Careful.
Clean fields.
Straight fence posts.
Equipment washed before winter storage.
People knew that.
Tom knew where to hit.
Claire looked toward him.
“My father wrote the idea down.”
Tom’s face changed slightly.
“What?”
Claire regretted answering.
She did not owe him explanation.
Tom recovered quickly.
“Then cancer must have got to his head earlier than anybody knew.”
Silence.
Claire dropped the shovel.
Tom immediately looked uncertain.
The other men stopped smiling.
Claire walked toward him.
Not fast.
Not threatening.
That somehow made him more nervous.
She stopped three feet away.
“My father is dead.”
Tom swallowed.
“I know.”
“Then if you need somebody to laugh at, use me.”
Her voice remained level.
“But leave him out of it.”
Tom looked away.
“Fine.”
Claire picked up the shovel.
The men left.
She waited until their trucks disappeared.
Then walked behind the barn.
She cried for five minutes.
Afterward she washed her face.
Went back to work.
Nobody saw.
September approached.
The drought continued.
Hay prices became frightening.
Farmers who had mocked Claire started selling cows.
Auction barns filled.
Some older farmers said they had not seen conditions this bad since 1988.
One afternoon, Claire’s extension nutritionist brought a group of graduate students to the farm.
They weighed cattle.
Reviewed feed.
Took samples.
Claire expected modest results.
The nutritionist looked at his clipboard.
“This is holding.”
Claire folded her arms.
“How well?”
“Better than I thought.”
“That sounds flattering.”
“It is.”
He smiled.
“Your cost per pound of dry matter is interesting.”
“How interesting?”
“Interesting enough that other producers are going to ask.”
Claire looked toward the road.
Nobody passed.
“Let them.”
The first person to ask was not from the county.
His name was Daniel Mercer.
He raised two hundred cows fifty miles west.
His hay supplier canceled half his order.
Someone at the extension office mentioned Claire.
Daniel drove over.
He walked through the field.
Saw the ugly melons.
Did not laugh.
“Show me numbers.”
Claire liked him immediately.
She brought out records.
Feed analysis.
Ration calculations.
Cattle weights.
Costs.
Daniel studied everything.
“This isn’t straight melon.”
“No.”
“You mix.”
“Yes.”
“Transition slowly?”
“Yes.”