Patchwork: A Story of 'The Plain People'

by Anna Balmer Myers

AN OLD-FASHIONED COUNTRY SALE

A week later Phares and Phœbe drove into the barnyard of a farm six miles from Greenwald, where the old-fashioned sale was scheduled to be held.

"We are not the first, after all," said the preacher as he saw the number of conveyances in and about the barnyard. He smiled good-humoredly as he led the way—he could afford to smile when he was with Phœbe.

All about the big yard of the farm were placed articles to be sold at public auction. It was a miscellaneous collection. A cradle with miniature puffy feather pillows, straw tick and an old patchwork quilt of pink and white calico stood near an old wood-stove which bore the inscription, Conowingo Furnace. Corn-husk shoe-mats, a quilting frame, rocking-chairs, two spinning-wheels, copper kettles, rolls of hand-woven rag carpet, old oval hat-boxes and an old chest stood about a huge table which was laden with jars of jellies. Chests, filled with linens and antique woolen coverlets, afforded a resting place for the fortunate ones who had arrived earliest. A few antique chairs and tables, a mahogany highboy in excellent condition and an antique corner-cupboard of wild-cherry wood occupied prominent places among the collection. Truly, the sale warranted the attention it was receiving.

"I'd like to bid on something—I'm going to do it!" Phœbe said as they looked about. "When I was a little girl and went to sales with Aunt Maria I coaxed to bid, just for the excitement of bidding. But she always made me tell what I wanted and then she bid on it."

"What do you want to buy?" asked the preacher.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't want any apple-butter in crocks, or any chairs. Oh, I'll have some fun, Phares! I'll bid on the third article they put up for sale! I heard a man say the dishes are going to be sold first, so I'll probably get a cracked plate or a saucer without a cup, but whatever it is, the third article is going to be mine."

"That is rather rash," warned Phares. "It may be a bed or a chest."

"You can't scare me. I'm going to have some real thrills at this sale."

The preacher entered into the spirit of the girl and smiled at her promise to bid on the third thing put up for sale.

"Oh, look at the highboy," she exclaimed to him.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"Yes. See how it's inlaid with hollywood and cherry and how fine the lines of it are! I wonder how much it will bring. But Aunt Maria'd scold if I brought any furniture home, so I can't buy it."

"The price will depend upon the number of bidders and the size of their pocketbooks. If any dealers in antiques are here it may run way up. We used to buy homespun linen and fine old furniture very cheap at sales, but the antique dealers changed that."

By that time the number of people was steadily increasing. They came singly and in groups, in carriages, farm wagons, automobiles and afoot. Some of the curious went about examining each article in the motley collection in the yard.

Phœbe watched it all with an amused smile; finally she broke into merry laughter.

Phares looked up inquiringly: "What is it?"

"This is great sport! I haven't been to a good sale for several years. That old man has knocked his fist upon every chair and table, has tested every piece of furniture, has opened all the bureau drawers, even the case of the old clock, and just a moment ago he rocked the cradle furiously to convince himself that it is in good working condition. Here he comes with a pewter plate in his hand—let's hear what he has to say about it."

The old man's cracked harsh voice rose above the confusion of other sounds as he leaned against a table near Phœbe and Phares and spoke to another man:

"Here now, Eph, is one of them pewter plates that folks fuss so about just now, and I hear they put them in their dinin'-rooms along the wall! Why, when I was a boy my granny had a lot of 'em and we'd knock 'em around any way. Ha, ha," he laughed loudly, "I can tell you a good one, Eph, about one of them pewter dishes."

He slapped the plate against his knee, but the thud was instantly drowned by his quick, "Ach, Jimminy, I hit myself pretty hard that time! But I'll tell you about it, Eph. You heard of the fellows from the city who go around the country hunting up old relics, all old truck, and sell it again in the city? Well, one of them fellows come to my house the other week and asked if I had anything old-fashioned I would sell. Now if Lizzie'd been home we might got rid of some of the old things we have on the garret, but I was alone and I didn't know what I dared sell—you know how the women is. So I said, 'What kind of old things do you want?'

"'Oh,' he said, 'I buy old furniture, dishes, linen, pewter——'

"'Pewter?' I said. 'Who wants that?'

"'There is a great demand for it,' he said, 'and I will give you a good price for any you have.'

"'Well,' I laughed, 'I have just one piece of pewter.'

"'Where is it?'

"'Why, the cats have been eating out of it for a few years.'

"'May I see it?' he asks.

"So I took him out to the barn and showed him the big pewter bowl the cats eat out of and he said, 'I'll give you fifty cents for that dish.'

"Gosh, I said to him, 'Mister, I was just fooling with you. I know you don't want a cat-dish.'

"But he said again, 'I'll give you fifty cents for that dish.'

"So when I saw that he really meant it and wanted the dish I wrapped the old pewter dish in a paper and he gave me half a dollar for it. When I told Lizzie about it she laughed good and said the city folks must be dumb if they want pewter dishes when you can buy such nice ones for ten cents. Yes, Eph, that's the fellow's going to auctioneer. He's a good one, you bet; he keeps things lively all the time. All his folks is good talkers. Lizzie says his mom can talk the legs off an iron pot. But then he needs a good tongue in this business; it takes a lot of wind to be an auctioneer, specially at a big sale like this. He says it's going to be a wonderful sale, that he ain't had one like it for years. There's things here belonged to the family for three generations, been handed down and handed down and now to-day it'll get scattered all over Lancaster County, mebbe further. This saving up things and not using 'em is all nonsense. I tell Lizzie we'll use what we got and get new when it's worn out and not let a lot back for the young ones to fight over or other people to buy."

Here the auctioneer climbed upon a big box, clapped his hands and called loudly, "Attention, attention! This sale is about to begin. We have here a collection of fine things, all in good condition. The terms of the sale are cash. Now, folks, bid up fast and talk loud when you bid so I can hear you. We have here some of the finest antique dishes in the country, also some furniture that can't be duplicated in any store to-day. We'll begin on this cherry table."

He lifted a spindle-legged table in the air and went on talking.

"Now that's a fine table to begin with! All solid cherry, no screws loose—and that's more than you can say about some people—now what's bid for this table? Fine and good as the day it came out of a good workman's shop; no scratches on it—the Brubaker people knew how to take care of furniture. Who bids? How much for it do you bid? Fifty cents—fifty, all right—make it sixty—sixty cents I'm bid. Sixty, sixty, sixty—seventy—go ahead, eighty—go on—ninety, one dollar, one dollar ten, twenty, thirty—keep on—one dollar thirty, make it forty, forty, forty, forty, I have a dollar forty for this table—all done? Going—all done—all done?"

All was said in one breathless succession of words. He paused an instant to gather fresh impetus, then resumed, "All done—any more? Gone at a dollar forty to——"

"Lizzie Brubaker."

"Sold to Lizzie Brubaker."

"There," whispered the preacher to Phœbe, "that's one."

She smiled and nodded her head.

"Here now," called the auctioneer, "here's a fine set of chairs. Bid on them; wink to me if you don't want to call out. My wife said she don't care how many ladies wink to me this afternoon at this sale, but after that she won't have it—now then; go ahead! Give me one of the chairs, Sam, so the people can see it—ah, ain't that a beauty! Six in all, all solid wood, too, none of your cane seats that you have to be afraid to sit in. All solid wood, and every one alike, all painted green and every one with fine hand-painted flowers on the back. Where can you beat such chairs? Don't make them any more these days, real antiques they are! Bid up now, friends; how much a piece? The six go together, it would be a shame to part them. Fifteen cents did I hear?—Say, I'm ashamed to take a bid like that! Twenty, that's a little better—thirty, thirty, forty over here? Forty cents I have, fifty, sixty, seventy, seventy-five, eighty, eighty, eighty cents I'm bid; I'm bid eighty cents—make it ninety—ninety I'm bid, make it a dollar—ninety, ninety—all done at ninety? Guess we'll let Jonas Erb have them at ninety cents a piece, and real bargains they are!"

"Here's where I bid," said Phœbe, her cheeks rosy from excitement.

"Shall I release you from your promise?" offered the preacher.

"No, I'll bid."

"Attention," called the auctioneer. "Attention, everybody! Here we have a real antique, something worth bidding on!"

Phœbe held her breath.

"Here now, Sam, give it a lift so everybody can see—ah, there you are!"

He shouted the last words as two men held above the crowd—the old wooden cradle!

Phœbe groaned and looked at Phares—he was smiling. The old aversion to ridicule swelled in her; he should not have reason to laugh at her; she would show him that she was equal to the occasion—she would bid on the cradle!

"Start it, hurry up, somebody. How much is bid for the cradle? Sam here says it's been in the Brubaker family for years and years. Think of all the babies that were rocked to sleep in it—it's a real relic."

Phœbe, unacquainted with the value of cradles, was silently endeavoring to determine the proper amount for a first bid. She was relieved to hear a woman's voice call, "Twenty-five cents."

"Twenty-five I have, twenty-five," called the auctioneer. "Make it thirty."

"Thirty," said Phœbe.

"Forty," came from the other woman.

"Make it fifty, Miss." He pointed a fat finger at Phœbe.

"Fifty," she responded.

"Fifty, fifty, anybody make it sixty? Fifty cents—all done at fifty? Then it goes at fifty cents to"—Phœbe repeated her name—"to Phœbe Metz."

He proceeded with the sale. Phœbe turned triumphantly to the preacher—"I kept my promise."

"You did," he said. "The cradle is yours—what are you going to do with it?"

"Gracious! Why, I never thought of that! I don't want it. I just wanted the fun of bidding. Can't I pay it and leave it and they can sell it over again?"

"You bid rashly," the preacher said, though his eyes were smiling and his usual tone of admonition was absent from his voice. "I think you may be able to sell it to the woman who was bidding against you."

"I'll find her and give it to her."

She elbowed her way through the crowd until she reached the place from which the opposing voice had come. She looked about a moment, then addressed a woman near her. "Do you know who was bidding on the cradle?"

"Yes, it was Hetty here, the one with the white waist. Here, Hetty, this lady wants to talk to you."

"To me?" echoed the rival bidder for the cradle.

"Did you bid on the cradle?" asked Phœbe.

"Yes, but I didn't get it. I only wanted it because it was in the family so long. I'm a Brubaker. I said I wouldn't give more than fifty cents for it, for it would just stand up in the garret anyway, and be one more thing to move around at housecleaning time. Yet I'd liked to have it. I don't know who got it."

"I did, but I don't want it. I'd like to give it to you."

"Why"—the woman was amazed—"what did you bid on it for?"

"Just for the fun of bidding," said Phœbe, laughing. "Will you let me give it to you?"

"I'll give you half a dollar for it," offered the woman.

"No, I mean it. I want to give it to you. I'll consider it a favor if you'll take it from me."

"Well, if you want it that way. But don't you want the quilt and the feather pillows?"

"No, take it just as it is."

"Why, thanks," said the woman as she went to the spot where the cradle stood. She soon walked away with the clumsy gift in her arm. "Now don't it beat all," she said as she set it down near her friends. "I just knew that I'd get a present to-day. This morning I put my stocking on wrong side out and I just left it for they say still that it means you'll get a present before the day is over, and here I get this cradle!"

With a bright smile illumining her face, Phœbe rejoined the preacher.

"I see you disposed of the cradle," he greeted her.

"Yes. But I felt like a hypocrite when she thanked me, for I was giving her what I didn't want."

Here the busy auctioneer called again, "Attention, everybody! This piece of furniture we are going to sell now dates back to ante-bellum days."

"Ach, it don't," Phœbe heard a voice exclaim. "That never belonged to any person called Bellem; that was old Amanda Brubaker's for years and she used to tell me that it belonged to her grandmother once. That man don't know what he's saying, but that's the way these auctioneers do; you can't believe half they say at a sale half the time."

Phœbe looked up at Phares; both smiled, but the loquacious auctioneer, not knowing the comments he was causing, went on serenely:

"Yes, sir, this is a real old piece of furniture, a real antique. Look at this, everybody—a chest of drawers, a highboy, some people call it, but it's pretty by any name. All of it is genuine mahogany trimmed with inlaid pieces of white wood. Start it up, somebody. What will you give for the finest thing we have here at this sale to-day? What's bid? Good! I'm bid five dollars to begin; shows you know a good thing when you see it. Five dollars—make it ten?"

"Ten," answered Phares Eby.

Phœbe gave a start of surprise as the preacher's voice came in answer to the entreaty of the auctioneer.

"Phares," she whispered, "I didn't mean that I want to buy it."

"I am buying it," he said calmly, an inscrutable smile in his eyes. "You like it, don't you?"

She felt a vague uneasiness at his words, at the new sound of tenderness in his voice.

"Yes, I like it, but——"

"Then we'll talk about that some other day soon," he returned, and looked again at the busy auctioneer.

"Ten dollars, ten, ten," came the eager call of the man on the box. "Who makes it fifteen? That's it—fifteen I have—sixteen, eighteen—twenty—twenty-five, thirty—thirty, thirty, come on, who makes it more? Not done yet? Not going for that little bit? Who makes it thirty-five?"

"Thirty-five," said Phares.

"Thirty-five," the auctioneer caught at the words. "That's the way to bid."

"Thirty-eight," came a voice from the crowd.

"Thirty-eight," the auctioneer smiled broadly at the bid. "Some person is going to get a fine antique—keep it up, the highest bidder gets it—thirty-eight——"

"Forty," offered Phares.

"Forty, forty dollars—I have forty dollars offered for the highboy—all done at forty——"

There was a tense silence.

"Forty dollars—all done at forty—last call—going—going—gone. Gone at forty dollars to Phares Eby."

Phœbe turned to the preacher. "Did you bid just for the fun of bidding?" she asked.

"Well," he replied slowly, "the cases are not exactly alike. You like the highboy, don't you?"

"Yes—but what has that to do with it?" She looked up, but turned her head away quickly. What did he mean? Surely Phares was not given to foolishness or love-making to her!

She was glad that he suggested moving to the edge of the crowd after his successful bidding was completed. There a welcome diversion came in the form of the old man who had previously amused them by his talk about the pewter plate.

"There now, Eph," he was saying, "what do you think of paying forty dollars for that old chest of drawers? To be sure it's good and all the drawers work yet—I tried 'em before the sale commenced. But forty dollars—whew!"

The stupidity and extravagance of some people silenced him for a moment, then he continued: "My Lizzie, now, she knows better how to spend money. She bought ten dollars' worth of flavors and soap and things like that and she got in the bargain a big chest of drawers bigger than this old one, and it was polished up finer and had a looking-glass on the top yet. That man must have a lot of money to give forty dollars for one piece of furniture! Ach"—in answer to a remonstrance from his companion—"they can't hear me. I don't talk loud, and anyhow, they're listening to the auctioneer. That girl with him has a funny streak too. She bought the old cradle and then I heard her tell Hetty that she just bought it for fun and she gave it to Hetty. So, is that man Phares Eby from near Greenwald? Well, I thought he'd have too much sense to buy such a thing for forty dollars, but some people gets crazy when they get to a sale. Who ever heard of a person buying a cradle for fun and giving it away? But I guess that cradles went out of style some time ago. My girl Lizzie wasn't raised with funny notions like some girls have nowadays, but when she was married and had her first baby and we told her she could borrow the old cradle she was rocked in to put her baby in, she said she didn't want it, for cradles ain't healthy for babies, it is bad to rock babies! I guess that was her man's dumb notion, for he's a professor in the High School where they live, but he's just Jake Forney's John. They get along fine, but they do some dumb things. They let that baby yell till he found out that he wouldn't get rocked. It made her mom quite sick when we were up to visit them, and sometimes we'd sneak rocking it a little, just so the little fellow'd know there is such a thing as getting rocked. They don't want any person to kiss that baby, neither. Course I ain't in favor of everybody kissing a baby, but I can't see the hurt of its own people kissing it. We used to take it behind the door and kiss it good, and it's living yet. Ain't, Eph, it's a wonder we ever growed up, the way we were bounced and rocked and joggled and kissed! I say it ain't right to go back on cradles; they belong to babies. But look, Eph, there she's buying them old copper sheep bells! Wonder if she keeps sheep."

Phœbe, triumphant bidder for a pair of hand-beaten copper sheep bells, turned and looked at the farmer. The tenderness of a bright smile still played about her lips and the old man, interpreting the smile as a personal greeting to him, drew near and spoke to her.

"I can tell you what to take to clean them bells."

"Thank you," she answered cordially, "but I do not want to clean them."

"But you can make them shiny if you take——"

"You are very kind, but I really want to keep them just as they are."

The old man looked at her for a moment, then shook his head as though in perplexity and turned away.

Several more hours of vigorous work on the part of the noisy auctioneer resulted in the sale of the miscellaneous collection of articles.

The loquacious old farmer was often moved to whistle or to emit a low "Gosh" as the sale progressed and seemingly valueless articles were sold for high prices. A linen homespun table-cloth, woven in geometrical design, occasioned spirited bidding, but the man on the box was equal to the task and closed the bids at twenty dollars. Homespun linen towels were bought eagerly for seven, eight, nine dollars. A genuine buffalo robe was knocked down to a bidder at the price of eighty dollars. Cups and saucers and plates sold for from two to four dollars each. But it was an old blue glass bottle that provoked the greatest sensation. "Gosh, who wants that?" said the old man as the bottle was brought forth. "If he throws a cup or plate in with it mebbe somebody will give a penny for it."

But a moment later, as an antique dealer started the bid at a dollar the old man spluttered, "Jimminy pats! Why, it's just an old glass bottle!"

Some person enlightened him—it was Stiegel glass! After the first bid on the bottle every one became attentive. The two rival bidders were alert to every move of the auctioneer, the bids leapt up and up—ten dollars—eleven dollars—twelve dollars—thirteen dollars—gone at thirteen dollars!

It was late afternoon when Phœbe and the preacher turned homeward. The preacher's purchase had to be left at the farm until he could return for it in the big farm wagon, but Phœbe thought of the highboy as they rode along the pleasant country roads. She remembered the expression she had caught on the face of Phares and the remembrance troubled her. She sought desperately for some topic of conversation that would lead the man's thoughts from the highboy and prevent the return of the mood she had discovered at the sale.

"You—Phares," she began confusedly, "you are going to baptize this next time, Aunt Maria thought."

"Yes."

The preacher looked at the girl. The exhilarating influence of the early June outdoors was visible in her countenance. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed—she seemed the epitome of innocent, happy girlhood. The vision charmed the preacher and caused the blood to course more swiftly through his veins, but he bit his lip and steadied his voice to speak naturally. "Yes, Phœbe, I want to speak to you about that."

"Oh, dear," she thought, "now I have done it! Why did I start him on that subject!" Some of the excessive color faded from her face and she looked ahead as he spoke.

"Phœbe, the second Sunday in June I am going to baptize a number of converts in the Chicques near your home. Are you ready to come with the rest, and give up the vanities of the world?"

"Oh, Phares, why do you ask me? I can't wear plain clothes while I love pretty ones. I can't be a hypocrite."

"But surely, Phœbe, you see that a simple life is more conducive to happiness than a complex, artificial life can possibly be. It is my duty to strive for the saving of souls and we have been friends so long that I take a special interest in you and desire to see you safe in the shelter of the Church."

"Phares, I'll tell you frankly, if I ever wear plain garb it will be because I feel that it is the right thing for me to do, not because some person persuades me to."

"Of course, that is the only way to come. But can't you come now?"

"I can't. I hurt you when I say that, but I want you to be my good friend, as always, in spite of my worldliness. Will you, Phares?"

He opened his lips to speak, but she went on quickly: "Because I am learning every day how much I need the help and friendship of all my friends."

He longed to throw down the reins he was holding and tell her what was in his heart, but something in her manner, her peculiar stress on the word "friendship" restrained him. She was, after all, only a child. Only eighteen—too young to think of marriage. He could wait a while longer before he told her of his love and his desire to marry her.

"I will, Phœbe," he promised. "I'll be your friend, always."

"I thought so," she breathed deeply in relief. "I knew you wouldn't fail me. Look at that field, Phares—oh, this is a perfect day! There should be a superlative form of perfect for a day like this! Those fields have as many colors as the shades reflected on a copper plate: lilac, tan, purple, rose, green and brown."

The preacher answered a mere "Yes." She turned again and looked at the fields they were passing. "Perhaps," she thought, "before that corn is ripe I'll be in Philadelphia!" But she did not utter the thought, for she knew the preacher would not approve of her going to the city. He should know nothing about it until it was definitely settled.

The thought of studying music in Philadelphia left her restless. If only the preacher would be more talkative!

"It's just perfect to-day, isn't it, Phares?" she asked radiantly, resolved to make him talk. But his answers were so perfunctory that she turned her head, made a little grimace through the open side of the carriage and mentally dubbed him "Bump-on-log." Very well, if he felt indisposed to talk to her, she could enjoy the drive without his voice!

Suddenly she laughed outright.

"What——" he looked at her, puzzled.

"What's funny?" she finished. "You."

"I?"

"Yes, you. If sales affect you like this you must be careful to avoid them. You've been half asleep for the last half hour. I think the horse knows the way home; you haven't been driving at all."

"I have not been asleep," he contradicted gravely, "just thinking."

"Must be deep thoughts."

"They were—shall I tell them to you?"

"Oh, no, not to-day!" she cried. "I've had enough excitement for one day. Some other time. Besides, we are almost home."

After that he threw off his lethargic manner and entered the girl's mood of appreciation of the lavish loveliness of the June. Yet, as Phœbe alighted from the carriage at the little gate of the Metz farm, and after she had thanked him and started through the yard to the house, she said softly to herself, "If Phares Eby isn't the queerest person I know! Just like a clam one minute and just lovely the next!"

Maria Metz was dishing a panful of fried potatoes as Phœbe entered the kitchen.

"Hello, daddy, Aunt Maria," exclaimed the girl.

"So you come once?" said her aunt.

"Have a good time?" asked her father.

"Yes, it was a fine sale, a real old-fashioned one."

But Aunt Maria was impatient for her supper. "Hurry," she said, "and get washed to eat. I have everything out and it'll get cold, then it ain't good. Did Phares like the sale? What did he have to say?"

"Um, guess he liked it," said the girl with a shrug of her shoulders. "It's hard to tell what he likes—he's such a queer person. He said he's going to baptize the second Sunday of June and asked me if I want to come with the others."

"He did!" Aunt Maria could not keep the eagerness out of her voice. "Well, let's sit down and eat."

After a short grace she turned to the girl. "Now then," she said as she helped herself generously to sausage and potatoes and handed the dishes across the table to Phœbe, "tell us about it."

"There isn't much to tell. I just told him that I can't renounce the pleasures of the world before I had a chance to take hold of them. I'm not ready yet to dress plain."

"Why aren't you ready?" asked the woman.

"Ach, don't ask me," Phœbe replied, speaking lightly in an effort to conceal her real feeling. "I just didn't come to that state yet. I want some more fun and pleasure before I think only of serious things."

"You're just like a big baby," her aunt said impatiently. "You can hurt a good man like Phares Eby and come home and laugh about it."

"Now, Maria," interposed the father, "let her laugh; she'll meet with crying soon enough, I guess."

But the woman could not be easily silenced. "Some day, Phœbe, you'll wish you'd been nicer to Phares."

"Why, I am nice to him."

"Well, anyhow, I think it's soon time you give up the world and its vanities," said Aunt Maria.

The girl's teasing mood fled. "I think," she said slowly, "that the plain dress should not be worn by any one who does not realize all that the dress stands for. If I ever turn plain I'll do so because I feel it is the right thing to do, but just now vanity and the love of pretty clothes are still in my heart."

After the meal was over the women washed the dishes while Jacob went out to attend to the evening milking. Later, when the poultry houses and stables were locked he returned to the kitchen and read the weekly paper. After a while he turned to Phœbe.

"Will you sing for me this evening?" he asked.

"Yes," came the ready response.

"Then make the door shut," Aunt Maria directed as they went to the sitting-room. "I want to mark my rug yet this evening and your noise bothers me."

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