Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts by Regina Jennings (highly recommended books .txt) 📕

brown hair had caught his attention right off. Unfortunately, he hadn’t caught her attention—­not until he’d broken her wrist. After that, she’d given him the cold shoulder. But that had been years ago. What was she up to now? Probably sewing up a storm, like she’d always planned. If so, she might admire the gift he’d brought her—­proof that he hadn’t given up on her, no matter how long he’d been away.

Even though her family never had more funds than their neighbors, Bella had always dressed like a fine lady. It was due to her skilled needle, not any extravagant expense, or so Adam’s sister had pointed out. Her dresses were the same aged cloth and worn cotton, but she managed to make them look like something special when she wore them. Adam had noticed that without his sister’s help.

But Bella wasn’t just pretty, she was spirited. He steeled himself for the possibility that someone had made her a wife by now. In a community like Oak Springs, he’d find out soon.

Dr. Paulson hailed the farmer with a scythe in the field next to the road. The small area of felled stalks around him showed he hadn’t begun harvesting in earnest. Swinging the curved blade over his shoulder, he strode toward the road like a cheerful grim reaper, smiling from ear to ear.

“My lands, what is that behind your team?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the thresher. “It looks like one of those ironclads that dueled at Hampton Roads.”

“That is not the Merrimack nor the Monitor,” Dr. Paulson said, “but an innovation that will mean more to this country than either of those ships.”

Adam saw the slight twitch of the eyebrow beneath the farmer’s straw hat. Multiply that skeptical twitch over the three dozen farmers in the area, and he wouldn’t be able to make the payment on his equipment.

“This is a threshing machine, Mr. Granger,” Adam said. “I’m here to work the harvest.”

Mr. Granger took a second look, and his cherry-­spotted cheeks bunched up with his smile. “I’ll be! I didn’t recognize you, son. Never expected you to be riding in front of something that ponderous. How are your folks?”

Adam relaxed the reins. This was the welcome he’d hoped for. “They’re doing well over in Brazos County. My sister married a Lawson boy this summer. From what I hear, they’re doing fine too.”

“And how are you doing?” Mr. Granger stepped back so that his question clearly included whatever nonsense Adam was hauling.

“Spectacular! As you might know, I spent a couple of years at the agricultural school, but when I saw one of these machines in action, I quit classes and headed north to learn more about them. I traveled with a threshing crew over the plains for a year, learned the business, and saved every dime so I could buy one of these marvels for myself. And now I’m here to show you what it can do for you.”

He pushed his tongue against his teeth to dislodge the feeling that he was no better than the snake oil salesmen who traveled through. This was different. He’d seen the proof of it. He knew how hard these farmers worked during harvest, and this machine would revolutionize their toil, giving them better yields, more profit, and making him a pretty penny in the process.

Everyone would benefit, but he’d already learned the pain of being a true believer in a land of skeptics.

For now, they were friendly skeptics, but his former professor Dr. Paulson had a way of ruffling feathers that few could rival.

“Why don’t you fire up that engine and show me how it works?” The grass crunched beneath Mr. Granger’s boots as he inspected the thresher. “Is it steam-­powered?”

“No, sir. Maybe next year I can afford a steam engine. For now, I have the horses. I hitch them to the gearbox on that treadmill, and they walk in circles. That turns the gears, which spins the tumbling rod, which activates the thresher. It’s a sight to behold.”

Adam knew that looking at the idle machine was like studying a hummingbird at rest. Not very impressive until you saw it in motion. He never tired of watching the belts and gears and wondering at how they transformed the slow steps of draft horses into rushing wind and motion and whirling parts.

Mr. Granger was more impressed with his horses. “Fine team you have there. I saw a steam pumper fire engine once in Galveston that looked as heavy as a mountain. It had a team like that tethered to it. Noble beasts, they were. Must have cost a strongbox of gold.”

Just in case Adam forgot that he owed money on the horses too.

“I’d like to show you what this machine can do,” Adam said.

“Go on, then,” Granger replied with a smile.

“Not here. It takes some space to get it properly laid out. Then we need some cut wheat ready for separating. Also room for the horses—”

“Not asking for much, are you?” Mr. Granger’s laughter died when he saw that neither Dr. Paulson nor Adam shared it. “Well, I’m sure there’d be plenty of folks around here that would cotton to some entertainment.”

“How about tomorrow? I was thinking of that place by the big oak tree. If you could bring some cut wheat—”

“Hold on there, Adam. Why would I be giving you my cut wheat?”

“I’m going to separate it for you. You’ll bring it to me on the stalk, and you’ll go home with straw and grain separated. I won’t even charge you.”

“Charge me? The last time we paid for a show was that acrobat who came through town. He could juggle while standing on his head. Can you juggle while standing on your head?” Mr. Granger snorted. “I didn’t think so. I’d better get back to work. You should’ve known that harvest was the wrong time to come. Nobody has time for diversions while there’s wheat to bring in.”

No time? They wouldn’t believe how much time his machine could save them.