He did not retrieve the lost wrench.
He had already forgotten it.
At dinner, the Farm Father listened without interrupting.
That was unusual.
Normally the boy’s theories arrived faster than meals.
A strange sound in the irrigation pump.
A fox den near the northern fence.
A loose alternator belt he swore sounded different from inside the tractor cab.
Most of the time he was right about something.
Not always the thing he originally believed.
The Farm Father set down his fork.
“A rope?”
“Yes.”
“How thick?”
The boy showed him with his fingers.
“About that.”
“Natural fiber?”
“I think.”
“Tied to what?”
“I don’t know.”
His older sister looked up from her plate.
“Treasure.”
The boy ignored her.
The Farm Mother asked:
“Could it be one of the old cattle lines?”
The father shook his head.
“Not in the middle of the pond.”
The Farm Boy leaned forward.
“It felt like metal.”
“Could be an old anchor.”
“For what?”
The father had no answer.
His sister smiled.
“Grandpa’s submarine.”
The Farm Boy glared.
Their mother hid a smile.
The Farm Father finally said:
“Stay out of the deep part tomorrow.”
“It’s not deep anymore.”
“That’s why I’m worried.”
The boy frowned.
The father continued.
“Low ponds are mud traps. You step into the wrong place, you can sink past your knees and not get back out.”
“I’ll use the bank.”
“And you’re not pulling alone.”
The Farm Boy brightened.
“You’ll help?”
“No.”
His face fell.
The father pointed his fork at him.
“I said you’re not pulling alone. That isn’t the same as me agreeing there’s anything worth pulling.”
The boy smiled.
Close enough.
The next morning, the Farm Father was repairing a baler.
The boy waited ten minutes.
Then twenty.
Then asked:
“Now?”
“No.”
Another half hour.
“Now?”
“No.”
At forty-five minutes, the father threw down a wrench.
“If I look at this rope, will you stop asking?”
“For how long?”
The father stared.
The boy reconsidered.
“Yes.”
They walked to the pond.
The rope still lay partly submerged where the boy had left it.
The father pulled gloves from his pocket.
He inspected the exposed fibers.
“Old.”
“I told you.”
“I didn’t say you were wrong.”
“You looked like you thought I was.”
The father grabbed the rope.
“Help.”
They pulled.
The line tightened.
The father’s expression changed.
The Farm Boy noticed immediately.