And a stand of scrubby willows near a drainage outlet.
The girl looked toward her grandfather's tractor.
"There's still a lower place for the water to go."
The foreman shook his head.
"Kid, even if there is, that doesn't mean you can haul this thing out with an antique tractor."
She looked at him calmly.
"I'm not going to haul it."
He stared.
"Then what exactly do you think you're going to do?"
The girl reached into her jacket.
She unfolded a weathered piece of paper protected inside a clear plastic sleeve.
It showed the farm before the modern drainage modifications.
The old lanes.
The field boundaries.
The creek.
And a narrow, handwritten blue line crossing the southern edge of the cornfield.
She placed one muddy finger against that line.
"I'm going to show you where the water used to leave."
The foreman looked at the map.
Then at the field.
For the first time all afternoon, his expression became thoughtful.
He took the paper.
Studied it.
Then called one of the recovery engineers over.
The engineer crouched beside him.
The girl explained the old drainage line, the lower outlet, and the shallow channel her grandfather had maintained before a new access road changed the way water collected.
The engineer looked toward the willows.
Then toward the combine.
He didn't dismiss her.
Instead, he asked a question.
"Where would you start?"
The girl pointed toward the higher, firmer strip beside the old fence.
"Not beside the combine. Over there."
He nodded slowly.
The foreman studied the slope.
Then looked toward the girl's tractor.
"And that old machine?"
She swallowed.
"Grandpa's narrow plow can open the little channel once you mark the safe route."
The engineer looked toward the other crews.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then the foreman looked back at the field.
The cranes hadn't failed because they were too weak.
They'd stopped because the ground conditions made lifting unsafe.
And if the girl was right, there might be a way to reduce the trapped water and allow the recovery team to work under better conditions.
It wouldn't happen instantly.
The soil would need time to drain.
The engineers would have to check the outlet and verify that any trench was safe.
But it was a possibility.
One they hadn't fully explored.
The foreman looked toward the girl.
"Where'd you learn this?"
She glanced at the faded tractor.
Then answered quietly.
"Grandpa taught me before he died."
The foreman nodded.
For the first time, his voice lost its mocking edge.
"Show us."
And when the engineers walked toward the southern boundary, what they discovered beneath the mud would change the entire meaning of the disaster.