Caleb stared.
Then started counting bags.
“You got robbed.”
“I bought sixty.”
“You got robbed slowly.”
Emma smiled.
“Help me unload.”
“No.”
“Caleb.”
He sighed dramatically.
“Fine.”
Sarah came outside ten minutes later.
She stood on the porch.
Hands on hips.
Emma saw the expression and immediately knew her brother had been correct about at least one thing.
Her mother was not pleased.
“What is that?”
“Damaged feed.”
“I can see damaged.”
“Sixty sacks.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen dollars.”
Sarah blinked.
“All?”
“Yes.”
That softened her reaction.
A little.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Warehouse leak.”
Sarah walked toward the trailer.
She touched one bag.
Smelled another.
“Emma.”
“I’m not feeding it like this.”
“Good.”
“I’m sorting it.”
“How?”
Emma already had a plan.
That worried Sarah almost more.
Emma pointed toward the old machine shed.
“We clean the concrete floor.”
“Lay hardware cloth on raised pallets.”
“Open every bag.”
“Discard anything moldy.”
“Spread the dry-looking grain shallow.”
“Run fans.”
“Check moisture twice a day.”
“Then bag the safe stuff separately.”
Sarah listened.
“You looked this up?”
“Some.”
“When?”
“At school.”
“During class?”
“Study hall.”
Sarah sighed.
“Did you ask anyone?”
“Mr. Henson.”
The agriculture teacher.
Sarah looked relieved.
“What did he say?”
“Don’t feed visibly moldy grain.”
“Good.”
“Check moisture.”
“Good.”
“Watch smell, heat, clumping.”
“Good.”
“And send samples if we plan to feed significant amounts.”
Sarah nodded.
“Then we send samples.”
Emma smiled.
“I knew you'd say that.”
“You are sixteen.”
“I know.”
“I’m still your mother.”
“I know.”
“And if one cow gets sick because you wanted to prove something to Earl Mercer—”
“This isn't about Earl.”
Sarah looked at her.
Emma looked back.
Then admitted:
“Mostly.”
Her mother almost smiled.
“Unload the truck.”
They worked until after dark.
By ten, every sack was stacked beneath the machine shed roof.
Emma wrote numbers on them.
1 through 31.
The rest would come tomorrow.
Each bag became a small investigation.
Sack 1: outer layer wet, interior mostly dry.
Sack 2: sour smell, significant discoloration.
Discard.
Sack 3: water damage one corner.
Sack 4: dry.
Sack 5: mold.
Discard.
By midnight Emma had opened six.
She recorded weights in a notebook.
Estimated salvage percentage.
Not because anyone told her.
Because her father had done similar things.
Every winter, he kept feed records.