“What?”
“I think it might actually work.”
Ethan looked across the fields.
“I think so too.”
The real test wasn't driving down the road.
It was pulling the planter.
Their twelve-row planter was heavy.
Too heavy for a weak machine.
Ethan knew that.
So did Ryan.
If the tractor couldn't handle it, they had no backup.
The test field was dry.
The sky was clear.
Ethan connected the planter.
Ryan stood beside the machine.
“You ready?”
Ethan nodded.
He lowered the planter.
Engaged the PTO.
Released the clutch.
The tractor moved.
Slowly.
The engine worked.
The transmission held.
The hydraulics responded.
Ethan watched the gauges.
Temperature normal.
Oil pressure normal.
Hydraulic pressure normal.
He continued.
One hundred yards.
Two hundred.
Five hundred.
Ryan began smiling.
The first pass was complete.
Ethan turned.
Second pass.
Then third.
By the tenth pass, Ryan climbed into the cab.
“It works.”
Ethan nodded.
“Looks like it.”
“You built a tractor.”
Ethan smiled.
“No.”
Ryan frowned.
“What?”
“We rebuilt one.”
Ryan laughed.
“You're impossible.”
They worked until sunset.
When they returned to the workshop, Ethan shut off the engine.
For a moment, neither brother spoke.
Then Ryan said,
“Dad would have loved this.”
Ethan looked at the machine.
“He'd complain about the paint.”
“He'd complain about everything.”
“He'd say we spent too much.”
Ryan laughed.
“Definitely.”
They stood beside the tractor.
The machine wasn't pretty.
But it was theirs.
And more importantly, it worked.
Planting began three days later.
The tractor ran from sunrise to sunset.
Then again the next morning.
And again.
It pulled the planter.
Hauling equipment.
Moved supplies.
Crossed fields.
It never stopped.
Not once.
Then the rain came.
Heavy spring rain turned the yard into mud.
Ethan parked the tractor beneath the workshop roof.
He stepped outside.
Across the road, a black SUV sat near the fence.
Ryan walked beside him.
“Do you know that truck?”
Ethan nodded.
“Yeah.”