His New Amish Family. Patricia DavidsЧитать онлайн книгу.
auctions under his supervision. I have earned my license, and I’m ready to be out on my own.”
“There’s a difference between going out on your own and going out on a limb. How much did you spend on this?”
“Enough.” All he had saved plus the money he had borrowed from Mark and a four-thousand-dollar loan from the bank on a short-term note. Paul kept that fact to himself. He didn’t need a lecture from his always practical older brother. Sometimes life required a leap of faith.
It was true he had expected to be hired for several major auctions by the time his custom trailer was finished but he’d had only one small job so far. His commission had barely covered his expenses for that one. He’d been forced to borrow the money to pay the builder when his trailer was ready. No Amish fellow liked being in debt but sometimes a man’s business required it. Paul closed the window, switched off the microphone and stepped out.
Mark shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Paul grinned. “I talk fast. That’s the secret. You’ll see. This is a goot investment. You’ll get your money back soon.”
“I hope so. I’ll need it to pay for the new ovens we’re putting in at the bakery. Have you told Onkel Isaac about this purchase?”
“Not yet. I hope he approves but I know this was the right decision for me even if he doesn’t.” They both walked out into the early morning sunshine.
“He will support your decision but if you fail at this business venture, don’t look to him to bail you out. Or me. Lessons learned by failure are as valuable as lessons learned by success.”
“I know. It’s the Amish way.” Paul had heard that many times in his life but it never meant as much as it meant now. When his loan came due in two months, the bank could repossess his van if he didn’t have the money. He was starting to worry.
Maybe he could get an extension on his loan. His uncle did a lot of business at the bank but Paul’s finances were what they would look at.
He crossed the farmyard with Mark and headed toward their uncle’s furniture-making business, where they both worked. As they entered the quiet shop, they went their separate ways. Mark went out back to start the diesel generator that produced the electric power for the numerous woodworking machines, lights and office equipment. When Paul heard the hum of the generator start up and the lights came on, he raised the large door at the rear of the building so the forklift operator could bring in pallets of raw wood and move finished products to the trucks that would soon arrive for the day’s deliveries.
He saw a car turn into the parking lot and stop but he knew Mark would be up front soon to deal with any customers. A man got out of the car and walked toward Paul instead of going to the entrance to the business. He was dressed in khaki pants and a blue polo shirt. Definitely not an Amish fellow.
“I’m looking for the Amish auctioneer?”
Paul grinned and clapped a hand to his chest. “You found him. I’m Paul Bowman.”
“I’m Ralph Hobson. I recently inherited a farm and I am no farmer. The place is a pile of rocks and weedy fields fit for goats and not much else. I’ve been told that an auction is the easiest and fastest way to get rid of the property.”
“Auctions are very popular in this part of the country. The buyer can see he’s getting a fair deal because he knows what everyone else is offering. The seller gets his money right away, and my auction service takes care of the details in between for a ten percent commission. Does that sound like something you’re interested in?”
“It does. How soon can you hold an auction?”
“That depends on the size and condition of the property and the contents of the home if you are selling that.”
“I am. The farm is a hundred and fifty-five acres. How much can I expect to get for it?”
“Farmland in this part of Ohio sells for between five and six thousand dollars an acre depending on the quality of the land.”
Ralph’s eyes lit up. “It’s a good thing I didn’t take the first offer I had. That weasel was trying to cheat me. So roughly seven hundred and seventy thousand, give or take a few thousand?”
Paul wondered who the weasel was and how much he had offered. It wasn’t any of his business so he didn’t ask. “Minus my commission. It could go higher if there is a bidding war.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s when two or more bidders keep upping their bids because they both really want the item.”
“That sounds interesting. What keeps the seller from putting someone in the crowd to drive the price up?” Ralph slipped his hands into the front pockets of his pants. “Hypothetically, of course.”
“I won’t say it never happens but the bidder is taking a chance he could get stuck with a high-priced item he doesn’t want or can’t afford if the other bidder quits first.”
“I see.” Ralph smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I guess we can both hope for a bidding war since you earn more if I make more. Right?”
“Right. Are there outbuildings? Farm equipment? Livestock? I’ll need to make an accurate inventory of everything.”
“A few chickens, three buggy horses and a cow with a calf are the only livestock. A neighbor has them for now. The rest is a lot of junk. My uncle rarely let go of anything.”
Paul tried not to get his hopes up. “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure. I’ll need to look the place over.”
“I can drive you there now.”
This was too good an opportunity to pass up. To handle an entire farm and household sale could bring him a hefty commission. Enough to pay back Mark and the bank loan plus get his business off to a good start. “Who owned the farm before you?”
“My uncle, Eli King.”
“I think I know the place. Out on Cedar Road just after the turn off to Middleton?”
“That’s right.”
Paul had gone there last year with his cousin Luke looking for parts to fix an ancient washing machine. Ralph was right about his uncle collecting things but not all of it was junk. There were some valuable items stashed away. “Let me tell my uncle where I’m going and I’ll be right with you.”
“Great.” The man looked relieved and walked back to his car.
Paul found his uncle, his cousin Samuel and Mark all conferring in the front office. Paul tipped his head toward the parking lot. “That Englisch fellow wants to show me a farm he plans to put up for auction. Can you spare me for a few hours?”
The men looked up from reviewing the day’s work schedule. “Can we?” Isaac asked.
Samuel flipped to the last page on the clipboard he held. “It’s not like he does much work when he is here.”
Mark and Isaac chuckled. Paul smiled, too, not offended in the least. “Very funny, cousin. I do twice the amount of work my brother does these days. Mark spends more time at the bakery than he does here.”
Mark’s grin turned to a frown. Isaac patted his shoulder. “That is to be expected when he and his new wife are getting their own business up and running.”
“That’s right,” Mark said, looking mollified. “It takes a lot of thought to decide which type of ovens we need and where they should be placed, what kind of storage we need—a hundred decisions have to be made.”
Isaac’s wife, Anna, ran a small gift shop across the parking lot from the woodworking building. Mark’s wife, Helen, had been selling her baked goods in the shop and at local farmers markets but the increasing demand for her tasty treats and breads made opening a bakery the next logical step for them.