The bearded buyer at the mill.
The boy understood too.
His stomach tightened.
The man’s father had tried to buy the collection decades earlier.
That explained his face when he saw the marks.
The buyer did not merely recognize valuable maple.
He recognized the collection.
The drive home was quiet.
The boy stared out the window.
Finally:
“Why didn’t he tell us?”
His mother looked through the rearview mirror.
“Who?”
“The buyer.”
“That his father knew Grandpa.”
She considered.
“Maybe he didn’t want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
She sighed.
“It’s the only one I have.”
The sawyer, riding in the passenger seat, said:
“He might’ve been embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“His father may have tried to make a bad deal.”
“Or maybe nothing bad happened.”
“We don’t know.”
The boy frowned.
Again.
We don’t know.
He was beginning to understand why adults who cared about truth used that sentence so often.
People who wanted something were usually much more certain.
The next Monday, the bearded buyer returned to the mill.
Alone.
The boy was in school.
The sawyer called the boy’s mother before speaking with him.
By four o’clock, the boy was sitting at the mill office table while the buyer stood opposite.
No laughing this time.
No offer.
The man looked toward the boy.
“You went to see the farmer.”
It was not a question.
The boy answered:
“Yes.”
The buyer nodded.
Then looked toward the sawyer.
“He remember my father?”
“Some.”
The man pulled out a chair.
“Can I sit?”
The boy shrugged.
He sat.
For several seconds, the buyer stared at his hands.
Then:
“My father bought figured wood.”
“I know.”
“He was good at it.”
The boy waited.
“Sometimes too good.”
The buyer smiled without humor.
“He liked sellers who didn’t know what they had.”
The boy felt anger.
The buyer continued.
“That was business then.”
The sawyer said:
“It was still called taking advantage.”
The man nodded.
“I know that now.”
He looked toward the boy.
“Your grandfather had twelve burls from those old grove trees.”
“That’s what the farmer said.”
“My father tried to buy them.”
“For how much?”
The man looked embarrassed.
“Two hundred dollars.”
The boy stared.
“All twelve?”
“Yes.”
“Were they worth more?”
The buyer laughed softly.
“Even then.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Five thousand?”
“Maybe.”
“Ten?”
“Maybe.”
The boy frowned.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Then how did Grandpa know the offer was bad?”