Bidder Number Forty-Seven Offers Three Hundred Five Thousand for the Kearney Farm
I raised my arm.
My elbow locked straight.
My shoulder popped faintly in the cold.
“Sixty,” Denny called out.
A low murmur rippled through the neighbors standing right behind us.
A few older farmers shifted their heavy boots on the frozen gravel.
I heard someone whisper my husband’s name.
They knew Luke and me.