Grandma Lorelei stepped inside, her presence somehow making the space feel less crushing.
“Gus, that’s enough.”
Her voice was gentle but firm.
“Goldie is not Jasper. She didn’t work on a running engine. She spent six weeks preparing. She learned proper welding from Dotty Finch. She had a plan.”
“But she lied to us.”
“Yes, she did. And that was wrong.”
Grandma turned to look at me.
“Very wrong. Trust is sacred in this family, and you broke it.”
Then she looked back at Grandpa.
“But lying about the project doesn’t mean the project itself was foolish. Our granddaughter isn’t reckless. She’s desperate. And maybe we should have been listening when that desperation started showing.”
“I wasn’t desperate,” I said. “I just wanted to help.”
“By putting yourself at risk. By gambling with our livelihood without asking.”
The words stung because they were true.
I had gambled with equipment we couldn’t afford to lose.
With trust I hadn’t earned.
With consequences I hadn’t fully considered.
Grandma moved closer and stood between Grandpa and me like a referee.
“What’s done is done. The tractor is modified. Now we need to know if it works.”
She looked at Grandpa.
“Gus, you need to test it.”
Grandpa looked at her like she’d suggested jumping off a cliff.
“Test it. Unless you want Goldie’s work to be meaningless. Test it. See what she’s built, then decide.”
He stared at the John Deere for a long moment.
Then nodded once, short and sharp.
“All right. We’ll test it. But if anything is wrong, anything at all, we stop immediately.”
He looked at me.
“Get in. We’re going to Northridge field.”
My stomach dropped.
Northridge.
The field with the heaviest clay soil in the county.
The field where my father had died.
That seemed intentional.
A test with layers I wasn’t ready to face.
We crossed the property in silence.
Grandpa drove.
I sat on the fender.
Grandma and Iris followed in Grandma’s car.
Mrs. Finch must have seen us heading out because her truck appeared too, parking at the field edge.
The whole family gathered to watch me either save us or destroy us.
Grandpa engaged the transmission and started pulling the same five-blade plow I’d used yesterday.
The tractor dug in.
Muscles of steel and combustion came to life.
For ten minutes, everything was perfect.
The engine pulled smoothly through soil that normally made it labor.
The power increase was undeniable, even to someone as skeptical as Grandpa.
I saw his grip on the steering wheel loosen slightly.
Saw something like hope start to show in his face.
Then the ticking sound I’d heard yesterday came back.
Louder now.
More insistent.
Grandpa heard it instantly.
He killed the engine and climbed down.