“What?”
“The buyers are coming.”
He stopped.
“The buyers?”
“Yes.”
“The ones from Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“For inspection?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
The Young Woman saw it.
Not anger exactly.
Something deeper.
She suddenly remembered.
Twenty years.
Twenty years of rejection letters.
He had chased those buyers since before she could drive.
She tried not to look pleased.
Failed.
The Old Farmer noticed.
“Don’t celebrate yet.”
“I know.”
“They inspect everybody.”
“I know.”
“They reject most farms.”
“I know.”
“Your bulbs might be too small.”
“I know.”
“Skin could stain.”
“I know.”
“Necks might not dry properly.”
“I know.”
“You saying ‘I know’ is irritating.”
She smiled.
“I know.”
He left.
Harvest morning arrived hot.
The Young Woman woke at four thirty.
She ate eggs.
Coffee.
No appetite.
At first light, she walked uphill.
The garlic rows stood pale green and gold.
She knelt at the first plant.
Loosened soil with a fork.
Lifted carefully.
The bulb emerged.
Purple-striped wrapper.
Large.
Firm.
Clean.
Five beautiful cloves visible through the outer shape.
She held it in both hands.
Then whispered:
“Well.”
One bulb.
Seven hundred fifty-five possibilities remaining.
She worked slowly.
Never pulling from the stalk alone.
Fork.
Loosen.
Lift.
Brush.
Crate.
By seven, two friends arrived.
Then her brother.
Then an older woman from the veterinary store.
They worked together.
The Old Farmer appeared at nine.
No invitation.
He stood near the fence.
The Young Woman waved.
He nodded.
After ten minutes, he walked downhill.
Returned with gloves.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Need something?”
He picked up a digging fork.
“You’re lifting too slow.”
“Go home.”
“You want these cured before Christmas?”
She pointed.
“Do not damage them.”
“I harvested onions before your parents met.”
“These are garlic.”
“Same dirt.”
“Wrong crop.”
He ignored her.
He worked.
Surprisingly carefully.
For three hours.
No jokes.
No criticism.
At noon, the Young Woman opened sandwiches.
He ate one.
Then asked:
“How many?”
Her brother checked tally.
“Four hundred eighteen.”
The Old Farmer nodded.
“Size looks good.”
The Young Woman stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”