Dug again.
His expression changed.
“This is meaningful.”
Emily nearly laughed.
“That sounds like agricultural-agent language for ‘you were right.’”
“No.”
“What?”
“It means meaningful.”
She rolled her eyes.
Thomas smiled.
“Don't celebrate.”
“Why?”
“Drought isn’t over.”
He was right.
Thirty days.
Forty.
Fifty.
Trees began dying.
Emily carried water to the youngest where practical.
Impossible to save all.
She prioritized.
Bank deadline approached.
One afternoon Howard called.
Emily listened.
Final payment due.
Weeks.
He could not extend indefinitely.
She thanked him.
Hung up.
Sat in the truck beside the barn.
Hands resting on the steering wheel.
For almost twenty minutes she did not move.
The tree system was working.
Slowly.
Biologically.
Physically.
Financially?
Not fast enough.
That was the cruelest part.
A good idea could still arrive too late.
Emily entered the house.
Spread Henry’s map beside her records.
Rainfall.
Moisture.
Survival.
Runoff.
Everything said the land was changing.
Nothing guaranteed she would still own it long enough to see the change finish.
She looked through the window.
White sky.
No clouds.
She closed the notebook.
Went back outside.
There was work.
Day fifty-eight.
No rain.
Day sixty.
Nothing.
Day sixty-three.
At 4:17 p.m., Emily felt wind.
Not hot wind.
Cool.
She was repairing a gate.
Stopped.
Looked west.
Dark clouds.
Solid.
Not scattered summer clouds that evaporated before reaching the farm.
A wall.
Ray Mercer stopped his pickup beside the road.
He climbed out.
Looked west too.
“Could be bad.”
Emily nodded.
The air changed.
Leaves turned.
Wind pushed dust along the road.
First drop struck Emily’s forearm.
Large.
Cold.
Another hit the dirt.
Dark circle.
Then ten.
Hundreds.
Rain came suddenly.
Hard.
Emily ran toward the field.
Ray shouted:
“Get inside!”
She ignored him.
Thunder rolled.
Water hammered the barn roof.
Within minutes, dry soil could not absorb the intensity.
Runoff formed.
Exactly as Henry’s maps predicted.
Narrow lines.
Then larger.
Then sheets.
Emily moved downhill.
Mud splashed her overalls.
Hair broke loose from the ponytail and stuck to her face.
Water rushed from neighboring ground.
Brown.
Carrying soil.
Ray appeared at the fence wearing a rain jacket.
“What are you doing?”
Emily shouted:
“Watching!”
“You can watch from somewhere not getting struck by lightning!”
She kept moving.