She holds the ends of the V in her hands and walks across Velma’s lawn in the same direction I did. The yellow puppy runs along next to her. I can’t tell if Birdie’s following my footprints or if the stick is leading her the way it did for me.

She heads around the house toward Velma’s garden, then stops.

“It’s shaking me.” Birdie laughs and throws the stick in the air. When it lands, the puppy runs over and picks it up in his mouth.

Did Birdie feel the vibrations like I did?

Would the dowsing branch have led her to the same spot it led me to?

Dad backs the rig up to the spot where the stick bent. The pounding begins as the drill rotates its way into the ground, pulverizing the rock. Dad adds drill rod after drill rod and Lincoln pumps in water from the tanker truck.

Birdie chases after the puppy, grabs the stick back, and throws it again.

All I see coming up is clay dust.

Velma calls to us.

“Henry and Birdie, come inside and warm up. You can watch the progress from my back window. It may take a while for them to get through the ledge. I’m heating up apple cider for your uncle Braggy, if you’d like some.”

“I drink apple cider,” Birdie says. “Come, puppy.”

The puppy follows Birdie and me into the house with the stick in his mouth.

Velma is right. There’s a window that looks out on the garden and the trellis. I never sat in someone’s house and drank hot cider while I watched Dad and Lincoln drill. Especially not for a well I dowsed myself. It isn’t as noisy as it was outside. I can hear Birdie blowing on her cider and taking little sips. Braggy drinks his cider and narrates what’s happening outside like we’re watching a movie.

“That drill is going through bedrock like butter.”

“Don’t look away. We’re gonna see water coming anytime now.”

When the water does come, I’m not looking out the window. I’m drinking my cider and watching the puppy, who’s lying under a table chewing up my dowsing stick. It’s funny because he acts so excited about the stick, but the more he plays with it, the shorter it gets. I don’t mind, because I’m done with it. I’ll need a fresh green branch the next time I dowse.

Braggy hollers, “Get your water jugs, get your buckets, get your bathing suits!”

It’s not a gusher, but clear water steadily pumps out into the runoff ditch.

Velma claps her hands.

“I never thought I’d see the day! It’s going to be so easy to water Dreamer now.”

“That depends,” Braggy says. “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make ’em drink.”