The Auctioneer

Secretly, Mim liked going to town, but she wondered if her clothes were right, if she would say something foolish to somebody. She remembered the way people had looked at her when she first came to Harlowe, and she brushed furiously at her hair, as if that would somehow soften the laugh lines around her eyes and make her seventeen again. Now that it was too late, it would have been all right to be admired. Although she had grown up in Powlton, only one town away, she had always felt out of step in Harlowe. John did not hunt or play poker, and she, in turn, did not take part in bake sales or sewing circles. When the others her age had been raising babies, baking, and fancying up their homes, she had known only planting and milking and cutting wood. “No children,” she knew they had commented over their sewing. “Too pretty, that’s why.” Then, when the others, with children in high school, were putting in formica counters and central heat, she was finally raising a baby, continuing to cook and heat with wood, and finding things quite all right and cheaper the way they were. And, although she and John sold flowers to the church, because Ma always had sold flowers to the church, they didn’t feel the need to attend.

If anyone had asked, Mim would have said she was friends with Agnes Cogswell. In summer the Cogswells were their nearest neighbors. Two or three times a year—at least once during blueberry season and once at Christmas—Mim went over and spent a day there. And occasionally Agnes called her up with some question or tidbit of gossip. Agnes wasn’t fashionable either, though not because she didn’t try. Agnes’ problem was that she overdid everything to the point where she scared people away. But Mim, in a quiet way, appreciated her affection and enjoyed visiting in the harum-scarum household with its six noisy children.

Four abreast on the seat of the old green truck, the Moores were all silent as they rattled over the dirt road toward town— Ma with discomfort, John and Mim with their thoughts, and Hildie with eagerness. The auctions were being held on the Parade like the firemen’s auctions. Although they were early, the road that circled the green was parked solid on all four sides, and a good group of people milled around examining the things for sale clustered around the bandstand.

“Balloons!” cried Hildie, jumping ahead of the others as they walked slowly toward the auction.

There was only a smattering of Harlowe people among the summer people and strangers—little girls in pink shorts and jerseys and new sneakers covered with stars, boys in crisp new jeans sporting bright cap pistols, lean couples in baggy clothes, fat ladies with jangling bracelets, and a few serious antique dealers in dark jackets.

“Please, Papa, please,” Hildie cried. “I need a balloon.”

It was Mudgett selling the balloons. John followed Hildie and gave up the thirty cents. He made no mention of the fact that Mudgett had been gone for nearly twenty years.

“Be very careful now,” Mudgett warned. “If you let go, the balloon will float right up into the sky and disappear just like a bad child.”

Flat on his hip lay a neat black leather holster like the one Gore wore when he answered trouble calls. “You need a pistol to sell balloons, Red?” asked John.

“Never can tell,” said Mudgett and straightened up without a smile, his dark eyes dull as charcoal, his once red hair long since tarnished to brown like neglected copper.

John shook his head as they walked toward the chairs to settle Ma. “Red always had that way,” he said. “When he was in school, he just had to look at you to set you squirmin’ without half knowin’ why.”

Mim helped Ma into a chair and hooked her canes over the rungs beneath her.

“Like quicksilver with the Bible verses, that boy,” Ma said. “One look and he could rattle them off better’n the preacher. In the preacher’s way too—so close it made your flesh crawl. Oh, he was wicked fresh.”

“You still got it in for him ’cause you caught him takin’ off on you that time,” John said, grinning.

Ma shook her head. “Some boy he was. Too big for his britches even then. He was settin’ up to get out of Harlowe before he was half growed.”

“Guess he found out the rest of the world’s no different,” John said. “Don’t know of anyone glad to see him back.”

“Fanny says that girl he married’s from Manchester, and she’s showin’ already,” Mim said.