She looked up.
"Morning."
Rafe pointed toward the rusted drum.
"Still trying to make that old thing work?"
Hazel nodded.
"Working on it."
Clay looked toward the small wooden sheller.
"That one's turning."
She smiled.
"Yes."
Ned leaned closer.
He watched the peas collect in the basin.
For several seconds, he seemed surprised.
Then Rafe laughed again.
"Don't tell me you're going to make your fortune shelling peas."
Hazel looked toward him.
"No."
He grinned.
"Good. Because there isn't a fortune in it."
Pearl stood.
She wiped her hands against her apron.
"Morning, gentlemen."
Rafe nodded.
"Pearl."
He gestured toward Hazel.
"Your granddaughter still playing with junk?"
Pearl's expression changed.
For a moment, Hazel feared her grandmother might say something sharp.
Instead, Pearl smiled calmly.
"Seems to be getting some work out of it."
Rafe looked toward the small machine.
Then shrugged.
"Any fool can shell a few pounds."
Hazel felt her face warm.
But Pearl remained composed.
She reached toward a tray.
Then placed several pounds of unprocessed purple-hull pods on the table.
She looked toward Rafe.
"Would you like to see how it works?"
He laughed.
"Sure."
Wy appeared from the workshop.
He leaned against the doorway, watching.
Hazel checked the small machine and began operating it.
The crank turned smoothly.
Peas dropped into the collection basin.
Empty hulls moved toward a separate tray, though a few still required manual removal.
Clay stepped closer.
Ned watched.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Rafe looked toward the old drum sheller.
"That big one ought to do twice the work."
Hazel nodded.
"If we can finish repairing it."
Rafe grinned.
"Let me try."
Wy stepped forward.
"Not that one. It isn't ready for use."
Rafe looked irritated.
"Afraid I'll break it?"
Wy shook his head.
"Afraid somebody will get hurt."
The answer was firm enough that Rafe stopped arguing.
Instead, he watched Hazel continue working.
The small machine remained steady.
The peas accumulated.
And Pearl began sorting the output.
Finally, Clay looked toward the basin.
"How much can it do?"
Hazel answered.
"Depends on the pods. Enough to save Grandma a lot of hand shelling."
Clay nodded slowly.
For a moment, he seemed impressed.
But Rafe wasn't ready to admit anything.
He looked toward the field.
Then laughed.
"Well, if you ever need to shell a mountain of peas, maybe you'll have something."
Hazel stopped turning the crank.
She looked at him.
Then smiled faintly.
"Maybe."