“Bought it used in ’26,” Ephraim answered. That plow had done some good work. He’d miss it. The auctioneer listed the rest of the items up for sale: a hay trailer, the baler, the old mare he’d had since the girls were little. Ephraim hoped she would go to someone who’d treat her well. Three old Guernseys—Bess, Tiny, and Maddie—all of them still good milkers, though Maddie could be temperamental at times.
They walked past the barn to where the rooster was strutting his way around the coop. “Chickens too?” the auctioneer asked Mr. Thomas.
Robert Thomas looked apologetically at Ephraim and nodded. “Mr. Zimmerman, I’m sorry about this,” he said for the umpteenth time that morning.
Ephraim jerked his head toward the house. “How about a cup of coffee?” The young fellow was just doing his job. No need to be inhospitable.
In the kitchen, Penny couldn’t manage a civil word to the banker, but Robert Thomas thanked her for the coffee and even offered her a smile. She looked well today, Ephraim thought, despite her rudeness. She was wearing her best dress and a hat that brought out the blue in her eyes. Too bad she was so stingy with her smiles.
The news of Minnie had hit Penny hard and he couldn’t blameher.
Ephraim should have known something was wrong three days ago, when Gus didn’t call out his usual weather report at the busstation. Nope, Gus had silently peeled a newspaper off the stack and slid it over without meeting his eyes. Ephraim unfolded the newspaper and saw—for the first time in almost a year—the face of his beloved daughter.
Minnie. She was smiling in the picture. That warm, happy smile he loved.
He glanced at the headlines and his old heart faltered.
He read the article, a gossip column it seemed, by some woman in Hollywood. He stumbled to the bench and sat, then read through it again.
His Minnie. How he had loved her. But now that love had changed.
Ephraim pressed her picture to his chest. It was like a knife in his heart, this new love. Stronger and fiercer. A love he hadn’t known was possible. He carried that new love with him now, like a treasure. Someday he’d give it to his child, when she came home to him.
Ifshe came home, he admitted to himself. The article said plenty, but he didn’t believe half of it. Some such about a murder and a film star, a reward, and what Minnie had done in that far-off land. What was true and what wasn’t? He didn’t know the whole story, but his heart told him his girl couldn’t have killed a man. Not his Minnie.
News got out, and people in town talked. Those who were friends were still friends. Those who weren’t—well, he couldn’t help what they said and didn’t let it get to him. But it was hard on Penny, the gossip about her sister. The speculation. That, and losing the farm. No, Ephraim wouldn’t give up hope. Not for Minnie or for their home. Sometimes it was in the darkest times when the Lord opened a door.
The clock on the farmhouse wall clicked to nine. Ephraim, Penny, and Mr. Thomas got up without a word and went outside. Half a dozen autos parked in the farmyard. Old Bill gave Ephraim a friendly wave. Gus and the mayor bent their heads together beside the auctioneer’s flatbed truck—Ephraim swore he heard Gus chuckle—while their wives huddled together, whispering and smiling.
Smiling? That was a surprise.
Mr. Langer, the pharmacist, stood with Irma, drinking coffee from a silver thermos. Doc got out of his bottle-green Chrysler sedan and joined a huddle of men Ephraim recognized from town. Doc said something to the men in a low voice, and the other men guffawed. A wagon pulled up with the Webbers and their son, Jonas. Mrs. Webber brought out a covered basket and passed out what looked like hot donuts.
He sure hadn’t expected his neighbors to be in such good spirits. Or the townfolk to show up at a farm auction. Why was his farmyard looking more like an Odessa Saturday night social than a foreclosure sale?
Penny stood beside him, bundled in her winter coat, her scarf wound around her neck. “I thought these people were our friends.” There was hurt in her voice.
Next to her, Robert Thomas accepted a steaming hot donut and smiled. “I think they are.”
The auctioneer read off the notice. With all the legalities observed, he started with the tractor. “Who’ll start out the bidding? It’s a good piece of machinery.”
Nobody made a move.
“Fifty dollars. Anyone?”
Ephraim looked up. The men had made a ring around the auctioneer, but nobody was raising their hand in a bid.
“Forty, then. Forty dollars is a good price.”
Again, not a word. Ephraim wondered what was going on. Then Old Bill winked at him. “I’ll give you a dollar.”
The auctioneer’s mouth dropped open. “A dollar? For the tractor? Don’t pull my leg.”
“A dollar,” Old Bill said, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking pleased.
The auctioneer continued, asking for more bids, but none came. He looked to Robert Thomas, who shrugged, and doggone it if he wasn’t grinning.
“Going once at a dollar, then. Going twice.” The hammer came down. “Sold.”
