Chapter 3 - Forty-Three Dollars and Sixty CentsWithin two weeks, Raven Bend became a favorite subject whenever men had time to talk.
At the general store.
At the livery.
Outside Sunday meetings.
The conclusion was usually the same.
The well would fail.
The farm had no dependable water.
One man could not repair fifty acres while hauling barrels every day.
Bram gave the prediction everyone repeated.
“He’ll be hauling water by August and gone before the first hard freeze.”
Kellen heard it while buying square nails from Amos Bryce.
He said nothing.
Amos calculated the order.
Then counted Kellen’s change.
After purchasing the property, seed, food, tools and repair supplies, Kellen had forty-three dollars and sixty cents left.
Kellen stared at the money.
Then at the box of nails.
“Half that many.”
Amos quietly removed part of the order.
Kellen carried the smaller bundle home.
If water had to be hauled by wagon, forty-three dollars would disappear quickly.
So the windmill became his next problem.
The twenty-eight-foot wooden tower was weathered but mostly sound.
Its machinery was not.
The vane was missing.
One gear tooth was broken.
The crank was frozen.
The pump rod was bent.
The leather cup inside the pump had dried hard after years without use.
Bram stopped at the fence while Kellen laid the pieces in the yard.
“Take the tower down.”
Kellen looked over.
“It’s firewood standing upright.”
Kellen studied the rusted iron.
Then loaded the parts onto Juniper.
Ephraim Cole was sixty-three and repaired nearly everything made from iron.
Wagon hardware.
Farm machinery.
Pumps.
He examined Kellen’s pieces and named the repair price.
Kellen reached toward his pocket.
Stopped.
Ephraim noticed.
“There’s another way.”
He pointed toward the forge.
Kellen could work there on weekends.
Ephraim would teach him how to straighten the rod, fit new leather, repair what could be repaired and recognize what could not.
It would cost less.
It would take longer.
Kellen looked at the forge.
“When do we start?”
Ephraim picked up a hammer.
For a moment Kellen thought he meant to demonstrate.
Instead the blacksmith placed it beside Kellen.
“Now.”
Over the following weeks, Raven Bend changed in increments too small for the town to notice.
Kellen reset posts.
Cleared brush.
Repaired only the fence rails that could no longer carry weight.
He braced the barn before replacing rotten timber.
He patched shingles.
Reset garden stones.
Using old sash glass and scrap boards, he built a cold frame to warm garden soil.
Every weekend he returned to Ephraim.
The pump rod taught him patience.
Heat too much iron and damage moved somewhere else.
So Kellen worked short sections.
Slowly.
He fitted new leather.
Filed the damaged gear.
Aligned the crank.
“A working machine needs a little play,” Ephraim told him.
By early summer, Kellen understood.
Forcing something into position was not always repair.
Sometimes it was simply creating the next break.
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The lesson would matter later.
Much more than either man realized.
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