“What’s that?”
Hannah looked toward the pond.
“Been there forever.”
Frank squinted.
“Thought your granddad tied something down there.”
“So did Dad.”
Wade laughed.
“Maybe there’s treasure.”
Hannah did not respond.
Because something in her memory had moved.
Grandfather.
Workshop.
Notebook.
A sentence.
She had seen it two nights earlier while searching for a replacement bearing catalog.
Old leather notebook.
Pages smelling like dust and motor oil.
Most contained ordinary things.
Calving dates.
Fence lengths.
Pump measurements.
Rain totals.
Then a drawing.
The pond.
A circle beneath it.
A stone shaft.
And the sentence:
If Red Willow ever dies, pull what they buried beneath it.
Hannah had assumed it was metaphor.
Grandfather Henry loved strange phrasing.
But now she looked at the rope.
It extended from the exposed mud toward exactly the location marked in the drawing.
Her expression changed.
Frank noticed.
“What?”
Hannah walked toward the bank.
“Nothing.”
Wade laughed.
“That look is never nothing.”
She stepped down.
Mud pulled at her boots.
“Hannah.”
She ignored him.
The first ten yards were dry enough.
Then the ground softened.
She grabbed a dead willow root for balance.
Otis called, “You lose something?”
Hannah reached the rope.
Up close, it was thicker than she expected.
Not ordinary hemp.
Braided marine line, perhaps, protected beneath layers of tar and mud.
She pulled.
Nothing.
Wade laughed from the bank.
“Oh, Lord.”
Hannah tried again.
The rope moved perhaps half an inch.
She stopped.
Frank’s smile disappeared.
“Did that move?”
“Yes.”
Wade shook his head.
“You’ll throw your back out.”
Hannah wrapped both hands around the rope.
“What’s it attached to?”
“How would I know?”
“You’re the one pulling it.”
She planted her boots.
Pulled.
Mud sucked around the line.
Something shifted below.
Otis came closer.
“Probably an old anchor.”
“This pond never had boats.”
“Then a post.”
Hannah pulled again.
Wade put his hat back on.
“This is what you’re doing instead of talking to Vale?”
She looked up.
“Go home, Wade.”
“I’m trying to save you from losing everything.”
“And I’m trying to figure out what my grandfather buried.”
“Henry buried every piece of junk he couldn’t throw away.”
Frank laughed.
“That is true.”
Hannah tugged harder.
The rope moved another inch.
She knelt.
Mud soaked through her jeans.
Otis shook his head.
“You know what? I’m staying.”
“Why?”
“Because when that thing turns out to be a Model T axle, I want to see your face.”
Wade laughed.
Frank sat on the tailgate of Otis’s truck.
Hannah ignored them.
She pulled.
Rested.
Pulled again.
The rope slowly emerged from the mud.
One foot.
Then two.
Each section was coated in black sludge.
It smelled like sulfur.
Thirty minutes passed.
Wade produced a water bottle.
Otis found sunflower seeds.