'WIDE MEADOWS': BIDDING ON A BRASS BEDSTEAD (A CONTINUING SERIES)

Editor's note: This is an excerpt of a chapter from Jean Bell Mosley's book "Wide Meadows" that was first published in 1960.

Granny stopped to rest often. She was old -- near 80. Where the path came out on a clearing she shifted her quilt to the other side and stood looking out over the valley a long time, we thought she was catching up on her memories.

"Always wish I'd kept the bedstead," she went on. "I recollect the day Simm hauled it up the mountain in the oxcart. We had a fresh straw tick waiting and two feather beds, one out of wild goose feathers and one out of tame. I spread my Rose of Sharon quilt on it, and a handsomer sight you never saw, the round knobs catching the sunlight and making a white rainbow on the ceiling. All our babies were born in that bed, and Simm died in it. He'd raise up in the dead of the night, get holt of a knob and say, Always keep this, Dulcie. Always keep this.' But then times were hard after Simm died and when Lonnie Britt offered me good money for it, I had to let it go. You can't let sentiment get the best of you when you're hungry. But if I had it to do over I'd have gotten a little hungrier."

"Maybe she'd sell it back to you, Granny, instead of putting it up for bid," Lou suggested.

"No, I won't be asking no favors. Tain't our way. Might be someone out from town can pay her more, but I'm counting on my quilt bringing enough to bid up on it. I'll have to sell it first, though," Granny said, unabashed. We were all confounded about cash.

We walked along in silence for a while, thinking about the brass bedstead.

"Reckon it'll bring the price of the bed?" Granny asked after a while.

"Why, sure, Granny," Lou reassured her. "Wait'll those ladies out from town see it. And I don't imagine there'll be much bidding on the bedstead."

"I reckon I've never wanted anything as bad in my whole life as I want that brass bedstead back," Granny confessed, a little embarrassed, as if she should be ashamed of such desires. She looked at us a little defiantly, daring us to challenge her right to want the brass bedstead so badly, but Granny couldn't have found a more understanding audience. We'd felt that way so many times. There were the ribbon-threaded celluloid fans and glass beads at Wallingford's Mercantile, fountain pens and vanity cases, and now the perfume. And to think that Granny, who was so much older than we were, had been wanting her bedstead back for so long!

We heard the auctioneer singsonging his bids a long way off and hurried on so as to miss as little as possible. He was doing the harness and machinery first, to give the town folks time to arrive.

Lou and I put our name on the doll bed and cradle and set them down in the yard with the other household goods. There were quilts and coverlets and a peacock-embroidered bedspread hung for display over the clothesline, and Granny unwrapped her quilt and hung it up, too.

Folks started arriving from town about 10 o'clock and began plundering through the things set out in the yard.

"Jane, come here and see this clock!" some woman demanded.

"I wish you'd look at that hand-woven coverlet," another woman said, sucking in her breath. When they saw Granny's quilt, oh's and ah's went up in unison.

"Oh, I must have that," someone said. And, "Not if I can help it," another answered.

The crowd of women stood around the quilt for half an hour or longer, admiring the beautifully shaded colors, the tiny stitches, and the intricate quilting design. Granny stood off to one side, smiling contentedly. Soon she was pointed out as the owner of the quilt, and various women began approaching her ever so casually, making whispered offers for the quilt. Mrs Whittaker started with 10 dollars, but Granny shook her head. The doctor's wife offered 15, and Granny wavered. When Mrs. Catherton offered 20, Granny took it. "After all, they might not sell the quilts first, and I've got to have the money before I can bid on anything else," she reasoned.

The brass bedstead, propped up against a maple, aroused little interest. "Look at that old relic," someone jeered. "All those curlicues to dust, I wouldn't have it on a bet." We jubilantly relayed the news to Granny.

About noon the men drifted up to the yard. Cabe was with them. It was on account of him that I wanted the perfume. I could see his eyes searching the crowd. When he saw me her jerked his head backward in an awkward, impersonal acknowledgment, but his eyes stopped wandering about and I put all my confused attention on the auctioneer who was starting in on the small stuff. Our bed and cradle came before long, and we got a dollar for them. Lou was tempted to bid with it on a beaded and fringed pocketbook made from an old red inner tube, but I held out for the perfume, and she agreed that it would be better if it just weren't for the interminable waiting for it to arrive once it was ordered.

While the auctioneer went through the books and pots and pans and canned goods, Lou and Granny and I leaned up against the old brass bedstead to hide it from interested eyes. But it didn't work.

"Let's see this," some strange girl said, indicating that she wanted us to move so she could look at the bedstead.

"This old thing?" Lou scoffed, looking shocked.

"Mother, come here," the girl said, ignoring Lou's remark. "Look! This is just like what I saw in the magazine. It was painted pink and had a white bedspread. Oh, Mama! Wouldn't it be pretty?"

The woman reached out a hand to test the weight of the headpiece. Her diamonds sparkled in the sunlight, and Lou and I looked at each other in dismay. "You sure this is what you want, Lovey?" the woman asked.

"Oh, yes, Mama! And we'll get the white rug, like it was in the picture!"

White rug! I watched Lou's Adam's apple do a quick up and down. We both looked guardedly at Granny, who was just standing there looking at the woman, nervously clasping and unclasping the noisy latch on her old pocketbook.

The woman beckoned to the auctioneer, and he immediately came over and started auctioning the bedstead.

"One dollar!" Granny opened.

"Five dollars," the woman said, calmly, and folks did a double take at the old bedstead.

"Five dollars, ten cents," Granny kept on.

"Ten dollars."

"Ten dollars, ten cents."

"Fifteen."

The interested crowd pushed closer, wondering what in the world anyone wanted with the old bed.

"She'll never stop," Lou whispered, disgusted by such wealth, and we noticed the tears brimming Granny's eyes."

"Fifteen dollars, ten cents," she said in an unsteady voice, knowing it was her last bid if the woman kept jumping five. I felt the tears stinging at my eyes.

The auctioneer was happy at the turn of events and took a few minutes off to joke with the crowd. I turned around and saw Cabe right behind me.

"What's the matter?" he whispered, bending down.

"Granny wants it so badly," I said unsteadily, "and she's only got twenty dollars." Cabe turned his pockets wrong side out, indicating he was in the same shape as the rest of us.