The wind roared outside. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rain softened to a steady patter. A gray curtain still hung over the fields, and lightning flickered far enough away to remain a concern. The crews waited for safe conditions and evaluated the field ground before deciding whether any machine should reenter. Hollis checked the harvested acreage from their field records. The total surprised her: eighty-six acres had been completed by the modern crews during the night, with a small additional amount from the vintage picker test.
She should have celebrated. Instead, she looked at the remaining acreage and felt a hollow space open in her chest. Nearly four hundred acres still stood. The storm had wet the soil. The grain buyers were struggling with receiving capacity. The dealership had not reversed the hold.
Then Ruth, who had come in for a weather update, stood beside her and looked at the field map. "We saved eighty-six acres before breakfast," she said. "Nobody promised you the whole crop by breakfast."
Hollis shook her head. "I keep thinking about everything that's left."
"Then you'll go crazy. Work the problem that's in front of you."
"My dad used to say that."
"He was usually right."
They stood together for a moment, watching the rain. Ruth asked whether Hollis had slept. When she said ninety minutes, Ruth pointed toward the farmhouse and instructed her to rest while the experienced operators evaluated the next safe window. Hollis argued that the crew needed her. Ruth replied that the crew needed a farmer who could make sound decisions, not a teenager collapsing from exhaustion. The words stung, but the truth behind them was impossible to deny.
Hollis lay down in her father's old room because it was nearest the telephone. She had avoided sleeping there since his death. The room smelled faintly of cedar and clean cotton. His hat hung on a hook beside the closet, and his reading glasses rested in their familiar case on the dresser. She set two alarms, closed her eyes, and fell asleep before she could decide whether the room felt comforting or unbearably sad.
When she woke ninety minutes later, the rain had stopped. Her phone held eleven missed messages. The first was from Wes: Field conditions improving. We are inspecting before restarting. The second was from Garnet: I have more information about the invoice. Please call when you can speak privately. The third came from an unknown number and contained only a sentence: You should have taken the offer on the south eighty while you had the chance.