Because Hazel hadn't brought home three random pieces of junk.
She had brought home three machines that reminded Pearl of a conversation she'd had with her late husband almost thirty years earlier.
A conversation about how to preserve more food with less labor.
And how to keep the knowledge alive after the people who possessed it were gone.
Pearl looked toward the farmhouse.
Then toward the old chest freezer in the storage room.
For a moment, she seemed worried.
She whispered something Hazel couldn't hear.
Then continued walking.
And Hazel, busy examining the shellers, never noticed.
For the first week, Hazel didn't try to make the machines shell a single pea.
She cleaned away loose dirt, documented the damaged parts, and examined each sheller to understand what could be repaired and what needed replacing. She checked the frames for cracks, the rollers for wear, and the old drive components for signs of damage that could make them unsafe to operate.
The larger Brownie-pattern drum sheller was in the worst condition. Its cylindrical housing had rusted badly, the old feed opening was damaged, and one supporting bracket had cracked through a previous repair. Wy inspected it with Hazel and warned that the machine couldn't be tested in its present condition.
"That drum has enough weight to hurt somebody if something comes loose," he said.
Hazel nodded.
"I'm not starting it like this."
Wy examined the old belt.
Then looked toward her.
"Good. Because that thing's coming off before we do anything else."
They agreed that the machine would need a proper assessment and replacement parts before it could be used. For the moment, Hazel concentrated on the smaller wooden model, which appeared more manageable and had fewer severely damaged components.
Every evening after finishing the farm chores, she returned to the shed.
She sat beside the machine with a notebook, sketching the arrangement of its parts and recording which pieces moved freely and which didn't. Several bolts were seized. The wooden frame had warped, leaving the mechanism slightly out of alignment. A worn bearing caused the crank to bind at one point in its rotation.
The first time Hazel understood why it jammed, she smiled so broadly that Wy laughed.
"What?"
She pointed toward the machine.
"It's not completely broken."
He folded his arms.
"No?"
She shook her head.
"It's trying to turn. The frame won't let it."
Wy looked closer.
Then nodded slowly.
"Well, there's something worth thinking about."