What the neighboring rancher saw.
Tom called his father’s old friend Bill Harris. ‘Did you hear anything about the northwest corner?’ . Bill paused for a moment, then said. ‘I didn’t hear anything directly. But one time I saw Ed crying alone in front of that place. I think it was around the time Thunder left. Tom had never seen his father cry.
On the third day, the soil changed color.
Third day of construction. The color of the soil suddenly changed when the drill went over one meter underground. Dan switched to a shovel. After a little digging, a piece of corroded wood appeared. It looked like a box. Tom had everyone stop working and picked up the shovel himself. As he dug carefully, a wooden box about one meter long and wide came into view. Tom’s hands began to shake. What on earth could be lying inside that box?
It was a handmade coffin.
The metal clasps were rusted and nearly assimilated into the soil. It has been here for years. This was a coffin. A handmade coffin, for an animal. My father had made it all by himself. Tom gasped as he traced the words on the inside of the box with his finger, brushing away the dirt.
The name was inscribed on it.
THUNDER 1971-2013.” THUNDER. It was the name of that horse that my father had told me was gone. Sarah crouched down next to me and touched the coffin. You buried Thunder here,” she said. Her voice was trembling. At the same time, Ruby neighs longingly over the fence. The cows made a low noise in response. Dan took off his hat and held it to his chest. Had the animals known the secret of this place all along?
The animals knew all along.
The farm animals did not step on Sander’s grave for ten years. Whether they felt it by instinct or knew it by smell, no one knows. But they had kept it there all these years. Tom kneeled in front of the coffin and couldn’t move for a while. Then he remembered. The envelope at his desk.
The night I opened the envelope
That night Tom went home and pulled an envelope out of his desk drawer, the envelope he’d been waiting for for two years. He thought he could open it now. Inside were two letters, one in his father’s handwriting. The other was an old piece of letterhead. As soon as he read the first line of his father’s letter, something surged in Tom’s chest. What on earth was the father trying to tell his son?
Father’s Letter
Tom, the fact that you are reading this letter means you dug that place. I’m not angry. Thunder will forgive you if you keep the farm going.” My father’s handwriting was his usual rugged style. Thunder has been my whole life on the farm. I almost gave up 50 years ago, but I kept going because I stood in front of Thunder every morning. He never said a word. He was just there. That was enough.
Why my father made the coffin
On the morning of Thunder’s death, I made the coffin alone and buried him without telling anyone. I didn’t want people to think I was pathetic. I didn’t want people to think I was a man who cried so much over one animal. I knew from the beginning that the farm animals would avoid that place. Animals know that kind of thing.” Tom looked away from the letter once here. He looked out the window and saw the farm. Did he finally feel like he knew what his father had seen in the farm for fifty years?
Another letter
At the end of my father’s letter was this. Read the other letter I wrote the day Thunder was born. It was written by me the day Thunder was born and has been in a drawer for thirty years.” Tom unfolded the other letter. It was dated 1983, when Tom was ten years old. Tom was ten years old.
My father’s vow 30 years ago.
Today, a foal was born. I named him Thunder. I will protect him as long as this farm lasts. The day he dies, I will let him stay in the ground with me to protect the farm. That’s my promise. Only five lines. Tom held the letter for a long time, unable to move. For the first time, he felt he understood what his father saw in the farm. Could this vow have been so profound?
