"Can it be fixed?"
Owen considered the question.
"Probably. But we're not running it until it is."
She nodded.
For a moment, she felt defeated.
They'd spent weeks planning.
Spent money.
And worked through repairs that seemed endless.
Now the machine had failed during another test.
Pearl approached slowly.
She looked toward the drum.
Then toward Hazel.
"Well."
Hazel sighed.
"Grandma, please don't say that's more peas than yesterday."
Pearl laughed.
"I wasn't going to."
Hazel looked surprised.
Her grandmother smiled.
"I was going to ask whether the little sheller still works."
Hazel looked toward the wooden machine.
It sat on the next table.
Clean.
Repaired.
And ready for use.
She nodded.
"Yes."
Pearl gestured toward the baskets.
"Then we still have a way to get some work done."
Hazel stared.
For a moment, she felt tears gathering.
Then she smiled.
"You're right."
She moved toward the little wooden sheller.
Checked it.
And began turning the crank.
The mechanism ran smoothly.
Purple-hull pods passed through.
Shelled peas dropped into the metal basin.
On the opposite side of the table, Wy stood beside the silent drum, his hands resting on the crank handle.
For several seconds, he watched Hazel work.
Then he laughed softly.
"Three dollars."
Hazel looked up.
"What?"
He pointed toward the small machine.
"That little thing's the best bargain you've ever found."
Hazel grinned.
Then continued shelling.
But what she didn't know was that Rafe Slone had been watching from the gate.
He had come to ask whether the family could process a large batch of peas from his field.
Instead, he'd arrived just in time to see Hazel's little wooden sheller continue working while the much larger machine stood silent beside it.
For the first time since the estate sale, Rafe didn't laugh.
He watched the peas fall into the basin.
Then looked toward the wooden machine.
And wondered whether he had underestimated the young woman more seriously than he'd imagined.
Rafe didn't approach immediately.
He stood beside his pickup, watching the operation for nearly ten minutes before Hazel finally noticed him.
She stopped turning the crank.
"Morning, Rafe."
He removed his cap.
For a moment, he seemed uncomfortable.
Then nodded.
"Morning."
Hazel waited.
Rafe looked toward the small machine.
Then toward the larger drum.
"That big one's not working?"
"Needs another repair."
He nodded slowly.
Then pointed toward the wooden sheller.
"But that one is."
Hazel smiled.
"Yes."
Rafe approached the table.