Дэвид Балдаччи - Wish You Well

The barn smelled of stacked hay, wet earth, large animals and their warm manure. The floor was dirt covered with straw. On the walls hung bridles and harnesses, some cracked and worn out, others well oiled and supple. There were single- and doubletrees stacked on top of each other. A hayloft was reached by a wooden ladder with a broken second step. The loft took up most of the upper level and was filled with both loose and baled hay. There were center poles of poplar, which Lou assumed helped hold up the building. The barn had small wings built onto it on the sides and rear. Stalls and pens had been constructed there, and the mare, mules, hogs, and sheep loitered in their respective areas. Lou could see clouds of cold air erupting from warm animal nostrils.

In one stall, Eugene sat on a small three-legged stool that was barely visible under his bulk. Right next to him was a cow, white with black patches. Her tail twitched back and forth, her head dipping into the manger box.

Louisa left them there with Eugene and returned to the farmhouse. Oz crowded close to Lou as the cow in the next stall bumped into the partition and let out a moo. Eugene looked up at them.

“Old Bran got the milk fever,” he said. “Got to hep Old Bran out.” He pointed to a rusty tire pump in one corner of the stall. “Hand me that there pump, Miss Lou.”

Lou gave it to him, and Eugene held the hose tightly against one of Bran’s teats.

“Now g’on pump.”

Oz pumped while Eugene went about holding the hose end against each of the four teats and rubbing the cow’s udder, which was inflating like a ball.

“That a good girl, never held your milk afore. We take care of you,” Eugene said soothingly to Bran. “Okay, that’s right good,” he said to Oz, who stopped pumping and stepped back, waiting. Eugene set the pump aside and motioned for Lou to take his place on the stool. He guided her hands to Bran’s teats and showed her how to grip them properly and also how to rub them to get them supple to help the flow.

“We done pumped her up, now we got to get her dry. You pull hard, Miss Lou, Old Bran ain’t caring none. Got to get her milk to run. That what be hurting her bad.”

Lou pulled tentatively at first, and then started to hit her stride. Her hands worked efficiently, and they all heard the air escaping from the udder. It made small, warm clouds in the cold air.

Oz stepped forward. “Can I try?”

Lou got up and Eugene moved Oz in, set him up. Soon he was pulling as well as Lou, and finally drips of milk appeared at the ends of the teats.

“You doing good, Mr. Oz. You done pulled cow teat up there in the city?”

They all laughed over that one.

Three hours later, Lou and Oz were no longer laughing. They had milked the other two cows—one heavy with calf, Louisa told them—which had taken half an hour each; carried four large buckets of water into the house; and then lugged four more from the springhouse for the animals. That was followed by two loads of wood and three of coal to fill the house’s wood and coal bins. Now they were slopping the hogs, and their chore list only seemed to be growing.

Oz struggled with his bucket and Eugene helped him get it over the top rail. Lou dumped hers and then stepped back.

“I can’t believe we have to feed pigs,” she said.

“They sure eat a lot,” added Oz, as he watched the creatures attack what appeared to be liquid garbage.

“They’re disgusting,” said Lou, as she wiped her hands on her overalls.

“And they give us food when we need it.”

They both turned and saw Louisa standing there, a full bucket of corn feed for the chickens in hand, her brow already damp with sweat, despite the coolness. Louisa picked up Lou’s empty slop bucket and handed it to her. “Snow come there’s no going down the mountain. Have to store up. And they’re hogs, Lou, not pigs.” Lou and Louisa held a silent stare-down for a half dozen heartbeats, until the sound of the car coming made them look toward the farmhouse.

It was an Oldsmobile roadster, packing all of forty-seven horsepower and a rumble seat. The car’s black paint was chipped and rusted in numerous places, fenders dented, skinny tires near bald; and it had a convertible top that was open on this cold morning. It was a beautiful wreck of a thing.

The man stopped the car and got out. He was tall, with a lanky body that both foretold a certain fragility and also promised exceptional strength. When he took off his hat, his hair was revealed as dark and straight, cutting a fine outline around his head. A nicely shaped nose and jawline, pleasant light blue eyes, and a mouth that had an abundance of laugh lines shimmying around it gave him a face that would prompt a smile even on a trying day. He appeared closer to forty than thirty. His suit was a two-piece gray, with a black vest and a gentleman’s watch the size of a silver dollar hanging from a heavy chain riding across the front of the vest. The pants were baggy at the knee, and the man’s shoes had long since given back their shine for good. He started to walk toward them, stopped, went back to his car, and pulled out a fat and battered briefcase.

Absentminded, Lou thought to herself as she watched him closely. After meeting the likes of Hell No and Diamond, she wondered what odd moniker this stranger might have.

“Who’s that?” Oz asked.

Louisa said in a loud voice, “Lou, Oz, this here’s Cotton Longfellow, the finest lawyer round.”

The man smiled and shook Louisa’s hand. “Well, since I’m also one of the very few lawyers round here, that’s a dubious distinction at best, Louisa.”

His voice, a mixture of southern drawl and a New England rhythm, was unique to Lou. She could not place him to a particular area, and she was usually quite good at that. Cotton Longfellow! Lord, she had not been disappointed with the name.

Cotton put down his briefcase and shook their hands solemnly, though there was an easy twinkle in his eye as he did so. “Very honored to meet you both. I feel like I know you from all that Louisa has told me. I’ve always hoped to meet you one day. And I’m right sorry it has to be under these circumstances.” He said the last with a gentleness that not even Lou could fault.

“Cotton and I got things to talk about. After you slop the hogs, you help Eugene turn the rest of the livestock out and drop hay. Then you can finish gathering the eggs.”

As Cotton and Louisa walked off, Oz picked up his bucket and happily went for some more slop. But Lou stared after Cotton and Louisa, clearly not thinking of hogs. She was wondering about a man with the strange name of Cotton Longfellow, who spoke sort of oddly and seemed to know so much about them. Finally, she eyed a four-hundred-pound hog that would somehow keep them from all starving come winter, and trudged after her brother. The walls of mountains seemed to close around the girl.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cotton and Louisa entered the house through the back door. As they headed down the hallway to the front room, Cotton stopped, his gaze holding through the partially opened door and into the room where Amanda lay in bed.

Cotton said, “What do the doctors say?”

“Men . . . tal trau . . . ma.” Louisa formed the strange words slowly. “That what the nurse call it.”

They went to the kitchen and sat down in stump-legged chairs of hand-planed oak worn so smooth the wood felt like glass. Cotton pulled some papers from his briefcase and slid a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from his pocket. He slipped them on and studied the papers for a moment, and then settled back, prepared to discuss them. Louisa poured out a cup of chicory coffee for him. He took a swallow and smiled. “If this don’t get you going, then you must be dead.”