The Kissing Tree Page 7

  Hooking his team to the machine to pull it up the hill gave Adam time for his fears to grow. What was Bella thinking as she prepared for her father to stand against him? What was the attitude around her kitchen table this morning? But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t jeopardize his future success for her father’s pride.

  The men standing in the dim morning light had a lot to say about his getup, even though they offered no help getting his team harnessed. Those who’d seen it at work gave off an air of superiority as they described how the different gears worked. It would seem that he already had some believers here, but if he lost, they might be content to work their fields themselves.

  The trip to Eden’s farm was a parade. The womenfolk had had time to put away their breakfast dishes and had joined with their kids, who were boasting, speculating, and doubting with every breath.

  Adam looked at Dr. Paulson, who gave him a tight nod.

  “No fears, my boy. You know what this machine can do. Before dinnertime, this sleepy town will be thrust into the future. New machinery, a new teacher, and a new appreciation for progress. They will sing your praises for years.”

  He didn’t want his praises sung. He wanted the money to pay for his thresher, and he wanted Bella to keep her job.

  He’d thought that everyone in town was walking with him, but when he reached Eden’s farm, he realized that wasn’t the case. Just as many people were waiting at the edge of Eden’s pasture. Two wagons sat side by side with enough wheat that it could be seen over the edges. With shirtsleeves rolled up to their elbows, two men Adam hadn’t seen before stood nearby, looking buoyant and well rested. What had he expected? That Mr. Eden would enlist an elderly couple for the contest?

  Adam set the brake and hopped off his threshing machine. He doffed his hat and stepped forward to shake hands with the two men, but his eyes were searching for Bella. She would be here, wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t she want to see his victory?

  Perhaps not. Not when she had her exam later. Not at the expense of her father. Or had Mr. Eden forbidden her from being here at all?

  “Step back, step back.” Dr. Paulson lifted his hands toward the crowd and tried to make space. “Adam needs some room to set up his equipment.”

  Adam went to the harness of his team. Unhooking them from the front of the machinery and re-­harnessing them to the treadmill was the most time-­consuming aspect of the process, but once everything was in place, they would rip through that wagon of wheat in a matter of minutes.

  “Hold on there.” The crowd parted as Mr. Eden stepped through. His worn cotton shirt was freshly laundered and his boots cleaned, but his hat was for work, make no mistake. “Since this contest is to determine which is faster, manpower or machine, we’re not giving you a head start. You can’t set up the machine until the contest begins.”

  Adam’s eyes widened. “That’s not a contest of the machine. It’d be a contest of how fast I can harness my team. That’s not what we’re disputing.”

  Mr. Eden shrugged. “If you have to set this machine up with every usage, the farmers need to figure in that time. Else they’re waiting around for you to get ready instead of working.”

  Adam looked from the wagons full of wheat to the two men who would be working against him. It still was impossible for Mr. Eden to beat him. Threshing and winnowing wheat was backbreaking, hot, and dirty business. Once he got his horses harnessed, he’d be running through that wagon like wildfire, but it made the contest a little closer.

  His nearest horse’s ears perked. It stepped sideways, and he saw that Bella had come and was standing next to her mother in a perfectly fitted traveling suit. Today was the day of her exam. He should be done before she had to catch the stagecoach to Anderson. He’d talk to her then. It could be his last chance.

  But Adam was going to win. He had to win for his future and hers. It looked like they were both going to be tested today.

  He telegraphed her all the love he could across a field full of haymakers. Although troubled, she held his gaze bravely. Like him, unsure of the outcome of the day’s events but determined to face them squarely.

  “Let’s get started, then,” he said. “But at least clear a place before the clock starts ticking.”

  Mr. Eden had picked a good spot. The wind was brisk here, and stronger in the morning than it would be at noon. Adam positioned the treadmill, the sweeps, and the gearbox in a place where they wouldn’t be obstructed, then directed his team that way. Eyeballing it one last time, he set the brake and climbed down. Dr. Paulson had already agreed to prod the team on the treadmill, but besides that, Adam was on his own. This was it.

  Mr. Eden’s helpers had pulled a large canvas forward into the field, and someone had handed them threshing flails. Adam’s fear vanished. If he didn’t believe in his machine, he wouldn’t have signed the note to buy it. He would win. He only hoped Mr. Eden wouldn’t hold a grudge in defeat.

  Everyone was looking at one another, not sure what to do, but when there was a lack of leadership, Mr. Woodward naturally stepped forward. Holding his hand above his head, he waited until the crowd had stilled and then dropped his arm.

  Adam sprang into action. Dr. Paulson had never assisted with the teams before, but he was doing what he could to free their harnesses while Adam hooked up the sweeps and gears that would power the big machine. Mr. Eden and his team lost no time in tossing the first sheaves onto the canvas and beating or threshing them with the hinged sticks.

  Adam should have insisted on a larger sample for the contest. He should have thought to ask whether he’d be able to prepare his machinery, because those three men were beating at the crops with everything they were worth. Knowing that their labor would be over within an hour, they were holding nothing back.

  Already Adam could see them gathering the beaten stalks and tossing them aside to make room for more sheaves from the wagon. The wheat was left on the canvas, but it wouldn’t be for long.

  Taking a rag from his back pocket, Adam wiped the grease from his hands as he turned toward the horses. Dr. Paulson had managed to get two unharnessed from the threshing machine, so Adam took them and started hooking them into their places on the treadmill.

  From where he was working, he couldn’t see the harvesters, but the crowd’s excitement told him everything. They were making progress. So much progress that no one thought that he could catch up. But Adam knew better. Still, the bigger the win, the more impressed they’d be, and potentially the more who would become his customers.

  The last horse was in place, and Eden’s team was slowing on their threshing. A few more thwacks with their flails, and they must have felt that they’d gotten a respectable amount of grain off the stalks.

  Adam climbed into the back of his full wagon. “Get ’em going,” he called to Dr. Paulson. The professor didn’t need the prod, because the horses knew their task and started around.

  The machine began to whirl. Adam slashed the ties on the sheaves with his knife, then took up the pitchfork and tossed the first bunch into the feeder.

  “Too late to start now,” said Mr. Gleason. “They’re all but done.”

  But they hadn’t winnowed the chaff from the wheat. They had to remove the beaten stalks from atop the grain before they could begin tossing it in the air. Adam pitched in another load. All eyes were glued to the chute, but nothing was coming out, just noise. He lifted another load and threw it. Pieces of golden straw sputtered out the side. There was a murmur of appreciation as a yellow cloud of blown straw formed, but the opinion still favored the manual farmers.

  They might be worried, but Adam wasn’t. His worries vanished as he watched Eden’s team toss the grain in the air. The wind caught the chaff, blowing it away, but they had a lot of work before everything was separated. All Adam had to do was finish shoveling in the wheat. The whirling machine would do the rest.

  Already a mound of clean straw was forming at the mouth of the chute. In another few seconds . . . there. The sweet patter
of clean grains of wheat hitting the bottom of the bucket could be heard above the whirling of the fan that was blowing the husks away.

  “Look here.” It was Bella’s student—­the one who thought she walked on water—­pointing at the spout. “The grain is already cleaned.”

  Like a herd of hungry pigs gathering around a trough, the crowd pulled tight around the bucket. Adam lifted the last of the wheat and dropped it on the feeder. His work was done. All that was left was to watch the threshing machine do its job. That and celebrate with Bella.

  She was supposed to be pleased that he’d succeeded. She was supposed to be proud of him and his work. What was the worry on her face? It was about her test, wasn’t it? But when he looked again, he realized that wasn’t what was worrying her.

  She was hugging her arms tightly to her side, and her mouth was twisted and her neck tense, but this was more than worry for her job. She was watching her father.

  Red-­faced and sweating, Mr. Eden was shoveling furiously, throwing grain up before bending over to get another heavy shovelful. The breeze had died down, meaning that less chaff was separating with each toss, but he wasn’t giving up. Even though defeat was unavoidable, he fought on like his honor depended on it.

  And maybe it did.

  Adam spared a thought for the older man—a man who was the best farmer in the area, respected for his knowledge and venerated for his wisdom. And here Adam came, a cocky upstart who told him that he was wrong. Who said he could beat him at his own livelihood on his own property, and then went about proving it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Adam wanted to take his daughter too. Mr. Eden had a lot to lose.

  The sun glinted off Adam’s beautiful machine as it continued effortlessly. What would happen if he walked away? What if he didn’t make his payment and lost the machine? He was young. He could start again. But if he lost and couldn’t come back to Oak Springs? Would they really enforce the rule? Would Bella leave with him? One look at her face, and Adam realized that her first priority was taking care of her family. She couldn’t think past that.

  He scraped his pitchfork into the corners of the wagon and caught the tangles of twine that had bound the sheaves. With everyone wondering at the falling kernels, no one was paying attention to him. No one but Bella.

  It had been enough last time. Would it work again? He gave her a searing look, poured his heart out with no words, and prayed that she understood, because it just might be the last time he got to speak to her if she didn’t. When she saw the pitchfork full of twine, she shook her head. But it was too late. He tossed it into the feeder before anyone else noticed.

  The smooth whirling noise clacked. Adam winced at the sound of the gears dragging. It was the sound of his future being sacrificed for the love of Bella. His stomach turned as the gears jammed. He waved to Dr. Paulson to stop the horses. There was no sense in forcing the machine any further. With the twine jamming the feeder, it would do no good.

  The pride he’d wanted to see on Bella’s face was there now, shining true and strong. Through tears she beamed, but he knew those tears were for the future they might have had together. Now, to choose him would mean leaving behind her family and her school and never returning. It would mean trusting a penniless man with no income to provide for her. It was too high a price.

  “Look at that. The threshing machine can’t get the job done after all.”

  “Never trust newfangled machines. They aren’t reliable.”

  “Eden showed that professor a thing or two. We in Grimes County know farming. We don’t need them to come in and tell us.”

  In the absence of the thresher’s noise, the swish of the shovels against the canvas and the raining grain of Mr. Eden’s team could be heard more clearly. Mr. Eden straightened. His field hands paused to see what he was doing.

  His sweat-­covered face wrinkled in confusion. “Are you finished already?” He leaned against his shovel, letting it support his weight as he caught his breath.

  Adam swallowed to keep his composure. “It looks like some twine got caught in the machine. Gummed it up.”

  The shorter of Eden’s field hands nudged the other. Seeing the miracle they needed, they scooped up more shovelfuls of grain and tossed them in the wind.

  Mr. Eden hesitated, then turned to Adam. With a disapproving snarl, he handed his shovel to Bella. “Help them out, would you? This contest has to be decided one way or the other.” Then he pushed up his sleeves, climbed on the side of the machine, and reached deep into the feeder, grabbing one end of the cord.

  What could Adam do besides help? Rocking the belt of the feeder forward and back, he managed to free a strand. Mr. Eden pulled out the knotted rope and triumphantly threw it on the ground. With another turn of the gear, Adam could reach the last bundle he’d tossed in and extract it from the belt.

  “Is that all of it?” Mr. Eden asked. “If you’re set to rights, then I’m going to spell my daughter. I don’t think her heart’s in it.” He lowered his voice. “And after seeing what you’re about, maybe I’m not set on a victory either.”

  Bella let the heavy shovel rest against the ground. Looking down, she dropped it a little farther to her left, blocking the field hand from his next scoop.

  “You’d better get this thing going again,” said Mr. Eden. “She can’t delay them for long.”

  He was letting Adam win? After Adam had tried to let him win? Adam yelped to Dr. Paulson, “Get those horses moving!”

  The belt started to turn. All that was left was a few cranks. A few more kernels sputtered out of the chute, and the job was completed. Both teams had to stop.

  Mr. Eden tossed a last scoop into the air, then stepped back. It didn’t take long for the crowd to make the determination on Eden’s crop. While he and his helpers had worked valiantly, the grain would profit from some more work before it was truly separated enough for the mill.

  On the other hand, the bucket of Adam’s wheat was as clean as any ever produced by their toil. And despite the delays in setting up the machinery and the mechanical trouble, there was no question of him acquiring customers from the crowd that day. He had prevailed, but more important than the contest, he’d won Mr. Eden’s respect.

  As the farmers crowded around, now comfortable inspecting the rig for themselves, Mr. Eden offered his hand.

  “I know what you were up to,” he said. “You didn’t think Bella could pass that teacher’s exam. You’d rather get beat in a contest than have her lose her job, but I’ve got news for you. Bella will pass that test and be teaching here next year, no matter what that professor of yours says.”

  Adam was taken aback. Mr. Eden thought he’d thrown the contest for Bella’s job? But, of course, his pride wouldn’t let him imagine that Adam had done it for him. Adam would never tell.

  “My stars, Ben Eden,” said Mrs. Clovis. “I can’t believe the show you put on. It was a close contest. I don’t know how you kept it so close. Well done.”

  “I already have one field drying,” said Mr. Granger. “By the time you get out to work on it, I should have the rest of the wheat knocked down. Put me on your list.”

  “Don’t forget me.” Mr. Clovis pushed to the front. “What do you charge? Five percent of the yield? I’ll save that in waste alone. I’m getting in the field today to get started, so bring your rig to the farm early next week. I’ll pay you some up front to secure my spot.”

  Adam nodded and shook hands, but the whole time he was searching past the men for the one congratulatory message he yearned for. She wouldn’t leave without saying good-­bye, would she?

  Noticing his concern, Mr. Eden explained, “She had to catch the stagecoach, remember? She’s going to take her test.”

  “I wanted to tell her good luck.”

  “She’ll be back tomorrow. You could join us for supper to hear her news.”

  Where had this friendliness come from? Could it be that Mr. Eden suspected his real reason for throwing the contest? Could it be that he was grateful
for the chance to save face?

  “I’ll come for supper, but could you do me a favor first? When Mrs. Eden and Bella get home from the station, could you send Bella . . .” Adam went on to explain his plan. Well, he didn’t explain everything, just what Bella’s father needed to know to do his part.

  The rest was up to Adam.

  eleven

  She’d passed the test.

  Bella washed her face and neck to remove the dust from the stagecoach, then ran a brush through her hair. If what her father suspected was true, she wanted to look her best for the school board meeting that was to commence shortly. While she wouldn’t have the test results back for a few weeks, she knew she’d performed well. Instead of worrying about the disaster that would befall her if she failed, she’d filled her mind with happy scenes. She’d remembered the days she felt helpful and knowledgeable in her classroom. She’d cherished the smiles and relationships she’d built with the kids and took pride in the older students who were a credit to Oak Springs. All of those things kept her calm while the exam was being administered, but mostly she was thinking about Adam.

  Would he be at the schoolhouse? She’d been disappointed that he wasn’t at her house, waiting for her to return, but when her pa explained about the school board meeting, she understood. Besides, Adam was probably too busy with work to be idling at her farm. He’d be able to make the payment on his threshing machine now. He’d stay here until harvest was complete, and then what? Would their courtship resume next summer when he came back?

  She finished wrapping her hair into a roll and then dabbed some scent on her neck. They had to be impressed when she told them that she’d passed the exam. They had to believe that she would work harder for their kids than any outsider they could bring in.

  Bella dropped a flat straw bonnet on her head and took to the road. The sun streamed its rays along the horizon, lighting up the gentle slopes of the fields and dancing atop the waving wheat, heavy for harvest. The road rose by the giant oak tree, and she could see town. There were no wagons in the schoolyard. No one was making their way to the schoolhouse. Instead of a contentious meeting, it looked like every other evening in Oak Springs. Perhaps the school board had already made their decision and had headed home?