Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts, Regina Jennings [best 7 inch ereader TXT] 📗

upper lip widened when he smiled. “I brought you something,” he said. He motioned to the machine. “It’s some spools of thread. They’re pretty colors. I remembered that you liked to sew, and whenever I saw a new color . . .” He shrugged. “They’re in my bag. Give me a minute, and I’ll fetch them.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want them.” He’d brought a gift for a seamstress, and she was a schoolteacher.

The sound of a school bell being enthusiastically but unevenly rung reached them beneath the boughs.

“I have to go,” Bella said. She’d never been late for school before. Not so late that the students took it upon themselves to ring the bell. Then again, the last time she’d run into Adam Fisher beneath the oak tree, she hadn’t made it to school for a week.

He followed her out into the sunshine. The golden fields around them spoke of a different world than the one beneath the tree. A world with seasons, students, and toil, but no time for romantic dreams and kisses on birthdays.

All fine and dandy, because Bella had no time for that either. And until Adam Fisher had made himself scarce, all she could do was fret over what trouble he would stir up next.

four

Adam watched as Bella hurried off with a quick, stiff-­legged stride toward town. He hadn’t spent much on the thread, but she could have at least looked at it. And where was she going? Did she have an appointment with a client? A fitting scheduled? Oak Springs was changing from the sleepy village he’d known. It could be that Bella’s business was thriving.

She was prettier than ever. He’d figured she would have changed a mite, but he must have forgotten how sweet her face was, or how tender her eyes. His daydreams were too filled with making his payments on the equipment to leave room for many romantic musings, but now that he’d returned, they all came back. How jealous he’d been of that rube, Jimmy Blaggart. How he’d waited to tell Bella, but by the time he had worked up his nerve, he’d ruined his chance. That was the way it went, sometimes. Too late to rewrite history, but there was nothing wrong with planning for the future.

And a big part of his future would be decided by his demonstration for the farmers.

After picking out the flattest spot that didn’t block the road, Adam began to unload the gearbox, sweeps, and the tumbling rod. He used his two strongest pullers to get the treadmill situated and then measured the distance before settling the thresher in. Once the heavy pulling was done by the horses, he tethered them low so they could avail themselves of the tender grass before any more work was required of them. The assembling of the sweeps, the gearbox, and the traces all fell on him. The way the custom cutters he’d worked with operated, the farmer himself would pitch in when it was time to thresh his crops, but Adam could hardly ask that of anyone before they’d decided whether he was worth the trouble.

By the time he’d assembled the machinery, he only had a few minutes to munch on the cold chicken leg that the boarding­house owner, Mrs. Doris, had given him for lunch. Taking the horses by their lead ropes, he pulled them so that they and he could practice for the trial to come. So much rode on this demonstration. True, there were other towns, but if he couldn’t do it here, what hope was there?

The horses went willingly into their harnesses. They were well trained but hadn’t worked the long hours of harvest that would be required of them—­that hopefully would be required of them. Pulling the sweeps around in circles was still a game for them, not yet associated with boredom and monotony.

The last harness was the hardest to buckle down, but perhaps it was due more to Adam’s nerves than the new leather and tight fit. He pulled the strap through the buckle, then yanked it tight. Wedging his fingers beneath the straps on the horse’s back, he lifted and shook it, ensuring the best fit.

A crowd of men had gathered in town and were coming down the road. Dr. Paulson had done his job rounding up spectators.

“Here we go, then,” Adam muttered to his team. And men weren’t just coming from town. Over the ridge, he saw Mr. Eden and Mr. Granger in a wagon, coming from their farms, along with more of their neighbors on foot.

With a hand cupped to his mouth, Mr. Granger called out, “Where do you want the wagon?”

Adam directed him to the side of the thresher. As the wagon passed, he peered into the bed, and his heart sank. It was nearly empty. At the most, there were only five sheaves in the back. That was hardly enough to get the machine started up. Not worth the trouble. No way to show his prowess with this scant example.

“I told you I would do as much as you wanted.” Adam tried to hide his disappointment. “If you want to get more—”

“I don’t have any to spare,” Mr. Granger said. “If I’m going to ruin some crops, this is more than enough.”

Ruin his crops? How would this machine ruin them? It didn’t eat them. Adam respected these men, but he’d underestimated how difficult it would be for them to make changes.

The men from town had arrived, Dr. Paulson among them. The professor’s serene smile was appreciated, but what was wrong with the rest of the men? They hung back, as if unwilling to stand too close to him. Adam caught the glances they were sending one another. Something was awry. Had Dr. Paulson already offended them?

Leaving the townspeople behind, Dr. Paulson stepped up in the wagon and motioned the men together so he could better address them. An academic speaker like Dr. Paulson had experience in setting the stage and making himself heard, but maybe he didn’t