Rafe shook his head.
The three men returned to their pickup.
As they drove away, Clay looked back toward the table.
He had seen the small machine working.
And the way Pearl's hands no longer had to perform every repetitive task.
He didn't say anything.
But he began wondering whether the three-dollar machines might have been worth more than they'd believed.
Hazel watched the truck disappear.
Then turned toward the small sheller.
Pearl smiled.
"Well?"
Hazel looked at her.
"What?"
Her grandmother gestured toward the peas.
"Don't let them distract you. We've got work."
Hazel laughed.
Then returned to the crank.
She didn't know that, within six weeks, the same three farmers would stand inside the farmhouse staring into Pearl's freezer.
And that the reason they'd come would have very little to do with machinery.
The trouble began with three days of heavy rain.
By the second week of August, the purple-hull peas in Pearl's garden were reaching maturity faster than Hazel could process them. The plants had produced well through the early summer, and a warm stretch of weather brought several rows into harvest at nearly the same time. Then a series of thunderstorms made picking difficult, leaving the fields muddy and delaying work just as more pods were ready.
Hazel stood beside the garden one humid morning, staring at the deep-purple hulls.
Pearl approached slowly.
"What's wrong?"
Hazel gestured toward the rows.
"Everything's ready at once."
Her grandmother nodded.
"That's usually how August works."
Hazel sighed.
"We can't get through all of them."
Pearl looked toward the packing shed.
Then toward the baskets.
For a moment, she seemed thoughtful.
"How much can the little sheller handle in a day?"
Hazel considered the question.
"Depends on how much time we have to pick, sort, and clean everything."
Pearl smiled.
"Well, we'd better find out."
They spent the morning harvesting.
Wy arrived shortly after lunch, carrying tools to continue work on the larger sheller, but Pearl asked him to help gather peas instead.
He laughed.
"Thought I was coming to work on machinery."
Pearl handed him a basket.
"You are. The machine's just growing in the field today."
Wy shook his head.
Then began picking.
By late afternoon, they'd collected far more pods than Hazel expected.
She carried them to the packing shed and began preparing suitable batches for shelling.
The small wooden machine ran steadily.
Its crank became familiar beneath her gloved hands.
Peas collected in the metal basin.