Rachel nodded slowly. The system had continued in fragments because the people who depended on it had kept behaving as if its center still existed. They had used a makeshift lockbox, passed word between neighbors, and returned keys whenever a familiar counter became available. When she opened the store for repairs, Frank Pruitt had apparently decided that the old center had returned.
"I bought this place for a workshop," she said. "Not to run a rental yard."
"I didn't say you should."
"Some of this is dangerous. The mower needs a blade, that cleaner's belt could let go, and the post driver has a hose that ought to be replaced before anybody even thinks about operating it."
Earl didn't object. "Then nobody ought to operate them until they're fixed."
"And who's supposed to pay for that?"
"The ones who use them, if the pool still has enough sense left to work."
She gave him a skeptical look. "You make that sound simple."
"It was simpler than buying a machine each. That's all I'm saying."
Earl didn't ask her to take responsibility for the shed. He didn't tell her the town needed her to save anything, and he didn't make a speech about the good old days. He asked only whether she would leave the numbered locks and the pegboard alone while the remaining members decided what to do. Rachel agreed, partly because the equipment was not clearly hers to dispose of and partly because she was now much too curious to throw the system away.
They returned to the store through the loading dock. Earl showed her where the padlocks had been numbered, how the keys had been passed between farmers, and why the pegboard hung near the rear room instead of behind the front counter. A farmer could leave a key with Walter's wife and she could hang it on the proper hook without going into the cold shed. If the key wasn't there, the machine wasn't available. No argument required.
"That explains six and eleven," Rachel said, looking at the board. "But why did the Keller fellow tell me eleven depends on whether four is back?"
Earl laughed so suddenly that she turned toward him. "Because Hank borrowed the plates, like I told you. Keller's been waiting on a pin that got put in the same parts box by mistake. If Hank ever brings that box home, everybody gets their own pieces back."
Rachel shook her head. "So it's not a secret code."
"No. It's a bunch of farmers who can't remember whose hardware they borrowed." Earl reached for his cap. "Although if you can figure out a system that fixes that, the county ought to put up a statue of you."
She walked him to the door. Before he left, he paused beside the counter and placed his hand on the worn wood. The grain of the surface had darkened where years of elbows had rested, and a shallow groove ran along its outer edge, likely made by boxes being dragged across it. Earl seemed to notice the groove for the first time in a long while.
"My father signed the first equipment agreement right here," he said. "Walter's father charged him for two pencils because he broke one trying to write on a feed sack."
Rachel smiled. "Sounds like good business."
"Walter said his daddy had to make a living too." Earl's hand moved away from the counter. "Anyway, don't feel obligated to save all of it. We managed before you came. We can manage if you decide you don't want the trouble."