“Ponds do that.”
“That’s what Dad said.”
“Your father says a lot of things.”
Eli waited.
Warren looked toward the open shed door, past the pasture in the direction of the water.
“There used to be a house back there.”
Eli straightened.
“Where?”
“Not right at the pond. Close.”
“The old homestead?”
Warren nodded.
“My grandparents lived there before I was born. My father lived there as a boy.”
“When did they tear it down?”
“Early fifties. After the new house went up.”
“Was there a well?”
That made Warren quiet.
He looked at Eli differently now.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Behind the old kitchen, as I remember it.”
Eli pulled out his notebook.
Warren smiled faintly.
“You planning to interrogate me?”
“Maybe.”
The old man rested his elbows on his knees.
“It was hand-dug. Stone lined. Probably thirty feet, maybe more.”
“What happened to it?”