Дэвид Балдаччи - Wish You Well

“Cotton,” Lou said, “what are you doing here?”

He pointed across the street. “Well, I happen to work here, Lou.”

They all stared at where he was pointing. The courthouse loomed large before them, beautiful brick over ugly concrete.

“Now, what are y’all doing here?” he asked.

“Louisa gave us the day off. Been working pretty hard,” said Lou.

Cotton nodded. “So I’ve seen.”

Lou looked at the bustle of people. “It surprised me when I first saw this place. Really prosperous.”

Cotton glanced around. “Well, looks can be deceiving. Thing about this part of the state, we’re generally one industry-moving-on from total collapse. Lumber folks did it, and now most jobs are tied to the coal and not just the miners. And most of the businesses here rely on those people spending those mining dollars. If that goes away, then it might not seem so prosperous anymore. A house of cards falls swiftly. Who knows, in five years’ time this place might not even be here.” He eyed Diamond and grinned. “But the mountain folk will. They always get by.” He looked around. “I tell you what, I’ve got some things to do over to the courthouse. Court’s not in session today of course, but always some work to be done. Suppose you meet me there in two hours. Then I’d be proud to buy you some lunch.”

Lou looked around. “Where?”

“A place I think you’d like, Lou. Called the New York Restaurant. Open twenty-four hours, breakfast, lunch, or supper any time of the day or night. Now, there aren’t many folk in Dickens who stay up past nine o’clock, but I suppose it’s comforting to have the option of eggs, grits, and bacon at midnight.”

“Two hours,” repeated Oz, “but we don’t have anything to tell time with.”

“Well, the courthouse has a clock tower, but it tends to run a little slow. I tell you what, Oz, here.” Cotton took off his pocket watch and handed it to him. “You use this. Take good care of it. My father gave it to me.”

“When you left to come here?” Lou asked.

“That’s right. He said I’d have plenty of time on my hands, and I guess he wanted me to keep good track of it.” He tipped his hat to them. “Two hours.” And then he walked away.

“So what we gonna do for two hours?” said Diamond.

Lou looked around and her eyes lit up.

“Come on,” she said and took off running. “You’re finally going to see yourself a picture show, Mr. Diamond.”

For almost two hours they were in a place far removed from Dickens, Virginia, the mountains of Appalachia, and the troublesome concerns of real life. They were in the breathtaking land of The Wizard of Oz , which was having a long run at movie houses across the land. When they came out, Diamond peppered them with dozens of questions about how any of what they had just seen was possible.

“Had God done it?” he asked more than once in a hushed tone.

Lou pointed to the courthouse. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

They dashed across the street and up the wide steps of the courthouse. A uniformed deputy sheriff with a thick mustache stopped them.

“Whoa, now, where you think y’all going?”

“It’s all right, Howard, they’re with me,” Cotton said, coming out the door. “They all might be lawyers one day. Coming to check out the halls of justice.”

“God forbid, Cotton, we ain’t needing us no more fine lawyers,” Howard said, smiling, and then moved on.

“Having a good time?” Cotton asked.

“I just seen a lion, a durn scarecrow, and a metal man on a big wall,” said Diamond, “and I still ain’t figgered out how they done it.”

“Y’all want to see where I do my daily labor?” asked Cotton.

They all clamored that they did indeed. Before they went inside, Oz solemnly handed the pocket watch back to Cotton.

“Thanks for taking such good care of it, Oz.”

“It’s been two hours, you know,” said the little boy.

“Punctuality is a virtue,” replied the lawyer.

They went inside the courthouse while Jeb lay down outside. There were doorways up and down the broad hall, and hanging above the doors various brass plates that read: “Marriage Registrar,” “Tax Collections,” “Births and Deaths,” “Commonwealth’s Attorney,” and so on. Cotton explained their various functions and then showed them the courtroom, which Diamond said was the largest such space he had ever seen. They were introduced to Fred the bailiff, who had popped out of some room or other when they had come in. Judge Atkins, he explained, had gone home for lunch.

On the walls were portraits of white-haired men in black robes. The children ran their hands along the carved wood and took turns sitting in the witness and jury boxes. Diamond asked to sit in the judge’s chair, but Cotton didn’t think that was a good idea, and neither did Fred. When they weren’t looking, Diamond grabbed a sit anyway and came away puff-chested like a rooster, until Lou, who had seen this offense, poked him hard in the ribs.

They left the courthouse and went next door to a building that housed a small number of offices, including Cotton’s. His place was one large room with creaky oak flooring that had shelves on three sides which held worn law books, will and deed boxes, and a fine set of the Statutes of Virginia. A big walnut desk sat in the middle of the room, along with a telephone and drifts of papers. There was an old crate for a wastebasket, and a listing hat and umbrella stand in one corner. There were no hats on the hooks, and where the umbrellas should have been was an old fishing pole. Cotton let Diamond dial a single number on the phone and talk to Shirley the operator. The boy nearly jumped out of his skin when her raspy voice tickled his ear.

Next, Cotton showed them the apartment where he lived at the top of this same building. It had a small kitchen that was piled high with canned vegetables, jars of molasses and bread and butter pickles, sacks of potatoes, blankets, and lanterns, among many other items.

“Where’d you get all that stuff?” asked Lou.

“Folks don’t always have cash. Pay their legal bills in barter.” He opened the small icebox and showed them the cuts of chicken, beef, and bacon in there. “Can’t put none of it in the bank, but it sure tastes a lot better’n money.” There was a tiny bedroom with a rope bed and a reading light on a small nightstand, and one large front room utterly buried under books.

As they stared at the mounds, Cotton took off his glasses. “No wonder I’m going blind,” he said.

“You read all them books?” Diamond asked in awe.

“I plead guilty to that. In fact I’ve read many of them more than once,” Cotton answered.

“I read me a book one time,” Diamond said proudly.

“What was the title?” Lou asked.

“Don’t recall ’xactly, but it had lots of pictures. No, I take that back, I read me two books, if you count the Bible.”

“I think we can safely include that, Diamond,” said Cotton, smiling. “Come over here, Lou.” Cotton showed her one bookcase neatly filled with volumes, many of them fine leatherbound ones of notable authors. “This is reserved for my favorite writers.”

Lou looked at the titles there and immediately saw every novel and collection of short stories her father had written. It was nice, conciliatory bait Cotton was throwing out, only Lou was not in a conciliatory mood. She said, “I’m hungry. Can we eat now?”

The New York Restaurant served nothing remotely close to New York fare but it was good food nonetheless, and Diamond had what he said was his first bottle of “soder” pop. He liked it so much he had two more. Afterward they walked down the street, peppermint candy rolling in their mouths. They went into the five-and-dime and 25-cent store and Cotton showed them how because of the land grade all six stories of the place opened out onto ground level, a fact that had actually been discussed in the national media at one point. “Dickens’s claim to fame,” he chuckled, “unique angles of dirt.”