“You know you’re ahead.”
“I know nothing.”
“You’re ahead.”
“Leave me alone.”
He laughed.
Field One finished.
Estimate exceeded the county average by twenty-two percent.
Della stared at the sheet.
“That’s wrong.”
Sam nodded.
“Probably.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Measurement error exists. Wait for gin weights.”
Della exhaled.
“I hate you.”
“Good.”
Field Two came heavier.
Then Field Three.
The control strip performed adequately.
The fish-irrigated area did far better.
By the third day, people stopped pretending.
Something extraordinary was happening.
The county’s previous top cotton yield for that season projection belonged to Rayburn Cole.
He watched Della’s numbers.
Then his own.
Then hers.
“Damn.”
Della looked at him.
“What?”
“You beat me.”
“Not final.”
“You beat me.”
“You sound happy.”
“I’m furious.”
He smiled.
“That’s different.”
Final certified gin reports took another week.
Della drove to the cooperative office herself.
Sam was there.
Naomi too.
County agricultural agent James Fowler sat behind the desk.
He held the report.
Della immediately disliked his expression.
“What?”
James looked at Sam.
Then Naomi.
Then back at Della.
“Your weighted average across harvested acres is two thousand one hundred eighty-three pounds of lint cotton per acre.”
Della stared.
“Say that again.”
James did.
Rayburn’s county-leading average was 1,921.
The county average was far lower.
Della sat.
Her mother covered her mouth.
Sam smiled.
“You beat the county.”
Della shook her head.
“No.”
James turned the report.
“Yes.”
Walter laughed from the doorway.
Nobody knew he had arrived.
“I told you fish belong on a dinner plate.”
Della stared at him.
Walter grinned.
“I was wrong.”
Everyone laughed.
Della did not.
She began crying.
Quietly.
Her mother hugged her.
For several minutes, the room became celebration.
Then Naomi remained strangely still.
Della noticed.
“What?”
Naomi held another folder.
“This is not the interesting report.”
The room quieted.
Della wiped her face.
“What do you mean?”
Naomi opened soil results.
“Remember February?”
“Yes.”
“Organic matter averaged one-point-three percent in your most depleted zones.”
Della nodded.
“That doesn’t change meaningfully in one season.”
“Usually not.”
Naomi pointed.
“Top layer now averages one-point-five to one-point-six depending on zone.”
Della stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Not impossible.”
“Fast.”
“Yes.”
Naomi continued.
“Aggregate stability is significantly improved.”
Sam leaned closer.
“Infiltration?”
“Up.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-four percent in the strongest zone.”
Della looked at her.
“Microbial respiration?”
Naomi smiled.
“More than doubled from February baseline in three test zones.”