His jaw tightened.
“Where'd you get that?”
“Grandpa left it.”
The old man stared for several seconds.
Then shook his head.
“You'd be better off letting that stuff alone.”
Sarah frowned.
“Why?”
Hank took a breath.
“Because that old drainage system was never worth what Daniel thought.”
Eli looked toward him.
“Then why does it still work?”
Hank stopped.
For several seconds, the porch was quiet.
A hot breeze moved through the dead grass.
Then the farmer looked toward the North Bed in the distance.
His expression became difficult to read.
Finally, he answered.
“Because Daniel was stubborn enough to keep studying it when the rest of us gave up.”
Eli waited.
Hank looked down.
Then added, “He understood that land better than anybody.”
For a moment, Eli didn't know what to say.
It was the first kind thing Hank had said about his grandfather all summer.
Sarah noticed too.
She took a breath.
“Hank, we're not here to argue. We just need to know what the drawing means.”
The farmer looked toward the notebook.
Then toward the road.
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Finally, he said, “Come back tomorrow.”
Sarah frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I've got something in the shed you ought to see.”
He turned toward the house.
Then stopped.
His shoulders seemed to sag.
“And Eli?”
The boy looked up.
“Yes, sir?”
Hank hesitated.
For a moment, he seemed to struggle with the words.
Then whispered, “Your grandpa didn't deserve the way I talked about him.”
Eli stared.
The old man went inside.
And left the boy standing on the porch wondering whether the man who mocked him had finally begun telling the truth.
The next morning, Hank produced an old photograph.
It showed two younger men standing beside the cottonwood trees at the Mercer farm.
One was Daniel.
The other was Hank.
Both wore muddy boots and work clothes. A narrow excavation crossed the ground behind them, and several sections of old fieldstone drainage line were visible near a small covered chamber.
Hank handed it to Eli.
The boy stared.