by Kate Seredy
Gran broke into the conversation with a hurried: “Have another muffin, Andy.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Andy bobbed his head. Gran made a motion for Dick to go and get dressed, but Dick felt suddenly hungry. He squatted on the floor and reached for a muffin. “Do you get up this early every morning?” he asked Andy.
“This ain’t early. I been up quite a spell. Granma hollered me out of the coolin’ house to send me over here. I was to tell you ‘bout the big auction sale goin’ on today, over Winterton way. She says your Ma ought to go’n get furnishings for the house.”
“Are you going too?” Dick wanted to know.
“I’d like to powerful much, but I guess I can’t. I’ll be mindin’ the farm.” Andy stuffed down the last muffin and jumped to his feet. “I’ll tell Gramp then, to stop by for you folks,” he said to Gran, gave Dick’s pajamas a grinning glance and loped through the door. Gran immediately started a great racket going with pots, pans and stove-lids. In no time at all she had everybody awake. By eight o’clock they were through with breakfast, the chickens had been taken care of and Gran was sitting on the porch steps poring over her notebook.
A huge cattle truck stopped by the drive and Mrs. Van Keuran trumpeted: “Who’s a’comin’, folks?”
Mother grabbed her pocketbook and was streaking out the door, when Father, who said he wouldn’t be caught dead at another auction, stopped her. He held Mother by both shoulders. “Listen to me, Molly,” he said, striving to be serious but not succeeding any too well, “you can buy anything inanimate you want to, I don’t care. But if you come home with ANYTHING that breathes, moos, grunts, barks or peeps, be it equine, bovine, reptile, or bird . . . I . . .” he drew a long deep breath, but couldn’t think of a satisfactory threat to finish with. Mother nodded meekly. “Cross my heart, John, I’ll be careful. I’ll leave the buying to Mrs. Van Keuran; I wouldn’t know what to buy.”
Father smiled and released her. “On your way, nitwit.” Then he looked at Gran, quite pointedly. She gazed back at him, her face blank. “ME, John? I won’t open my mouth. Word of honor, I am not going to open my mouth to bid. I am just going for the fun. You never know what to expect at an auction, that’s what I like, the surprise element.”
“Yes. So I noticed,” Father smiled at her. “Just don’t go out of your way to engineer any more surprises; rest on your laurels for a while, Mom. You’ve done nobly so far. Word of honor now?”
“Well, I promise that I am not going to open my mouth to bid. Is that enough?”
“All right. Have a good time. Dick, Janet, you heard what I said? No more dog, cat, or any other pet?”
“O.K., Dad, we heard you. Bye,” Dick laughed and waved his hand. Mother climbed up front to sit with the Van Keurans; Gran insisted that she’d much rather ride with the children in the back of the truck. There were piles of bags and some clean straw in the back; they made themselves quite comfortable against the partition between the cab and the big, slat-sided body. They couldn’t see much more than glimpses of scenery through the fence-like sides, but the tailboard was folded back and they had a clear view of the road behind them as if they were traveling on the observation platform of a train. The ride wasn’t nearly as smooth though, Mr. Van Keuran’s driving being the ‘Hold-your-breath-and-hope-for-the-best’ kind. The truck swayed and bounced over the rough country roads, scraping a tree here and missing a ditch the next minute by a hairsbreadth. After each narrow escape Mother’s anxious face appeared in the little rear window of the cab, but the children and Gran hung on to the slats for dear life and managed to stay on the truck. Gran was having just as good a time as Dick and Janet. With each violent bounce they yelled “Wheeeee,” Gran’s voice gleefully soaring above those of the children. Dick turned a grinning and flushed face toward her: “Gee, Gran, you never used to be so happy and full of fun . . . Why?”
Gran’s eyes sparkled. “Watch me from now on, Dicky, you haven’t seen anything yet! Whoopee, hold on!”
They clung to the slats and each other for all they were worth because the truck was roaring up a steep hill and the platform under them was slanting dangerously. Then they were passing parked cars on both sides of the road and the truck slowed down. It came to an uncertain, lurching stop in front of a large farm and Mr. Van Keuran called: “Pile out, folks!”
Gran scrambled off the rear-end first and trotted up to the cab. “Jake Van Keuran, where’d you learn to drive?” she scolded, shaking an accusing finger at him. “Whoever gave you a license to drive, must have been out of his mind.”
Mr. Van Keuran grinned sheepishly. “Come a mite fast, but them things that make it stop . . . brakes, is it? . . . don’t work the way they’d ought to. As for license . . . I ain’t got a one, the truck has.”
Mother, who had come around the truck, stared at him. “You drive a truck without brakes and without a license? How . . . how long have you been doing it?”
“ ‘Bout three month is all,” Mr. Van Keuran said comfortably. “Got the truck at one of Lou’s auctions for less than a good horse is worth. Man there showed me how to make it go. Nothin’ to it ‘xcept it don’ always stop where it ought to. Got here just the same.”
Mother was speechless for a moment and whatever she wanted to tell him, she had to postpone. The oncoming cars were piling up behind the truck, blocking the whole road and now impatient drivers set up a clamor.
“Just goin’ to hitch her somewheres in the field,” Mr. Van Keuran shouted over the loudly protesting gears as he forced the gear shift. The truck lurched forward, bouncing from rut to rut.
“I wish we hadn’t come,” sighed Mother, thinking of the ride home.
“Don’t you worry, dear,” Mrs. Van Keuran patted her shoulder. “Jake is a right smart man if’n he sets his mind to doin’ something. If’n he can’t stop the contraption he just heads her into the ditch.”
“Yes,” Mother smiled wanly. “Thank you. That IS a comforting thought.”
Gran edged up to Mother. “I’ll try to talk him into letting you drive home,” she whispered, patting Mother’s arm. “With livestock in the truck it might not be funny if he heads her into the ditch.”
Mother sighed. “That will be lovely. Without brakes . . .“ She gaped at Gran: “WHAT livestock?”
“Hogs. HIS hogs. He came to buy hogs,” Gran said hurriedly. She was craning her neck toward the shed where the crowd had gathered around the auctioneer. “Wonder what he’ll start with? Aha, small tools. Always handy on the place. We’ll need hoes and rakes and . . . oh . . . things.” She made a vague gesture with her hands, leaving “things” rather indefinite.
“You go on, Bess,” Mrs. Van Keuran said, “I’ll just visit with the neighbors until the hogs go up. Want to meet folks, Molly?”
“Er . . . not just now,” Mother declined, “I would like to see the furniture.”
“Got to meet them then, they’re a’sittin’ on it,” said Mrs. Van Keuran, pointing to the shady lawn, where an assortment of household goods had been set out for inspection. Women and a few men, mostly solid-looking farm people, were sitting on chairs, benches, tops of bureaus, tables, bedding, anything with a surface large enough to serve as a seat. Some were already hailing and waving to Mrs. Van Keuran. She grasped Mother’s arm firmly. “They’re right sociable folks, always glad to meet a new neighbor. Gives them something to talk about.”
Mother, in her tow like an unwilling lamb, turned to call the children. “Oh, let them be,” Mrs. Van Keuran said.” ‘T ain’t always good for young ones to hear all the talk goin’ around. You run and play in the yard there,” she waved her hand peremptorily, “and don’t you stray out on the road.”
Dick grinned at Mother. “We’ll go and find the animals,” he announced, but Mother had already been swallowed by the milling crowd. He and Janet wandered from building to building. There were people all over, inspecting the cows, looking, with speculative eyes at the chickens behind their high wire enclosure, discussing the good and bad p
oints of squealing and grunting pigs. Two men entered the horse stable and the children followed cautiously. Neither of them had ever been near a horse but both, especially Dick, were sure that some day they would own one.
Now they watched with great interest and quite a little envy, the easy, familiar way in which the men handled the horses in the stable. There were four great, heavy draft horses in the front part of the stable. The men were looking these over, not paying any attention to the two smaller animals stabled toward the rear. One was a black horse with a white forehead, the other was a shining, coppery brown. Silently Janet pointed to two nameplates hanging above the stalls. Lady was the black horse, the brown one was called Clover Girl. The men had finished their minute inspection of the four draft animals. The older of the two straightened up and nodded. “Pretty dirty, but I seen worse. Powerful brutes, just the kind we want.” The other man, a middle- aged, cheerful looking fat farmer, shrugged. “The kind YOU want, Pop. I still say we ought to get a tractor. Does ten times the work and don’t eat when it ain’t workin’.” His eyes wandered around the stable and he noticed Dick’s shining eyes. He smiled.
“How ‘bout it, youngster . . . horses or tractors, huh?” he asked jokingly. Dick said: “Horses!” with such fervor that the older man turned to grin at him. “You tell him, son! Do you like these chunks?”
Dick hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure that chunks meant horses, but he took a chance. “Seen worse,” he said solemnly. Janet shook her head. “I don’t like the big ones. Those are the ones I like,” she pointed to Clover Girl and Lady. The fat farmer glanced at the older one. “Young Frank’s mares are in there. The bank foreclosed on his old man—he was never no good anyways—and now he is going back to Newburgh. That poor kid has to let his pet mares go. Break his heart.”
“Shame,” said the older man, shaking his head. “Won’t bring anything either. They’re too light for farm work. I know I wouldn’t want them . . . just eat their heads off.”
“Better put them to sleep, that’s what should’a been done. Oh, there you are, Frank,” the fat farmer waved, as a tall, thin boy appeared in the doorway. He gave the men a pale smile. “Hello, Mr.’Decker. Waiting for the horses?”
Young Mr. Decker scratched his head. “I don’t rightly know, Frank. Pop here is all for horses but I’d sooner go in for tractors now. For one thing, you don’t have to grieve a lot when they give out, just buy a new one.” He was watching the boy with kindly eyes. Frank hung his head, but didn’t say anything.
“Listen, Frank, why don’t you have them put to sleep? It’s a lot kinder . . . the few dollars won’t pay for the wondering and worrying you’ll do ‘bout them later.”
Frank looked at him, misery in his eyes. “I know it. Mr. Miller said the same. He would have done it for nothing. It isn’t the money I just couldn’t. I . . . I raised them from the time they were yearlings. I couldn’t, Mr. Decker.”
Dick, who had been looking from one to the other, could contain himself no longer. He burst out: “You don’t mean . . . kill them? You couldn’t kill anything as . . . pretty and . . . oh no!”
Mr. Decker said: “Son, you never had a horse of your own, had you?” Dick shook his head. “Well,” Mr. Decker went on, “a man gets to be powerful fond of a horse. It gets to be as much as your best friend . . . if’n you’re any kind of a man. And if’n you are, you don’t sell your friend. Afore you allow him to get into abusin’ hands, you put him to sleep, or give him to someone who’ll be kind to him,” he said. Then, looking at the boy Frank, “Try, did you?”
“I did, Mr. Decker. Nobody wants them. Even Mr. Miller . . . he said small mares like mine are all right for rich people to play with but now—there’s foals coming—there’ll be four to feed and . . . well, he didn’t want them either.” He dug his fists into his eyes, then straightened his shoulders. “I won’t sell them. I can do it now . . . I guess, hearing you say . . . what you said to him.” Nodding toward Dick, he noticed Dick’s expression, so close to tears. “What are YOU crying for,” he almost shouted, his own voice breaking. “That’s all right, Frank,” Mr. Decker said in a gentle voice, “the boy likes horses too. Where’d you come from anyways, son, I never seen you before?” he asked Dick.
“We came with Mr. Van Keuran, he’s our neighbor.”
The two Deckers looked at each other. The older one said: “The new folks on Dead Ehd Lane. You’re never the boy who got Bluebell away from Ike?” When Dick nodded, he started to laugh. “Well, I never . . . Like her, do you?”
“I just love her, but we call her Funnyface. She . . . she was MY dog the minute she saw me, even before we knew WHO she was or anything. Wasn’t she, Janet?” Dick turned to where Janet should have been but wasn’t. “Janet, where are you?”
“She went out some time ago,” Frank said listlessly. Then he glanced at Mr. Decker. “You . . . you couldn’t . . . take them, Mr. Decker . . . no, I guess not,” he sighed when the man shook his head. “You know how ‘tis, Frank. If’n I had a young one or two, I’d take them but,” he laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder, shook his head sadly and turned to go. He staggered back with an exclamation because he had bumped into the small whirlwind that was Gran being propelled by a flushed and breathless Janet.
“Where are they? Whose are they? What’s wrong with them?” Gran demanded, going to look at the mares. She started to examine them, going over every inch of each animal just as expertly as the men had gone over the other horses. The Deckers nodded to each other with approval. She evidently knew what she was doing. While she was busy, her dry little voice kept firing questions at Frank. Little by little the story came out. Frank’s father had been a weaver in the carpet mills in Newburgh. Ten years ago he had inherited the farm, but could never make it pay. Now, having lost it, he was moving back to Newburgh, and how all this led up to the Deckers’ advice to Frank, to destroy his pet mares before he let them fall into indifferent or perhaps ruthless hands.
“Hmph,” was all the comment Gran made. She ran her hands over the black mare’s back again and looked at her palm. “Clean,” she commented with satisfaction. Lady neighed softly and nudged her shoulder, Clover Girl was gently nibbling at her hands. She smiled and whispered something into Lady’s ear. Lady rumbled a deep, contented rumble, pushing her head under Gran’s arm. Frank watched all this, a smile breaking through his sad expression. “They like you,” he said, almost happily. Gran was deep in thought. She sighed, then turned to Frank: “Are they broken for harness?”
“For light rig,” Frank nodded, a glimmer of hope lighting in his face. Then hope ran away with him and he blurted: “They haven’t been advertised . . . you wouldn’t have to bid on them . . . gee . . . I’d give them to you. Pop doesn’t care, as long as I get rid of them today. Mr. Decker . . . don’t you think she’d be all right, rather than . . .” he grew incoherent and Mr. Decker smiled at Gran. “They’d make right nice pets for the young ones here. You got good, snug stables on your place. Jake was tellin’ me ‘bout you . . . seems to think you’re nice folks.”
Gran looked at Dick. His eyes were round and shining. Janet looked as if she were holding her breath. Gran sighed again. “Remember what you promised your father, Dick?”
He nodded, some of the shining eagerness leaving his face. “I know. No more pets.”
“Well, will you do mc a favor, Dicky? You and Janet run along and find Jake Van Keuran for me. Send him in here. Then forget that you ever saw these horses. Scoot!”
They went out in search of Mr. Van Keuran. Neither of them said anything for a while. Then Janet looked at Dick. Dick was grining from ear to ear. Janet touched her forefinger to the tip of her nose. “Did you see it?” she asked, her voice tight with excitement. Dick nodded, then they were both laughing aloud, for Gran’s nose had been twitching and, promise or no promise, she was certainly up to something.
But Gran had kept her promise, to the letter. She had not opened her mouth to bid.
That was all she h
ad promised and all she kept. The results were quite a surprise for Father.
All day long she was here, there and all over. She helped Mother when they were selling the furniture. She helped with whispered advice and sharp prodding, but bid she did not. At the end of the furniture sale all the things they bought were pushed into a corner of the porch; Mr. Van Keuran said he’d pile them into the truck later. There were rag rugs, hand made quilts, pillows, featherbeds, bureaus, tables, chairs, pots and pans, china, oddments of all sorts that Gran had declared necessary, although Mother didn’t even know what they were, curtains and linens, garden tools and wooden tubs, a churn, a pressure cooker, preserve jars by the barrel, kerosene lamps and a large old mirror.
Mother looked excited and not a little shaky when the auctioneer declared a half hour recess for lunch. Gran, of course, had brought a basket and they ate comfortably in the shade of a maple tree. Mother counted her money, and she exclaimed: “Goodness, I spent less for all that than I would have for one diningroom set alone, in New York. Of course it’s all pretty awful . . .”
“Nonsense,” Gran scolded. “A little paint, a little wax, a few yards of chintz and you won’t know them. All in all, we’ve made out pretty well—so far,” she added, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“What did you buy in the morning, Gran?” Mother asked.
“Stuff. All handy on a farm,” Gran shrugged, examining her fingernails. “And I’ve arranged for transportation home. Won’t travel with Jake’s hogs in my lap.”
“Oh Gran, that’s wonderful,” Mother exclaimed. “I was afraid to think of that ride home. No brakes, no license! Wait till John hears about it,” she laughed at the thought, “I can just see him—he’ll hit the ceiling.”
“He will,” Gran declared with great conviction. Dick glanced at her and she hastily stuffed a cookie into her mouth to hide, he was sure, her own special smile.