He sat upright.
The billhook tongue was not the problem.
The wiper arm clearance was.
He had copied the setting from one manual.
But baler four’s knotter assembly had been rebuilt using a slightly later replacement part.
Different clearance.
He ran to the barn wearing boots over pajama pants.
Sarah heard the door.
She came downstairs holding a robe closed.
“Caleb?”
“I figured it out.”
“It is four in the morning.”
“I know.”
“Nothing good is repaired at four in the morning.”
“I only need to check.”
“Caleb.”
He froze.
Sarah pointed upstairs.
“Clothes.”
He looked down.
Pajamas.
“Right.”
At sunrise he adjusted the wiper arm.
The next bale tied.
Both knots.
Caleb stared as the tight golden rectangle slid onto the ground.
He did not cheer immediately.
He walked around it.
Looked at the twine.
Pressed the bale with his boot.
Firm.
Square.
Clean.
Luke screamed loudly enough to frighten birds from the fence.
Sarah covered her mouth.
Caleb finally grinned.
One bale.
Then second.
Third.
Fourth.
Fifth.
All tied.
On bale six, one knot slipped.
Caleb stopped.
Adjusted.
Restarted.
Ten more.
Perfect.
Twenty.
Perfect.
The machine worked.
Four dead balers had become one.
Word spread before lunch.
Of course.
By two o’clock, trucks began appearing at the Turner farm.
Mr. Morrison came first.
Vernon Pike followed.
Leonard Shaw arrived with his son.
Several other farmers came because rural people are powerless against machinery that should not work but does.
Caleb had parked the rebuilt baler outside.
It was ugly.
Panels different shades of faded red.
One guard yellow from primer.
One wheel white.
The other red.
New bolts shone against old metal.
Nothing matched.
It looked like four machines had collided and somehow survived.
Mr. Morrison walked around it.
“This the thing?”
Caleb nodded.
“Runs?”
“Yes.”
“Bales?”
“Yes.”
Morrison crouched near the knotter.
Then saw Leonard Shaw’s dealership tag.
His expression changed.
“You found a rebuilt knotter?”
Caleb nodded.
“Fourth machine.”
Leonard laughed.
“Told you somebody worked on it.”
Morrison stood.
“What else?”
Caleb pointed.
“Your gearbox.”
Morrison stopped.
“My gearbox?”
“Main gears were good.”
Caleb walked around.
“Pike’s pickup.”
“Everett’s chamber.”
“Shaw’s knotter.”
He tapped the frame.
“Bits from all four.”
Silence.
Then Leonard Shaw smiled.
“So you were right.”