exactly,” Gore said. “Thing is, we thought we’d give it another go next Saturday.”

“Another auction?” John asked, his laughter cut short.

Gore shrugged.

“I thought the one you had was fine,” John said.

“If one’s good, two’s better,” Gore said, resettling his bulk in the chair. “We’re thinkin’ we might hold even more.”

“For the police again?” John asked.

Gore rummaged in his back pocket for his handkerchief again. “If you wait till crime gets out of hand before you get around to more police...”

Ma nodded enthusiastically. “Why it’s just like Janice Pulver was sayin’ about how Farmer’s Mutual had to raise its prices because of payin’ so much on account of them hippies campin’ out all over the place. Never mind Amelia strangled like that.”

“Well, things are gettin’ more complicated,” Gore said, turning to Ma with gratitude. “That’s about all I know.”

“Why, we can give them that old buffet,” Ma said. “What’d we ever do with that anyway?”