Eli treated all of his auctions the same. His aim was to get the best return for the person selling their prized possessions, and at the same time make it an entertaining and worthwhile experience for the buyers and onlookers. He’d been an auctioneer for twenty-four years—a young man looking for his spot in the world when he first realized he had a talent for it. He’d learned, over those years, to keep a good emotional distance from the items on the auction block.
The one o’clock auction was different, and perhaps that was why he’d been more curt than usual with Martha. The woman was a fine bookkeeper, but she didn’t understand the way things were done in Shipshe. She was stubborn and outspoken. For those two reasons alone, she wasn’t the best employee he’d ever had. Frankly, she asked too many questions. Then there was her propensity to “brighten up” their office space. He didn’t need a coatrack, even if it was made of a beautiful oak and she had purchased it herself. It was as ridiculous as the basket filled with candy, which she kept on her desk for any kinner that might wander into the office.
Martha Beiler was unlike anyone Eli had ever met before, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to her. So, too often, he responded with words that were abrupt. Like this morning. Plus his mind and heart had been filled with other things—specifically with his one o’clock auction. He’d known Charity and Jacob Weaver all of his life. It hurt his heart to see them suffer with Jacob’s deteriorating health. And in spite of how much or how often their Plain community stepped in, the situation was still more than Charity could handle.
Which was why they were moving.
Why they were selling off the items from their home.
Why Eli was standing there, auctioning the items in Lot Number 28 and pointing to an antique dresser that he knew had been made by Jacob.
“Who’ll give me two hundred dollars? Two-hundred-dollar bid, now three, now three, will ya give me three?”
He fell easily into the rhythm and cadence of his work. Though other auctioneers continued calling out their lots in various sections of the barn, the crowd around the Weavers’ things grew.
“Four, give me four hundred dollars? Going once, going twice . . .” When no one answered, he raised his hand to declare the item sold.
Suddenly a man at the back, tall and wearing a ball cap, shouted, “Five hundred.”
The crowd quieted. Occasionally someone would go over the auctioneer’s bid—either due to the excitement of the moment or because they were tired of trying to outbid one another. This man had not bid at all until that very moment.
“Sold,” Eli declared, glancing at Martha who nodded that she had written down the bid and the buyer’s number. Her face was scrunched up in a concerned expression and she was nodding her head to the right as if she had a tic of some sort.
Eli shrugged and moved on to the dining room table. This too was made of northern red oak, as was most of Jacob’s furniture. The man had been a fine woodworker, known throughout the state for the quality and simple beauty of his furniture. Eli had auctioned off the final pieces from Jacob’s workshop six months ago. All that was left now were the personal items that wouldn’t need to be moved to Goshen with Jacob and Charity.
The dining room table included six chairs, which wasn’t particularly large, by Amish standards. Jacob and Charity had only had the one son, and he had died when he was but a small lad. The family was well liked, and they often had guests for dinner—he supposed that was why they’d kept it all these years. Eli himself had spent many a dinner with the two at the very table that he was now offering up for bid. Though it bore the scars of many years of use, it was worn to a smooth, beautiful shine.
Because it was a small piece of furniture, he started the bid lower than he normally would.
“One, give me one hundred dollars? One-hundred bid, now two, now two, who will give me two?”
An Englisch couple at the back offered two. Eli tried for three but no one was taking.
“Going once, going twice . . .”
This time a woman dressed in black shouted, “Four hundred.”
Eli felt a rush of satisfaction. The Weavers needed the money from this auction. He had no idea why folks would be overbidding, but neither would he turn the money down.
Glancing again at Martha, he felt a spike of irritation. She was adamantly shaking her head and gesturing for him to walk over to where she stood. No way was he going to stop in the middle of an auction, especially one that was going so well.
Next he sold two of Charity’s quilts, the dishes, and a well-used couch. The pieces went for about what he had expected. Then he stepped over to a sofa table, which was being sold with two end tables. Once again made of northern red oak, they were perhaps the nicest pieces in the lot. He prayed for Gotte’s wille, even in this, and then he began his call.
“Five, give me five hundred dollars? Five-hundred bid, now six, now six, who will give me seven?” The bid worked its way up to a thousand dollars—a very good price.
Eli tried one more time to raise it a fraction more. “Eleven hundred dollars, give me twelve. Who will give me twelve?”
“Fifteen hundred.” It was the tall man at the back again. He hadn’t bid since the first piece, but Eli would have known it was him without looking. He’d once again waited almost too late and then jumped the current bid, stunning those around him. An Englisch couple shook their heads in disappointment. The price was more than they could or would pay. A furniture dealer Eli was quite familiar with marked the item off his list. It wasn’t worth fifteen hundred—both the dealer and Eli knew that.
“Sold, fifteen hundred to the gentleman in the ball cap.” And when he said those words, he suddenly remembered Martha and her warnings about a tall man wearing a ball cap and a woman dressed in black. He glanced over at his bookkeeper, who was frowning mightily and noting the sale in her book.
When he looked again toward the back, the gentleman in the ball cap was walking away.
And the woman in black? She was nowhere to be seen.