“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I believed it.”
Silas looked directly at her.
“I wasn't trying to hurt him.”
Clara knew.
That almost made it worse.
“If he'd continued…”
“You don't know what would've happened.”
“No.”
Silas tapped the notebook.
“Neither do you.”
Clara looked away.
He was right.
Romanticizing an abandoned experiment would be as foolish as dismissing it.
Silas pushed the notebook back.
“I was wrong about one thing.”
“Only one?”
He ignored that.
“I thought your father stopped because it didn't work.”
“He never told me otherwise.”
“He was embarrassed.”
“By what?”
“Trying something everybody laughed at.”
Clara stared.
Silas stood.
“Don't make too much out of that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he was proud.”
“Too proud sometimes.”
“Like you.”
He put on his hat.
Clara followed him to the door.
Before leaving, Silas said:
“Don't tell people I asked for help.”
Clara folded her arms.
“You know the whole county will eventually notice your field if you change.”
“Let them notice after.”
She smiled.
“Fine.”
Silas stepped outside.
Then stopped.
“And Clara?”
“Yes?”
“Don't give Harold those water numbers before I talk to him.”
She laughed.
“Get off my porch.”
The next week, three more farmers visited.
Then five.
Word moved through agricultural communities faster than weather alerts.
Someone had seen Silas on Clara’s property.
Someone else had measured her crop canopy.
A crop consultant drove past twice in one afternoon.
Drivers slowed on County Road 214.
Clara began finding footprints near her field edge.
One morning, an older farmer named Wesley Dunn stood at her gate holding a shovel.
“Can I dig?”
Clara stared.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Morning.”
“Can I?”
She opened the gate.
Wesley dug.
Squeezed soil.
Asked questions.
Then said:
“My field's dead.”
Clara looked toward him.
“Not dead.”
“Looks dead.”
“So did mine.”
“Can you come look?”
She hesitated.
Her own work already consumed fourteen hours daily.
Wesley noticed.
“I’ll pay.”
“No.”
“You should.”
“Maybe later.”
She followed him.
His soil was worse than hers had been.
Surface sealing.
Compaction.
Bare ground.
Residue almost nonexistent.
Clara dug four holes.
“Don't copy me exactly.”
Wesley frowned.
“Why not?”
“Different field.”
“Different history.”
“What do I do?”
“Test first.”
“Organic matter.”
“Salinity.”
“Nutrients.”
“Infiltration.”
“Then decide.”
He looked disappointed.
He wanted recipe.
People always wanted recipe.
One truck of hulls.
Two loads compost.
Plant this.