Why’d he have to go and say that? The last thing these men wanted was to be compared unfavorably to a bunch of Yankee farmers.
Adam grabbed the side of the wagon and, with one foot bouncing off a spoke, vaulted up next to Dr. Paulson. He had to intervene.
“Howdy, folks. I’m right pleased to see you again. I’m Adam Fisher, if some of you don’t remember me. My folks and I were only privileged to live here in Oak Springs for a year, but it’s one of my favorite places on earth. Now, Dr. Paulson, he’s very generous with his praise, but instead of believing him—who’s a stranger to y’all and hasn’t proved his worth—how about we fire this thing up so you can see for yourselves what it can do?”
Heads were nodding. Postures relaxing. While Adam recognized Dr. Paulson’s genius, he wasn’t surprised that it often went unappreciated.
“Now, what I have here is a machine that will cut your threshing time to a quarter of what it was. You know how you have to beat those stalks, or walk your cattle over them back and forth? And then you have to wait for a fine, windy day to toss your grain up in the air and hope the husks blow off? It’s hard work, and it takes time. You could be using that time to finish the rest of your field, or to plow up more ground if you had a mind to. This machine cuts out all that middle mess. All you have to do is toss the wheat into this chute here, and then the belts, the fans, and the beaters will do the separating. But don’t take my word for it. Let me show you.”
Wiping the sweat from his hands against his britches, he walked a circle around the treadmill and checked the horses’ harnesses again. With a prod from his whip, the big bay stepped forward, dragging the others along. Adam moved back to follow the workings of the gears and the pole above his head that meant the thresher’s mechanics were engaged. The creaking sound behind him told him that the thresher was starting to move. All the gears were engaging correctly.
“Ain’t you forgetting something?” Mr. Clovis laughed. “Or does this machine of yours make grain without any stalks put in it?”
He’d forgotten about Mr. Clovis, a farmer and beekeeper. His honey was sweet, but his temperament was not.
“In good time,” Adam said. “I’m making sure the setup is right.”
“I could’ve had three bushels of wheat winnowed by now,” Mr. Eden chimed in. “And that’s without the help of four draft horses.”
“He was up here for pert near an hour getting this rig set up,” Mr. Clovis volunteered. “With that kind of a head start—”
“I’m ready to begin.” A group of farmers with fields nearly ready to harvest weren’t as patient as agricultural students wasting class time. Adam lowered the tailgate of Mr. Granger’s wagon and pulled the bound sheaves toward him. With his knife, he cut the bonds and loosened the stalks. Thankfully, Mr. Granger had brought a pitchfork as he’d requested. But by the time he’d gotten the sheaves freed, the horses had stopped, and the threshing machine’s whirling ceased.
“That wasn’t as good as the juggler,” Mr. Eden said. “He stood on his head.”
“Give the lad a chance,” Dr. Paulson said. “You might learn something.”
Adam was too busy to answer. When he raised his head, his eyes lit on Mr. Granger. “Mr. Granger, could I talk you into prodding these horses for me? Not too fast, just keep them going steady.”
Granger readjusted his hat and tugged on the gelding’s bridle. The threshing machine whirled back to life.
Adam couldn’t help but look for signs that his audience was interested. They were, but maybe more interested in watching it fail.
Then they would be disappointed.
Standing at the back of the wagon, Adam took the pitchfork and tossed the first load of wheat into the hopper. To the new listener, the sound of the fans wouldn’t be discernible from the sound of the beaters, but to Adam, it was as sweet as a whippoorwill’s song. He pitched another bundle in, then another. The beaters were doing their work, but the evidence was hidden until . . . there! Straw was spitting out of the vent. Golden straw with no heads of grain. Mr. Garner lifted an eyebrow. Adam smiled. He’d impressed at least one, and there was even more to come.
The fan whistled inside the machine, and even though the work was hidden from their eyes, Adam knew the forced air was blowing across the grain and separating the kernel from the husk around it. And in just a moment . . .
The first clean grain dropped from the cleansing sieve. Like quickening raindrops, the kernels bounced faster and faster against the ground. Mr. Clovis swept off his hat and held it beneath the spout, catching the precious grain. “Whoo-ee, look at that. And all he had to do was toss the stalks in.”
“After spending an hour or so setting up the machine, and then it takes four strong horses and two men to keep it going.” Mr. Eden wasn’t going to admit defeat.
Adam pitched in the last of the wheat from the wagon. “But once it gets going, the man-hours are just a fraction—”
Uh-oh. What was that noise? Something inside the thresher had broken loose and was spinning free. The wheat had stopped feeding in, so it was probably the rasp-bar cylinder. Mr. Granger stopped the horses, and Adam waited until all the parts were still before peering down the chute.
“What’s the matter?” said Mr. Clovis. “Did it break?”
Adam could see a string from the sheaves wrapped around the shaft. He should have been more careful. “Just a quick repair and then it’d be going again, but I think you all understand the process. How’s that grain look, Mr. Granger?”
Mr. Granger plunged his hand into Clovis’s hat and let his fingers trail through the kernels of wheat. “Amazing. That’s really something!”
“Yes, it is,” Dr. Paulson jumped in. There was a smidgen of respect in their eyes that hadn’t been there before. “And while we wait for your fields to completely ripen, I’m here to do some research and finds ways that we might be able to improve agriculture in your area.”
“Research what?” Mr. Eden stroked his glossy beard.
“I’ll take soil samples from different areas for tests. It might be that we can find crops that are more suited to your land than what you’re planting now. Also, I’ll offer lectures on the latest farming techniques. The threshing machine is just one advancement that’s been discovered recently. From looking at your primitive equipment, I’d say there are a lot of things you could learn from me.”
Adam was proud of his association with Dr. Paulson. He was. But sometimes the professor didn’t read a crowd as well as he read those scientific charts.
“Not meaning to be snide, sir,” said young Calvert Ansel, who’d graduated the year after Adam, “but what makes you an expert on farming? You ain’t a farmer. You’re a teacher.”
Dr. Paulson took the question with a grace that caught Adam off guard. “Excellent observation, young man. I’ve studied the subject and had educational opportunities that your local school can’t provide. I was taught by the most highly regarded professors in my field. And what qualifications does your schoolmaster have here in Oak Springs?”
Adam instantly remembered old Miss Hoyt. For all intents and purposes, she’d retired about a decade before she’d stopped holding classes. Someone should have replaced her years ago. Was she still teaching?
“No qualifications that I know of,” said Mr. Clovis. “Did she even take her teacher’s exam?” He looked to Mr. Eden.
Mr. Eden’s face grew hard. “I challenge this machine to a contest,” he said in his quiet way. “Give me time for my crops to ripen, and then I wager that me and my crew can winnow a wagonload of wheat faster than this machine can.”
Adam was stunned. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He knew his thresher could beat a crew of men, but would beating a respected man like Mr. Eden help his cause, or would he be resented even further? And what would Bella think?
“I have an excellent idea,” Dr. Paulson said. “I don’t want to take advantage of your unfamiliarity with the process. We know that the machine will win,
but we don’t want you to pay the price. So I’ll stand in the place of losing on both sides. Consider these terms—if Mr. Eden wins, then Adam and I will leave Oak Springs and never return. We’ll never trouble you again. On the other hand, if Adam and his machine win, then the first obligation is that you gentlemen must guarantee Adam Fisher five hundred acres of crops to harvest. You’ll be charged his customary rate of five percent of the product, which you will find is very reasonable. I don’t doubt that you’ll be soliciting him to do even more.”
Dr. Paulson straightened for his next pronouncement, his suit coat stretching over his thin chest. “In addition to that, if we prevail, you’ll allow me to send one of my teaching students from the college to teach at your school. I’ll bear the expense for the first year, but I think you’ll find the benefits of an educated teacher worth your future investment. That will be the obligation, unless you can provide a teacher with superior credentials.”
Adam rocked on his heels. Everyone had to realize what a bargain that was. Even if they lost the contest, the town was going to gain from it.
But of everyone, Mr. Eden seemed the least pleased.
“I don’t aim to lose,” he said. “And while we have nary agin you coming back into town if you lose, if those are the terms you set, then I’m willing to abide them.”
“Are you sure, Ben?” Mr. Granger looked unduly concerned. “You don’t have to accept their terms.”
Why would Mr. Eden worry about old Miss Hoyt? Surely he knew that his own daughter had a hard time passing her tests in school and that Miss Hoyt did nothing to help her.
Before Adam could puzzle it out, Ben Eden turned and stomped toward his farm. Just as well. Adam had a crowd of men gathering around the thresher, inspecting and exclaiming over the golden wheat in Mr. Granger’s hat.
It had been a successful day after all.
five
All y’all who’ve finished your compositions may go. I’ll stay put a mite longer if anyone has questions.” Bella balanced her chalk on top of the blackboard and dusted off her hands. She didn’t have the experience Miss Hoyt had possessed, but she worked hard to make sure her students understood their lessons. And if it was something that neither of them could figure out, she wasn’t above recruiting a parent to explain it differently. If someone wanted to learn, there was always a way.
In a stampede of leather-soled boots and bare feet, the classroom emptied, leaving only a few students still toiling over their composition books.
Max Bresden raised his hand over his head, his forearm stretching past his too-short sleeve. “Miss Eden, may I make use of the dictionary?”
The boy was set to graduate this year. He was her brightest student, and she’d be sorry to see him go, but she had no doubt that he’d be successful in passing his entrance exams for college. Unlike his teacher, Max excelled when tested.
“Certainly, Max. Although I can’t imagine what word you might need help with.”
He pried himself out from between the little desk and chair. “I probably got it right, but it looked funny when I saw it written on the page.”
A common enough occurrence. As Bella walked by Freda Longstreet, Freda covered the last page of her booklet with her hand. She still had a year before she would be finished with her schooling. By the time she was seventeen, she’d be doing work near or at Max’s level. What did she not want Bella to see? Bella nudged the girl’s arm over to find that the booklet was already full. She furrowed her forehead at Freda. If Freda was finished with her composition, why was she staying after class? Freda only shrugged in answer.
At first, Bella thought the shadow passing in front of the door was Max returning to his seat, but Max was already back at work, and it was school board member Hollis Woodward coming through the door.
“Miss Eden, I’ve got a question for you.”
That was just like Mr. Woodward. He hadn’t wasted any time making a name for himself in Oak Springs, and he wasted no time in conversation either.
“Mr. Woodward, how can I help you?”
“Have you passed your teaching exam?”
Bella’s throat tightened. Max and Freda looked up from their work. “Why would you ask me that?” she choked out.
“There’s been some discussion today that perhaps our community needs a better qualified teacher.” He held up a hand. “Not that I’m questioning your ability, but I wanted to make sure that you have the credentials to answer the naysayers.”
Credentials? She’d never needed credentials before. “The town begged me to replace Miss Hoyt. No one else wanted the job.”
“That’s not the answer I was looking for.” He smiled kindly. “I don’t mean to meddle, but if you have a chance, you might go ahead and take that exam before anyone finds out.”
Max’s desk creaked as he turned to watch Mr. Woodward depart. Bella was shaken. Why should she feel ashamed? She hadn’t tried to hide her lack of a certificate from anyone. She’d never planned to be a teacher. It was only after her dreams of being a seamstress were destroyed that she considered the job. And she’d definitely never planned to take the exam. Exams terrified her. No matter how well she knew her subject, her mind was wiped as clean as her blackboard when it came time for the test.
Mr. Woodward had already left the schoolyard before she could thank him for the warning.
What had brought about this concern? Was it because they’d reached the end of the school year? Were they looking at engaging a new schoolteacher for next year? Had she not done enough?
Max closed his composition notebook. Seeing him stand, Freda set hers aside also.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Max handed Bella the notebook. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t quite have the courage.
Bella snapped the booklet out of his hand. She’d always thought he was sweet on her. Their ages weren’t too dissimilar, but as his teacher, the most responsible thing to do was pair him up with Freda. “Thank you, Max. See you tomorrow.” To Freda, she said, “And you’re finished too? Maybe Max can walk you home.”
Freda tossed her booklet on Bella’s desk with a delight that proved her reason for staying late as she hurried to join Max.
At least Bella had ended the school day with a charitable deed, even if Mr. Woodward’s visit had been unsettling. Part of her wanted to stay in town and see what Mr. Woodward had been talking about, but she was afraid. What if they insisted on her taking the exam? She would fail. Maybe the best course was to go home and ask her pa about it. Maybe he’d know something.
Bella had no more than stepped out of the schoolyard when Mrs. Clovis flagged her down by waving a pillowcase above her head. “Bella! Bella, dear, have you heard the news?” If anyone knew the town gossip, it would be Mrs. Clovis.
“I was hoping to see you.” Bella stuffed the exam booklets into her satchel and reached for the pillowcase. Without asking, she flipped it to the opening and ran her fingers along the edge. Mrs. Clovis couldn’t see well enough to do her own mending. Bella was grateful for the little jobs she offered.
“Lace here, I suppose,” Bella said.
“The same lace as the others. I left a pillowcase under the iron and burned it, so I need a replacement.”
“That should be easy enough.” Then Bella added before she lost the nerve, “Have you heard anything about me taking a teaching exam?”
Mrs. Clovis nodded. “There’s a wager going between the harvester and your pa. If your pa loses, we’ll get a new teacher.”
“What?” Bella’s head popped up. “What does Pa have to do with it?”
“They made a wager over who could thresh the crops faster. If your father wins, then that Adam Fisher will never come back to the area. If Adam wins, then he’ll provide us with a new teacher. You won’t have the job anymore.”
Bella couldn’t breathe. Why would he do that? What did Adam have against her? She cradled her wrist as if she’d just felt it crushed again. First he’d ruined her dreams of being
a seamstress, and now he was trying to get her dismissed as the teacher. Unbelievable.
“And here he comes,” said Mrs. Clovis. “Doesn’t he look proud of himself?”
Bella had nothing to say to Adam. With her head down, she bundled the pillowcase beneath her arm and hurried toward home.
Was that Bella in the schoolyard, talking to Mrs. Clovis? Adam’s chest puffed out. No doubt she was hearing how miraculous his contraption was. No doubt she was awonder at his amazing machine. But as he approached the two ladies, he could tell something was wrong. Was Bella concerned about the wager with her father? Sure, Mr. Eden stood to have his pride hurt, but nothing beyond that. Dr. Paulson was so generous that the townspeople would gain even if they lost the contest.
As he drew near, Bella put her head down and angled away. She swung a wide arc around him before taking to the road that led back to her farm. He slid his hands into his pockets as he watched her walk past. He’d been looking forward to speaking to her again, but it was Mrs. Clovis who felt friendly.
“I didn’t think it would bother her, this wager between you and her pa, but she lit out like her house was on fire when she saw you coming.” Mrs. Clovis blinked her watery eyes. “I wonder what’s amiss. I thought she’d be happy that we might get another teacher.”
He looked at the empty schoolhouse, its door shut tight. What was wrong? Old Miss Hoyt would probably rejoice if they found a replacement for her.
“I don’t understand,” he said, but there was a better way to find out. Go to the source—especially if the source was Bella. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He tipped his hat to Mrs. Clovis, then took out up the road. Bella might not be tickled to talk to him again, but in a town the size of Oak Springs, they could hardly avoid each other.
Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts Page 3