“Why are they here?”
Her father looked toward them.
“Nothing happens privately in farming.”
“They think it’ll fail.”
“Some.”
“What do you think?”
He looked at his daughter.
“I think you built it.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
He smiled.
“You got that from me.”
The sun dropped toward the western horizon.
Heat remained brutal.
Soybean leaves hung limp.
The Farm Girl knelt beside the main valve.
Her hands were dirty.
One knuckle still bandaged.
The large rusted wheel had been soaked in penetrating oil for three days.
Cleaned with a wire brush.
Worked back and forth until it finally moved.
Now everything depended on it.
The first Neighbor Farmer folded his arms.
“Well?”
The girl ignored him.
She looked uphill toward the reservoir.
Her father had already opened the upper gate.
If the line held, water should be sitting somewhere behind the closed main valve.
Should.
The second farmer called, “Maybe we should get towels.”
Laughter.
The Farm Girl wrapped both hands around the wheel.
Then one farmer walked closer and kicked a loose section of pipe.
Not hard.
Enough to make it ring.
“Come on, kid. Let’s see the swimming pool.”
The girl’s face tightened.
Before she could speak, the Farmer Father stepped between them.
“Back up.”
The farmer raised both hands.
“We’re joking.”
“I know.”
The father’s voice remained calm.
“But don’t touch her system.”
The man stepped back.
The girl looked at her father.
He nodded.
Her hands tightened.
She turned the valve.
Nothing.
The wheel moved a quarter turn.
Then half.
A hollow metallic groan traveled somewhere inside the pipe.
Everyone listened.
Nothing else.
The Neighbor Farmer chuckled.
The Farm Girl turned farther.
Still nothing.
One of the men behind them whispered, “Air lock.”
The girl’s stomach dropped.
She had worried about that.
The first Neighbor Farmer began laughing.
“Should’ve built the pool closer to the water.”
The second joined.
The Farm Girl stared at the pipe.
No shaking.
No sound.
Her father came closer.
“Ellie.”
She looked at him.
He had rarely used her name during the project, as though calling her “kid” made failure smaller.
“We can check it.”
She looked uphill.
Maybe a coupling failed.
Maybe the reservoir outlet clogged.
Maybe the elevation was not enough.
Maybe everyone had been right.
Then—
Clang.
The laughter stopped.
Everyone turned.
Another metallic sound traveled down the ridge.
Closer.
Clang.
The Farm Girl’s eyes widened.
Her father whispered, “Pressure.”
The main pipe trembled beneath her hand.
A coupling fifty feet away jumped.
Someone stepped backward.
Then another section shook.
The Neighbor Farmer stared uphill.
“What’s feeding that?”
The Farm Girl did not answer.