Then she stepped between the production rows.
Dalton stopped.
The difference was immediate.
The leaves were broad.
Deep green.
Most were intact.
Pods hung beneath the foliage in dense clusters.
There was damage.
But nothing like the outer rows.
Earl bent down.
He turned over one leaf.
Then another.
Then another.
“Where are they?”
Emma stood beside him.
“Some are here.”
“I don't see many.”
“That’s the point.”
Dalton walked farther into the block.
He inspected the plants himself.
His expression lost some of its certainty.
“What did you put on these?”
“Same garlic-pepper spray.”
“How often?”
“Less than the outer rows.”
Dalton turned.
“Less?”
Emma nodded.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if the outer rows are doing what they're supposed to.”
Earl looked back toward the damaged section.
“What are they supposed to do?”
Emma pointed.
“Get eaten.”
Silence.
Dalton stared at her.
“Say that again.”
“I want the bugs there.”
“You want them in your field.”
“In those rows.”
Dalton laughed once.
But there was no humor in it now.
“Why would anybody intentionally grow beans for insects?”
Emma walked back toward the edge.
The men followed.
She stopped beside a wooden marker hidden beneath the foliage.
She pulled it from the soil.
TRAP ROW 1
Earl read it aloud.
Dalton looked at Emma.
“You planted them as bait.”
Emma nodded.
“Earlier than the main crop.”
“How much earlier?”
“Twelve days.”
“So they were established when the pests arrived.”
“Yes.”
Dalton looked down the line.
Six rows.
All showing heavier damage.
Beyond them, forty-eight production rows.
He slowly turned toward Emma.
“You knew they'd hit these first.”
“I hoped.”
“Hope isn't much of a plan.”
Emma opened her notebook.
“No.”
She turned it toward him.
“This is the plan.”
Dalton took the notebook.
Every page was dated.
Morning counts.
Evening observations.
Beetles per twenty plants.
Caterpillars per row.
Percentage of sampled leaves damaged.
Ladybug counts.
Sticky-card totals.
Notes about temperature, rain, and wind.
Earl leaned over Dalton's shoulder.
“You wrote all this?”
Emma nodded.
“Every day?”
“Almost.”
Dalton flipped farther.
There were graphs drawn by hand.
Some crude.
Some carefully measured with a ruler.
One line represented pest counts in the trap rows.
Another represented counts inside the production block.
The first climbed sharply.
The second stayed much lower.
Dalton's thumb stopped moving.
“What’s this?”
“Week Four.”
“The trap-row count doubled.”
“Yes.”
“And the main rows…”
“Barely changed.”
Earl looked up.
“So the pests concentrated outside.”
“Mostly.”
Dalton glanced at Emma.
“What happened Week Five?”
Emma pointed.
“Lady beetles increased.”
Another line.
“Then those little wasps.”
“Parasitoid wasps.”
“Whatever.”
Emma didn't correct him again.
Dalton looked toward the damaged plants.
“So they followed the pests.”
“Yes.”
Earl turned over a leaf.
A cluster of aphids crowded along one stem.