Дэвид Балдаччи - Wish You Well

Louisa poured herself a cup and said, “So what’d you find out from them fellers?”

“Your grandson didn’t have a will, Louisa. Not that it mattered much, because he also didn’t have any money.”

Louisa looked bewildered. “With all his fine writing?”

Cotton nodded. “As wonderful as they were, the books didn’t sell all that well. He had to take on other writing assignments to make ends meet. Also, Oz had some health problems when he was born. Lot of expenses. And New York City is not exactly cheap.”

Louisa looked down. “And that ain’t all,” she said. He looked at her curiously. “Jack sent me money all these years, he did. I wrote him back once, told him it weren’t right for him to be doing it. Got his own family and all. But he say he were a rich man. He told me that! Wanted me to have it, he say, after all I done for him. But I ain’t really done nothing.”

“Well, it seems Jack was planning to go write for a movie studio in California when the accident happened.”

“California?” Louisa said the word like it was a malignancy, and then sat back and sighed. “That little boy always run circles round me. But giving me money when he ain’t got it. And curse me for taking it.” She stared off for a bit before speaking again. “I got me a problem, Cotton. Last three years of drought and ain’t no crops come in. Down to five hogs and gotta butcher me one purty soon. Got me three sows and one boar left over. Last litter more runts than anythin’. Three passable milking cows. Had one studded out, but she ain’t dropped her calf yet and I getting right worried. And Bran got the fever. Sheep getting to be more bother than anything. And that old nag ain’t do a lick of work no more, and eats me out of house and home. And yet that old girl done worked herself to death all these years for me.” She paused and drew a breath. “And McKenzie on down at the store, he ain’t giving no more credit to us folk up here.”

“Hard times, Louisa, no denying that.”

“I know I can’t complain none, this old mountain give me all it can over the years.”

Cotton hunched forward. “Well, the one thing you do have, Louisa, is land. Now, there’s an asset.”

“Can’t sell it, Cotton. When time comes, it’ll go to Lou and Oz. Their daddy loved this place as much as me. And Eugene too. He my family. He work hard. He getting some of this land so’s he can have his own place, raise his own family. Only fair.”

Cotton said, “I think so too.”

“When them folks wrote to see if’n I’d take the children, how could I not? Amanda’s people all gone, I’m all they got left. And a sorry savior I am, long past being worth a spit for farming.” Her fingers clustered nervously together, and she stared anxiously out the window. “I been thinking ’bout them all these years, wondering what they was like. Reading Amanda’s letters, seeing them pictures she sent. Just busting with pride over what Jack done. And them beautiful children.” She let out a troubled sigh, the deeply cut wrinkles on her long forehead like tiny furrows in a field.

Cotton said, “You’ll get by, Louisa. You need me for anything, come up and help with the planting, the children, you just let me know. I’d be beyond proud to help you.”

“G’on now, Cotton, you a busy lawyer.”

“Folks up here don’t have much need for the likes of me. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Got a problem, go down to Judge Atkins over the courthouse and just talk it out. Lawyers just make things complicated.” He smiled and patted her hand. “It’ll be okay, Louisa. Those children being here with you is the right thing. For everybody.”

Louisa smiled, and then her expression slowly changed to a frown. “Cotton, Diamond said some men coming round folks’ coal mines. Don’t like that.”

“Surveyors, mineral experts, so I’ve heard.”

“Ain’t they cutting the mountains up fast enough? Make me sick ever’ time I see another hole. I never sell out to the coal folk. Rip all that’s beautiful out.”

“I’ve heard these folks are looking for oil, not coal.”

“Oil!” she said in disbelief. “This ain’t Texas.”

“Just what I’ve heard.”

“Can’t worry about that nonsense.” She stood. “You right, Cotton, it’ll be just fine. Lord’ll give us rain this year. If not, well, I figger something out.”

As Cotton rose to leave, he looked back down the hallway. “Louisa, do you mind if I stop in and pay my respects to Miss Amanda?”

Louisa thought about this. “Another voice might do her good. And you got a nice way about you, Cotton. How come you ain’t never married?”

“I’ve yet to find the good woman who could put up with the sorry likes of me.”

In Amanda’s room, Cotton put down his briefcase and hat and quietly approached the bed. “Miss Cardinal, I’m Cotton Longfellow. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. I feel like I know you already, for Louisa has read me some of the letters you sent.” Amanda of course moved not one muscle, and Cotton looked over at Louisa.

“I been talking to her. Oz too. But she ain’t never say nothing back. Don’t never even wiggle a finger.”

“And Lou?” asked Cotton.

Louisa shook her head. “That child’s gonna bust one day, all she keep inside.”

“Louisa, it might be a good idea to have Travis Barnes from Dickens come up and look at Amanda.”

“Doctors cost money, Cotton.”

“Travis owes me a favor. He’ll come.”

Louisa said quietly, “I thank you.”

He looked around the room and noted a Bible on the dresser. “Can I come back?” he asked. Louisa looked at him curiously. “I thought I might, well, that I might read to her. Mental stimulation. I’ve heard of such. There are no guarantees. But if I can do nothing else well, I can read.”

Before Louisa could answer, Cotton looked at Amanda. “It’ll be my real privilege to read to you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As dawn broke, Louisa, Eugene, Lou, and Oz stood in one of the fields. Hit, the mule, was harnessed on a singletree to a plow with a turnover blade.

Lou and Oz had already had their milk and cornbread in gravy for breakfast. The food was good, and filling, but eating by lantern light had already grown old. Oz had gathered chicken eggs while Lou had milked the two healthy cows under Louisa’s watchful eye. Eugene had split wood, and Lou and Oz had hauled it in for the cookstove and then carried buckets of water for the animals. Livestock had been turned out and hay dropped for them. And now, apparently, the real work was about to begin.

“Got to plow unner this whole field,” said Louisa.

Lou sniffed the air. “What’s that awful smell?”

Louisa bent down, picked up some earth, and crumbled it between her fingers. “Manure. Muck the stalls ever fall, drop it here. Makes rich soil even better.”

“It stinks,” said Lou.

Louisa let the bits of dirt in her hand swirl away in the morning breeze as she stared pointedly at the girl. “You’ll come to love that smell.”

Eugene handled the plow while Louisa and the children walked beside him.

“This here’s a turnover blade,” Louisa said, pointing to the oddly shaped disc of metal. “You run it down one row, turn mule and plow round, kick the blade over, go down the row again. Throws up same furrows of dirt on both sides. It kicks up big clods of earth too. So’s after we plow, we drag the field to break up the clods. Then we harrow, makes the dirt real smooth. Then we use what’s called a laid-off plow. Gives you fine rows. Then we plant.”

She had Eugene plow one row to show them how, and then Louisa kicked at the plow. “You look purty strong, Lou. You want’a give it a go?”