That meant the earlier work hadn't been wasted.
She looked toward Wy.
Then smiled.
"Well, now we know what to look at next."
He grinned.
"That's the spirit."
The next three days were difficult.
Hazel tested different batches of pods under controlled conditions, keeping the machine stopped whenever she needed to inspect or adjust anything. She discovered that some pods were too damp or too fibrous to feed consistently, while others passed through without releasing every pea. The machine also needed further refinement to separate the shelled peas from the empty hulls more effectively.
Pearl watched the experiments with growing interest.
She had spent decades shelling peas by hand.
She understood something Hazel was only beginning to learn.
Not every pod behaved the same way.
Some split easily.
Others were stubborn.
A few contained peas that weren't mature enough.
And pods left too long after harvest could become difficult to process without damaging the peas inside.
One evening, Pearl carried two baskets into the shed.
She placed them beside Hazel's workbench.
"Try these."
Hazel looked up.
"What's different?"
Pearl pointed toward the first basket.
"Picked this morning."
Then toward the second.
"Yesterday afternoon. Different part of the garden."
Hazel examined the pods.
The difference was subtle.
But it was there.
The fresher pods were more flexible.
The older ones had begun changing texture.
She looked toward her grandmother.
"You think that's why the machine keeps catching?"
Pearl shrugged.
"Could be part of it."
Hazel smiled.
Then began documenting the samples.
That evening, the small sheller processed its first successful batch.
Not perfectly.
A few pods needed additional handling.
Some peas had to be separated manually.
And the mechanism still required careful attention.
But it worked.
Hazel operated the crank while Pearl watched the peas collect in the tray.
At first, there were only a handful.
Then enough to cover the bottom.
Then a steady accumulation.
Hazel stopped.
She stared.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
Then she looked toward Pearl.
"Grandma."
Pearl stepped closer.
She examined the peas.
Then picked up several.
They were intact.
Clean.
And ready for the next stages of preparation.
Her eyes filled.
Hazel laughed.
"It worked."
Pearl nodded slowly.
"It did."
Hazel looked toward the machine.
Then toward her grandmother's hands.
For the first time, she imagined a summer when Pearl might not have to spend every evening shelling peas until her fingers ached.
The possibility was so simple.
And so enormous.