Stiff.
It disappeared into the mud at an angle.
Toby pulled some clay away with his fingers.
The rope continued downward.
He looked around.
Nothing nearby suggested where it came from.
No post.
No stump.
No machinery.
He wrapped one hand around it.
The surface felt rough and greasy.
He pulled lightly.
Nothing.
He pulled harder.
Still nothing.
Now curiosity took over.
Toby planted both boots.
He wrapped both hands around the rope.
Pulled.
The rope stretched just enough to show it was attached to something.
He leaned backward.
For several seconds, absolutely nothing happened.
Then the rope moved.
Not slowly.
Suddenly.
It gave almost three feet.
Toby stumbled backward and landed in the mud.
At the same instant, something beneath the pond floor scraped.
Metal against stone.
A sound so deep Toby felt it through the soles of his boots more than heard it.
Then came a dull knock.
Thunk.
Toby stopped breathing.
The rope went tight again.
He stared at the mud.
A small bubble rose several inches away.
Then another.
Water slowly darkened the clay.
"Toby!"
He spun around.
Walter stood near the bank holding fencing pliers.
"What are you doing?"
Toby scrambled upright.
"I found something."
Walter walked down.
His work boots sank into the softer mud.
"What?"
Toby pointed.
Walter saw the rope.
His face changed.
"Don't pull it again."
"I only—"
"Don't."
Walter stepped closer but did not touch it.
He studied where the rope entered the ground.
"Could be old machinery."
"Under the pond?"
"Could be anything."
"It moved."
Walter looked at him sharply.
"What moved?"
"I don't know."
Toby pointed beneath his feet.
"Something scraped."
Walter stared at the mud.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then:
"We're leaving it."
"But Grandpa—"
"No."
"What if it's something important?"
"Then it's been important for fifty years without us bothering it."
Toby frowned.
Walter looked at him.
"Old farms are full of things people buried because burying was easier than hauling."
He pointed toward the mud.
"Metal."
"Wire."
"Old tanks."
"Broken pumps."
"Sometimes wells."
Toby glanced down.
Walter continued.
"Curiosity isn't worth falling through rotten boards into a hole nobody knows is there."
"I wasn't digging."
"You were pulling."
Toby knew that tone.
Argument over.
They returned to the fence.
But Toby kept looking toward the rope.
Before leaving for breakfast, he pushed the fence stake into the soft mud near the current shoreline.
He scratched a line into the wood at water level.
Walter noticed.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
Walter gave him a look.
Toby smiled.
"Just measuring."
Walter shook his head.
"Your father did the same kind of nonsense."
Toby looked at him.
"What nonsense?"
"Had to know why everything happened."
Walter picked up his tools.
"Sometimes a gate was broken because it was broken. Daniel still wanted to know which hinge failed first."
Toby looked back at the stake.
He liked the comparison more than he wanted Walter to know.
The next morning, Toby returned.
The stake was still there.
The scratch was not where he expected.
Water now covered it.
He crouched.
He ran one finger along the wood.
He had marked it correctly.
The water had risen.
Not much.
But enough.
He took the tape measure from his pocket.