March passed without movement. April brought rain and humidity into the house, and the joints held. In May he took a small trip to see Margaret and returned two days later to find the table looking exactly as it had when he left. When he ran his hand along the edges, there was no raised seam waiting to catch his fingers.
He wrote STABLE SO FAR in the notebook, then underlined the last two words. He had learned not to declare victory too early. The real test would last through summer, and the mortgage would not be patient merely because a kitchen table was behaving.
That spring, one of his cattle became ill and required a veterinarian. The expense was not enormous by itself, but it arrived during a week when fuel costs rose and a tractor hose failed. Earl paid the bills and then sat at his table with his ledgers spread around him, calculating what he would have to sell before the next bank payment. Each column seemed to lead to another obligation.
He sold two cattle earlier than planned and borrowed no money to replace them. Margaret told him he could move closer to her for as long as he needed. Earl thanked her, then changed the subject to Ben's schoolwork. His daughter did not press, but she left the conversation with the familiar feeling that her father would tell her he was in trouble only after he had exhausted every way of avoiding it.
In June, Earl went to the bank to discuss the loan schedule. Victor Larkin received him in an office with a framed photograph of the local courthouse and a new leather chair. Earl's work boots left faint dust on the carpet. The manager glanced at the account statement and shook his head with the solemn air of someone announcing weather he had not caused.
"Expenses are rising for everybody," Larkin said. "I can't hold the rate down because the farm's been in your family a long time." Earl knew that. He asked what the next payment would be and wrote it down. Larkin watched the pencil move. "You wouldn't have been quite as tight if you hadn't bought yourself that barrel collection."
Earl closed the notebook. "Maybe not." Larkin looked surprised by the lack of argument.
"Well, if you get tired of staring at them, I imagine the disposal company would still be willing to take them. For a fee." Earl stood. "I'll remember that."
Outside, the June heat settled over the bank parking lot. Earl sat behind the wheel without turning the key and looked at the figures he had written down. The conversation had frightened him more than he wanted to admit. If the coming harvest disappointed him, he could be forced to sell a field that his grandfather had cleared with his own hands.
That evening he returned to the second table and measured the same joints again. There was no movement. He wrote the result down, then looked out at the grain shed. For the first time he considered that the decision to buy the barrels had created a second obligation: he had to find out whether the work he'd done could now help carry the farm.