“What?”
Caleb pointed toward the rusted machine.
“I don’t think these four balers are dead.”
Leonard raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve only got one here.”
“I picked up three others today.”
“Good Lord.”
Caleb almost smiled.
“They’re dead separately.”
He looked again at the knotter.
“But I think there’s one complete machine hiding between all four.”
Leonard stared at him for several seconds.
Then slowly smiled.
“Well.”
“That sounds like something worth finding.”
By the time Caleb reached home, the light was fading.
His mother stood beside the barn.
Sarah Turner was forty-two and looked older during harvest season.
Three years earlier, Caleb’s father had died after a sudden heart attack while repairing fence along the north pasture.
Since then, Sarah managed eighty acres, eighteen cows, rented corn ground, a mortgage, and a son who periodically dragged machinery home because he believed rust was a challenge rather than a warning.
She stared at the trailer.
One machine would have concerned her.
Four produced silence.
Caleb climbed down.
“Before you say anything—”
“Where exactly do you plan to put those?”
“West bay.”
“The west bay contains the disc.”
“I can move it.”
“And the grain drill.”
“I can move that.”
“And approximately forty years of objects your father claimed might become useful someday.”
Caleb looked at the four balers.
His mother followed his gaze.
Then she closed her eyes.
“You inherited the worst possible thing from him.”
“What?”
“Confidence around junk.”
Caleb smiled.
“I think I can build one.”
She looked again.
“One what?”
“One working baler.”
“From those?”
“Yes.”
Sarah walked closer.
She examined the machines as though expecting one to apologize.
“How much did you spend?”
“Twenty-five dollars.”
“For all four?”
“Yes.”
“Fuel?”
“About nineteen.”
She nodded.
“Forty-four.”
“So far.”
Those words worried her.
“How much more?”
“I don’t know.”
“Caleb.”
“I’ll use what I have first.”
His mother stared at him.
Then toward the family baler sitting beneath another shed.
Their machine still worked.
Usually.
It was older than Caleb.
During second cutting, the knotter had begun missing occasionally.
A dealer repair would likely cost several hundred dollars.
They did not have several hundred dollars.
Sarah understood.
“You’re trying to make a backup.”
“Yes.”
“And maybe sell it.”
“If it works.”
She sighed.
“You have school next week.”
“I know.”
“You have chores.”
“I know.”
“You cannot let this machine turn into an excuse.”
“I won’t.”
His mother looked toward the barn.
“West bay.”
Caleb smiled.
“But if I find one mouse living in my grain sacks because you moved everything around…”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
She walked away.
Then called over her shoulder:
“Eat before you begin.”
Caleb waited until she disappeared inside.
Then looked at the four machines.
He could almost see it.
Not yet physically.
But in his head.
One baler.
Complete.
Working.
The first week went badly.