Corbin's Bend Homecoming

by Ruth Staunton

  “Thanks, I’ll give that a try,” Abby said with a gentle smile. “Good night, Aunt Quincy.”

  “Good night, sweet dreams,” Quincy replied and then smiled. “Though they’d be a lot sweeter if you check out those choices.”

  Chapter 3

  What time should we look for you?” Jeffrey asked.

  “I should be there sometime on Friday,” Henry answered. “I’ve got everything packed and in the van.”

  “If your stuff’s already loaded, why is it taking you so long? Don’t tell me you plan on walking to Colorado?”

  Henry laughed. “No, I’ve handed over the keys, and I’m about to get in the truck and head out. I’ll drive till I’m ready to turn in and grab a hotel room. The moving van guys agreed to meet me at the auction over in Arkansas. It’s tomorrow night.”

  “You need a moving van at an auction? Good grief, how much crap are you hauling up here.”

  “It’s not crap as you so delicately put it. Every piece I buy has great potential. Sure, it might not look like it at first, but bringing these pieces back to life excites me just as much if not more than finding profitable oil leases or discovering mineral deposits did when I was young.”

  “If you want excitement, get your butt up here. I promise if you’ll give it a chance, there are more exciting things than a broken down armoire on hand in Corbin’s Bend. In fact, there is a rather unique antique store in town owned by a wonderful woman that Venia is quite anxious for you to meet.”

  Henry chuckled even as a picture of a woman ran across his mind. He wondered where she and her companion were at this moment. Did they live close to Canton or further away? It wasn’t the least bit strange to see vehicles sporting license plates from other states parked in the pastures that served as huge parking lots every month. Hell, Texas was a huge state. The ladies could be from as close as Tyler, a mere thirty-five miles away or as far away as Houston or Austin.

  “You still there?” Jeffrey’s voice dragged him back to the present.

  “Yes, still here. I was just thinking about someone I met… well, sort of met.”

  “Forget sort of, get up here and we’ll have you meeting a whole new group of friends.”

  “I’m coming. After the auction, I’m going to drive to Tulsa and spend a couple of days with Judy. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her, and I’ve just been informed I have a new great-grandson to bounce on my knees. Geeze, I can’t believe Keith is old enough to be a father.”

  “Okay, I can’t fault you for that. Go be a grandpa and give Judy and Keith my love. We’ll plan on seeing you Friday. Don’t stop for dinner, we’ll treat you to one of the Bend’s great restaurants.”

  Henry agreed and they disconnected. Taking a last look at the house where he’d lived for the majority of his life, he felt a mix of emotions. He and Jenny had been very happy in the ranch style home. They’d raised three children who had grown into very capable adults. He hadn’t been lying when he said it was hard to imagine his grandson Keith as a new father. Hell, it had been hard to believe his youngest daughter Judy had given birth to the strapping young man over twenty years ago. Now, she was a grandmother and he, well, he had just climbed another rung of time’s ladder. He’d leave a part of himself in this place, but his heart told him Jeffrey was right. It was time to move on. Climbing into the truck, he tossed his cowboy hat onto the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition. Dropping the stick into drive, he pulled away without another glance. The past was behind him, and he was looking forward to beginning the next phase of his life.

  “I think the Rockies are majestic, but you’ve got to admit the Ozarks are quite stunning,” Abby said, looking out the window at the thick stands of trees whose leaves ranged from green to gold, from red to almost purple.

  “This is the best time of year to come to Arkansas. You couldn’t ask for a wider variety of colors,” Quincy agreed before dropping her eyes back to the map she spread out on her lap.

  “You know, I did program the GPS,” Abby reminded her.

  “I know, but I’ve heard stories where people wind up driving smack dab into a lake by blindly following that mechanical voice. It’s like they’ve been hypnotized or something.”

  Shaking her head, Abby laughed. “Aunt Quincy, I promise I’m not so reliant on technology that I wouldn’t know to apply the brakes.” She paused and gave her aunt a quick look. “Especially when my feet began to get wet.”

  “Very funny. Maybe you can get a job on the stage. I’ve heard good comedians can make a ton of money.”

  “Good try, but I have no intention of leaving my day job. I love it too much.”

  “Hmph, and here I thought it was the boss you loved.”

  Abby laughed again. “Well, there is that as well.” Their conversation was interrupted by the voice of the GPS instructing them to be prepared to turn right. Abby said nothing when she saw her aunt’s finger tap against the map and give a quick nod of her head.

  “We’re going to be awfully early,” Abby said. “We’ve only got about twenty-five miles to go. Are you sure you don’t want to find a place and grab something to eat?”

  “Heavens no! Girl, you’ve got a lot to learn. The secret of a successful auction is to arrive before anyone else. That way, you can scope out the items for sale and decide what to bid on without anyone realizing you are interested.”

  “But didn’t the brochure state the preview didn’t open until three? It’s not even one o’clock yet.”

  Quincy reached over and patted Abby’s leg. “There might not be too many benefits to being old and gray, but I’ve yet to find an auctioneer who didn’t give a frail senior lady the luxury of slowly assessing the items beforehand. I’m sure they aren’t anxious to chance having me knocked over and breaking my hip on their watch.”

  Abby ducked low, peering through the windshield looking towards the heavens.

  “What’s wrong? Is it a rock slide?”

  “Nope,” Abby said, glancing at her aunt. “Just waiting for a lightning bolt to come down and take you out. You are about as frail as… um, this van.”

  Quincy shrugged. “As my dear Joe used to say, all’s fair in love and war. I’m sure he would have extended that to include shopping at auctions.”

  “I’m sure you’d be sitting on a sore behind during that auction. You know how he felt about lying.”

  “Lying is such an ugly word. It’s all part of my business plan, my dear. Oh, there’s the turn, you turn right here.”

  Quincy’s voice rose above the mechanical one stating the same thing. Laughing, Abby flipped on her signal and made the turn. Though she’d attended many a garage sale, estate sale and even several flea markets, this would be the first auction where her aunt was giving her carte blanche to bid herself. Abby figured it was a test, a rite of passage, and though she knew her aunt would love her no matter what, she was determined to pass with flying colors.

  A half-hour later, they had parked in an admittedly primo spot and, true to Quincy’s statement, had been allowed to register early. Half expecting to be told that she’d have to wait, since she didn’t qualify as a senior and was about as frail as her aunt, she had grinned when the workers still prepping for the auction, waved them towards the rows of tables and stacks of items inside the attached warehouse. As she squeezed between a chest of drawers and an armoire, she admitted to her aunt that it would have been far more difficult to look at anything if several dozen people were attempting to mill about.

  “Just take notes of the item numbers you might be interested in,” Quincy instructed, bending down to turn a milking stool right side up. When it passed muster, the number of its tag was transferred to Quincy’s pad.

  The two spent over an hour squirming, wiggling and pushing into tight quarters, having decided they’d cover even more ground if they split up. Quincy lost herself in the thrill of the hunt. Everything she touched, every item she brushed against had a story to tell. People had packed their belongings into
trunks; several generations of babies had been lovingly laid in the antique woven bassinet she had found in one corner. Though it was quite dirty and the paint was flaking, she thought it was beautiful. The moment she found the folding stand that would elevate the bassinet off the floor, she knew she had to have it. Marking its number down, she could easily imagine Abby’s children sleeping on a new mattress in a basket that had cradled babies for years.

  Joining up with Abby again, they noticed that the parking lot was filling, and people were beginning to crowd the aisles. “Let’s give the box lots a quick glance and then claim our seats,” Quincy suggested.

  “Sounds good as long as I grab something to eat as well.”

  Quincy agreed and they walked towards the other side of the warehouse where tables held large boxes. The rules of the auction stated that you could look, but could not touch or dig around the box to see what might be hidden beneath the visible layer. A lot of people refused to take a chance on the unknown, but Quincy had found some of her greatest treasures at the bottom of boxes that appeared to offer nothing more than frayed stuffed animals, broken tea cups or ratty linens. This auction also boasted a few larger bins that had their doors opened to view. Some held very little while a few appeared to have had items tossed willy-nilly inside until the unit threatened to burst.

  After grabbing freshly grilled hamburgers and bottles of ice-cold water, the women returned to the seats they had reserved earlier by writing their paddle numbers on pieces of masking tape. Removing the tape off the seats, they sat down in the exact center on the first aisle. “I’d think it would be better to sit in the back,” Abby said, scanning the rows of chairs. “That way you could see anyone bidding against you.”

  “Some people think that, but I’ve found that if they are going to bid, it doesn’t matter if you see them. I’d rather be up close and not have to strain to see anything,” Quincy said, unwrapping her hamburger. “Besides, you’ll thank me later when you don’t have to crawl over people to get to the bathroom.”

  Not able to argue with that, Abby took her first bite of her late lunch. As they ate, they flipped through their pads, comparing notes, and not being surprised to discover they’d chosen several of the same items. “Just remember, we aren’t bidding against each other,” Quincy laughed. “We’ll have enough competition.”

  “I won’t. You just remember that the van is almost full. I was kidding about renting another van, so we can’t really buy anything big.”

  “We’ll worry about that if it happens. It’s about to start, so I’m going to run to the restroom.”

  What were the chances, Henry wondered as he recognized the woman standing in line at the bathroom. Looking around, he saw the younger woman sitting in the front row, flipping through a notebook. Time for a reassessment, he decided. These two were obviously not just weekend Junkers. They were most likely what those in the trade called ‘Pickers’. A title made famous by the show on the History channel and they quite likely owned a shop somewhere. He’d had to park quite a distance away, the moving van even further. He’d not had quite as much time to preview the items but was experienced enough to have a few on his own list. With a bottle of water in one hand, he quietly found a spot to stand against the back wall. If this auction followed standard operating procedure, the auctioneer would start with a few choice items and a few pieces of interest would be thrown in for good measure to get the crowd up and going. He had no plan on joining in those bidding wars but knew he’d enjoy watching.

  The rapid fire bidding began, the voice of the auctioneer beguiling bidders to offer just a bit more than any opponent. As Henry predicted, it was highly entertaining, the man’s humor causing ripples of laughter as he clearly flirted with the women bidding and then badgered the men asking if they were going to let a little bitty slip of a gal beat them up. Henry watched as paddles rose and fell, the gavel pounding to announce the winner and the items rapidly being moved off the auction block. He took a break to get something to eat, discovering that the hamburgers were just as good as those found in any restaurant and were a whole lot cheaper. When he returned to his spot, he watched as a paddle on the first row lifted into the air. Seeing the bassinet being offered, he smiled. Perhaps the young woman was expecting a baby. If so, he was sure that her grandmother was hoping to win the bid. He’d had the item on his own list, wrongly assuming that no one would want to take on the obvious refinishing the bassinet needed. However, this was one item he was willing to let go if it would be going to such a good cause.

  Seeing a couple leaving, he moved. Excusing himself, he stepped carefully down the narrow aisle to drop into one of the newly vacated seats on the row right behind the women. He’d not bought a single item yet but was truly enjoying himself. He’d spent decades being surrounded by many people, responsible for teams of men and women. He was no longer responsible for million dollar decisions and didn’t have to shorten any discussions to run to yet another meeting. His time was finally his own and he was quickly growing accustomed to the freedom retirement offered. Sitting back in his chair, he heard the delighted exclamation of the older woman as she made the last successful bid for the bassinet and felt not a single twinge of guilt for eavesdropping.

  “That was too fast, I was just getting started.”

  “You should be happy, you got it pretty cheap.”

  “I’m not complaining about that, I was just sure I’d have a bit more competition.”

  Henry shook his head, the conversation certainly not one he’d expect to hear from a winning bidder. His amusement changed to interest with the younger woman’s next statement.

  “Admit it, you just enjoyed getting to flash that paddle around.”

  “Well, you’ve got to admit, it’s pretty rare when we get to be the ones in control of any paddle.”

  “You’re right, let me do the bidding on the next one.”

  Though Henry wished the two would be a bit less circumvent about their amusement and desire to hold the rather flimsy paddles, he had to admit any talk about paddles instantly caught his attention. It might have been years since he’d wielded one for anything other than bidding at auctions, but it was like riding a bike. He instantly remembered thinking how well rounded and enticing her bottom had looked as she wiggled out from beneath the table at the flea market. If she had been his, she would have felt that delightful backside being swatted with at least his hand for the cursing she’d done. He grinned. If his hand didn’t do the trick, he would have moved on to a paddle. Some men might prefer a wooden hairbrush, but for him, it had always been a nice sturdy paddle. It had never failed to capture his late wife’s attention. Jenny had also been a full figured woman capable of taking quite a hard paddling when needed to curtail a behavior. If there was another well-padded backside capable of taking a paddling, the woman seated in front of him owned that rear.

  The two women took turns bidding on items, their paddles waving rather flamboyantly back and forth. By the time they’d won the tenth item, words such as ‘one more’, ‘that’s it’, ‘good girl’, and ‘ouch, that hurt a bit’ had been added to their conversation followed by the most delightful giggles. He was so involved in just observing them that he almost missed realizing the lot he’d been waiting for was already up for bid. When the paddle in the younger woman’s hand lifted, he hoped she was ready to relinquish control. The unit he’d chosen was packed full of furniture that just begged for attention. He hadn’t truly been concerned that many people would care to put in the time and effort required to bring the forgotten, abused items back to life but after seeing the bassinet being chosen, he was beginning to wonder. Nevertheless, he wasn’t willing to let this one go. Though he hated to disrupt the women’s fun, as the auctioneer asked if there were any advances, he lifted his own paddle into the air and the battle was on.

  It took only a few minutes before the women turned to scan the crowd. Both of their mouths dropped open when they recognized him and realized he was their competition. He gave
them a smile and a shrug. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when he found his forearm whacked again—this time with the woman’s paddle.

  “I see you forgot the warning I gave you,” he said calmly. “Or perhaps you know you need a bit of correction and are offering your implement of choice?”

  “When hell freezes over,” Quincy said. “You can’t bid. We saw it first.”

  “That doesn’t count in this case,” Henry said, lifting his paddle a moment after her companion had waved hers.

  “I thought you didn’t claim what wasn’t yours,” Quincy hissed, lifting her paddle.

  He grinned, leaning forward a bit. “Ah, but ownership has yet to be decided. All’s fair in war and bidding, and, my dear, I fully intend to stake my claim this time.” Henry saw her look of surprise flash across her face as he lifted his paddle to increase the bid and then chuckled when her paddle lifted to dance wildly in the air.

  “Well folks, seems like we have a battle,” the auctioneer chortled, obviously happy to have the three bidding rapidly against each other. “Let’s raise by increments of ten dollars instead of five, shall we?”

  “Fine by me,” Quincy said, her words not directed at the man in the front of the room but at the man seated behind her. “I can do this all night.” She raised her paddle high, giving it an unnecessary wave.

  “Hey! Aunt Quincy, you just raised my bid again!” Abby said. “Whose side are you on?”

  So Quincy was her name. An unusual name for an unusual lady. It fit the feisty woman to a tee. If history served him well, the name’s meaning had something to do with being born the fifth in a family. The traits attached to the name included being very competent and practical. They were also supposedly very successful in business ventures. As he listened to Quincy explaining to whom he learned was Abby about how this wasn’t the time to be a bidder in training, he grinned and slowly gave his own paddle a wave. He remembered two additional facts about the name Quincy. One was that John Quincy Adams was one of the most famous bearers of the name and, far more relevant to today’s situation, people bearing that name sometimes became so wrapped up in business, they could neglect the here and now. As the two women quibbled, Abby evidently not willing to give up her turn to bid, the gavel banged down.