The Miller property sat several miles outside town.
We drove there on a Saturday morning, taking a narrow road that passed fields, barns, and houses set far back from the pavement.
I had seen the listing photograph, but the real place looked worse.
The front porch leaned toward the yard.
Weeds crowded the steps.
One shutter hung crooked beside a window, and the paint had peeled away in long strips.
A rusted mailbox stood near the road.
The name Miller was still faintly visible on its side.
I stopped beside the car and looked at the house.
"You're serious about this?"
Nate was already taking his tools from the trunk.
"I want to see what we're dealing with."
The property had been empty for six years.
The previous owners had fallen behind on their taxes, and the county had eventually scheduled a sale.
The house had been closed up for so long that the yard seemed to be swallowing it.
I walked toward the porch but stopped before stepping onto it.
A board near the edge had split down the middle.
Nate noticed.
"Stay off that part."
He moved around the side of the house instead.
I followed him along a narrow path where weeds brushed against my jeans.
He examined the exterior walls, looking at the corners and the places where the roof met the structure.
He checked the foundation.
He crouched near a basement window and used a small flashlight to look inside.
I waited while he worked.
The house smelled of damp wood even from outside.
A tree had grown close to the rear wall, but its largest roots appeared to be moving away from the foundation rather than pushing against it.
Nate took his time.
That was one thing I trusted about him.
He never fell in love with a project before checking whether it could be repaired.
He tapped a section of siding with the handle of his screwdriver.
Then he walked back toward the front.
"What's your verdict?" I asked.
He looked at the roof.
"The house needs plenty of work."
"I can see that."
"But the main structure seems sound."
I stared at him.
"You think it's worth buying?"
"I think it's worth investigating."
Those were different answers.
We found a way to look through the county's available records.
The property had unpaid taxes and other costs that had led to the auction.
There was no promise that it would be cheap to repair.
There was no promise that the bidding would stay within our budget.
We would have to inspect what we could and accept that some problems might remain hidden.
Nate was clear about that.
"We can't spend everything on the purchase," he told me. "We'll need money for materials, permits, and whatever we discover after we get inside."
I nodded.
We had saved enough to consider a modest property.
We had not saved enough to make a careless decision.
That night, we sat at the kitchen table and worked through the numbers.
Our savings had grown beyond the amount we had when we first discussed buying a home.
The figure still made me nervous.
I wrote down what we could afford to bid.
Then I wrote down the amount we would need to keep available for repairs.
Nate studied the page.
"We have to stick to the limit."
"I know."
"Even if somebody else keeps raising the price."
"I know."
He reached across the table and rested his hand over mine.
"We can walk away."
I was glad he said it.
Part of me had already begun imagining curtains in the kitchen windows and shelves along the walls.
I had pictured a small garden beside the house.
I had even imagined where we might put the table.
It was dangerous to become attached to a place we did not own.
So I folded the newspaper and put it away.
We spent the next few days preparing for the auction.
Nate checked what he could about the property.
I reviewed our savings and made sure the funds we planned to use were available.
We arranged for a cashier's check because we did not want a delay with payment if we won.
I kept our paperwork in a folder beside the household bills.
The auction was scheduled for a weekday.
I took time away from my hospital job.
Nate arranged his work so he could attend.
We did not tell his family.
We did not tell our friends.
The fewer people who knew, the less we would have to explain if we failed to buy the house.
On the morning of the auction, I woke before the alarm.
The room was still dark.
I lay beside Nate and listened to the old refrigerator hum through the wall.
For two years, we had measured our lives in extra shifts and small deposits.
Now we were going to stand on the courthouse steps and risk a large part of what we had saved.
I felt sick with nerves.
Nate reached for my hand beneath the blanket.
"You awake?"
"Unfortunately."
He laughed softly.
"Me too."
We dressed and left before breakfast.
I took coffee in a travel mug and brought a sandwich in case the auction ran long.
The courthouse was already busy when we arrived.
People stood in small groups near the steps.
Some held folders.
Others spoke quietly with men who looked as though they bought properties for a living.
I recognized the old investor's type immediately: neat clothes, polished shoes, and the relaxed expression of someone who had done this many times.
One man wore a padded vest despite the mild weather.
He held his hands in his pockets and looked at the crowd without appearing especially interested in anyone.
A county representative checked documents near the entrance.
Then a man named Dobbs stepped forward to begin the bidding.
He spoke clearly and moved from one property to the next.
The Miller house was not the first item.
We waited while other properties were offered.
My fingers tightened around the folder.
Nate stood beside me, looking toward the front of the crowd.
He did not seem nervous.
I knew better.
Whenever he was worried, he became very quiet.
At last, Dobbs announced the Miller property.
He read the parcel information and explained the terms of the sale.
Then he opened the bidding.
The first few offers came quickly.
A man near the front raised his hand.
Someone else followed.
The price climbed.
I watched the padded-vest investor.
He looked at the property information, then raised his bid.
The number moved past what we had hoped to pay.
Nate remained still.
I glanced at him.
He gave me a small nod.
We were not going to bid just because we had come this far.
We were going to bid only while the numbers made sense.
The investor raised the price again.
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.
Nate finally lifted his hand.
He made a clear offer.
Dobbs repeated it.
For a moment, nobody answered.
Then the investor raised his bid.
The price moved higher.
I looked down at the folder in my hands.
The amount written inside was the limit we had agreed on.
We had not made that decision casually.
We had spent months calculating it.
We had given up weekends, meals out, and Nate's fishing boat to make sure we could afford a home without destroying our ability to repair it.
The investor offered another amount.
Nate waited.
I leaned toward him.
"We don't have to."
He looked at the house information in Dobbs's hand.
"I know."
The price reached forty-one thousand dollars.
The investor raised his hand again, apparently expecting the bidding to continue.
Nate glanced at me.
I nodded once.
He made one final offer.
Forty-one thousand five hundred dollars.
The words seemed to hang in the air.
Dobbs looked toward the investor.
The man in the padded vest studied Nate for several seconds.
Then he shook his head and stepped back.
Nobody else raised a hand.
Dobbs announced the sale.
For a moment, I couldn't move.
Nate took my hand.
We had won the auction.
The Miller property was ours to purchase under the county's terms.
I felt relief first.
Then fear.
We had spent years saving for this moment, and now the money was about to leave our account.
The clerk reviewed our documents.
I handed over the cashier's check and the additional payment we had prepared from my saved tips.
The clerk counted everything carefully before accepting it.
Then she placed the paperwork in a folder and passed us a set of worn keys.
I held them in my palm.
They were heavier than I expected.
Nate looked at the keys, then at me.
"We'd better get to work."
I laughed because I couldn't think of anything else to do.
We had bought a neglected house that most people had ignored.
We had no idea how long the repairs would take.
But for the first time, our plans were no longer only numbers in a notebook.
They had a front door.
And we had the keys.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: We Worked Behind Closed Doors Until a Small Notice in the County Newspaper Reached the One Person We Hadn’t Considered
Everyone at the Easter Table Received an Envelope, but Only One Couple Was Told They Needed Nothing
Part 3 of 20
