Дэвид Балдаччи - Wish You Well

Louisa’s frying pan held the dual aromas of popping lard and ribs cut thick with so much fat they didn’t dare curl. The meat had come from one of the hogs they had had to slaughter. Usually a winter task, they had been compelled, by a variety of circumstances, to perform the deed in spring. Actually, Eugene had done the killing while the children were at school. But at Oz’s insistence Eugene had agreed to let him help scrape down the hog and get off the ribs, middle meat, bacon, and chitlins. However, when Oz saw the dead animal strung up on a wooden tripod, a steel hook through its bloody mouth, and a cauldron of boiling water nearby— just waiting, he no doubt believed, for the hide of a little boy to give it the right spice, he had run off. His screams echoed back and forth across the valley, as though from a careless giant who had stubbed his toe. Eugene had admired both the boy’s speed and lung capacity and then gone on to work the hog himself.

They all ate heartily of the meat, and also of canned tomatoes and green beans that had marinated for the better part of six months in brine and sugar, and the last of the pinto beans.

Louisa kept all plates full, except her own. She nibbled on some of the tomato chunks and beans, and dipped cornbread into heated lard, but that was all. She sipped on a cup of chicory coffee and looked around the table where all were enjoying themselves, laughing hard at something silly Diamond had said. She listened to the rain on the roof. So far so good, though rain now meant nothing; if none fell in July and August, the crop would still be dust, blown off in a gentle breeze, and dust had never lined anyone’s belly. Very soon they would be laying in their food crops: corn, pole beans, tomatoes, squash, rutabaga, late potatoes, cabbage, sweet potatoes, and string beans. Irish potatoes and onions were already in the ground, and duly hilled over, frost not bothering them any. The land would be good to them this year; it was their due this time around.

Louisa listened to the rain some more. Thank you, Lord, but be sure to send us some more of your bounty come summer. Not too much so’s the tomatoes burst and rot on the vines, and not too little that the corn only grows waist high. I know it’s asking a lot, but it’d be much appreciated. She said a silent amen and then did her best to join in the festivities.

There came a rap on the door and Cotton walked in, his outer coat soaked through even though the walk from car to porch was a quick one. He was not his usual self; the man did not even smile. He accepted a cup of coffee, a bit of cornbread, and sat next to Diamond. The boy stared up at him as though he knew what was coming.

“Sheriff came by to see me, Diamond.”

Everyone looked at Cotton first and then they all stared at Diamond. Oz’s eyes were open so wide the boy looked like an owl without feathers.

“Is that right?” Diamond said, as he took a mouthful of beans and stewed onions.

“Seems a pile of horse manure got in the mine superintendent’s brand-new Chrysler at the Clinch Number Two. The man sat in it without knowing, it still being dark and all, and he had the bad cold in the nose and couldn’t smell it. He was understandably upset by the experience.”

“Durn, how ’bout that,” said Diamond. “Wonder how the horse done got that in there? Pro’bly just backed itself up to the window and let fly.” That said, Diamond went right on eating, though none of the others did.

“I recall I dropped you off to do some personal business right around there on our drive back from Dickens.”

“You tell the sheriff that?” Diamond asked quickly.

“No, my memory curiously abandoned me about the time he asked.” Diamond looked relieved as Cotton continued. “But I spent a sorry hour over at the courthouse with the superintendent and a coal company lawyer who were all-fire sure that you had done it. Now upon my careful cross-examination I was able to demonstrate that there were no eyewitnesses and no other evidence tying you to the scene of this . . . little situation. And, fortunately, one can’t take fingerprints from horse manure. Judge Atkins held with my side of things, and so there we are. But those coal folk have long memories, son, you know that.”

“Not so long as mine,” countered Diamond.

“Why would he do something like that?” said Lou.

Louisa looked at Cotton and he looked at her, and then Cotton said, “Diamond, my heart’s with you on this, son, it really is. You know that. But the law’s not. And next time, it might not be so easy to get out of it. And folk might start taking matters into their own hands. So my advice to you is to get on with things. I’m saying it for your own good, Diamond, you know that I am.”

With that Cotton rose and put his hat back on. He refused all further questions from Lou and declined an invitation to stay. He paused and looked at Diamond, who was considering the rest of his meal without enthusiasm.

Cotton said, “Diamond, after those coal folk left the courtroom, me and Judge Atkins had us a long laugh. I’d say that was a right good one to end your career on, son. Okay?”

Diamond finally smiled at the man and said, “Okay.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Lou rose early one morning, even before Louisa and Eugene, she believed, for she heard no stirring below. She had grown used to dressing in the dark now and her fingers moved swiftly, arranging her clothes and lacing her boots. She stepped to the window and looked out. It was so dark she had a vague feeling of being deep underwater. She flinched, for Lou thought she had seen something slip out from the barn. And then, like a frame of spent lightning, it was gone. She opened the window for a better look, but whatever it was wasn’t there anymore. It must have been her imagination.

She went down the stairs as quietly as she could, started toward Oz’s room to wake him, but stopped at the door of her mother’s instead. It was partially open, and Lou just stood there for a moment, as though something blocked her passage. She leaned against the wall, squirmed a bit, slid her hands along the door frame, pushed herself away, and then leaned back. Finally, Lou edged her head into the bedroom.

Lou was surprised to see two figures on the bed. Oz was lying next to their mother. He was dressed in his long johns, a bit of his thin calves visible where the bottoms had inched up, his feet in thick wool socks he had brought with him to the mountain. His tiny rear end was stuck up in the air, his face turned to the side so Lou could see it. A tender smile was on his lips, and he was clenching his new bear.

Lou crept forward and laid a hand on his back. He never stirred, and Lou let her hand slide down and gently touch her mother’s arm. When she exercised her mother’s limbs, a part of Lou would always be feeling for her mother to be pushing back just a little. But it was always just dead weight. And Amanda had been so strong during the accident, keeping her and Oz from being hurt. Maybe in saving her children, Lou thought, she had used up all she had. Lou left the two and went to the kitchen.

She loaded the coal in the front-room fireplace, got the flame going, then sat in front of the fire for a time, letting the heat melt the chill from her bones. At dawn she opened the door and felt the cool air on her face. There were corpulent gray clouds loitering about from a passed storm, their underbellies outlined in flaming reddish-pink. Right below this was the broad sweep of mountainous green forest that stepped right to the sky. It was one of the most glorious breakups of night she could ever recall. Lou certainly had never seen dawns like this in the city.

Though it had not been that long ago, it seemed like many years since Lou had walked the concrete pavement of New York City, ridden the subway, raced for a cab with her father and mother, pushed through the crowds of shoppers at Macy’s the day after Thanksgiving, or gone to Yankee Stadium to lunge for white leather balls and gobble hot dogs. Several months ago all of that had been replaced by steep land, dirt and trees, and animals that smelled and made you earn your place. Corner grocers had been exchanged for crackling bread and strained milk, tap water for water pumped or in bucket hauled, grand public libraries for a pretty cabinet of few books, tall buildings for taller mountains. And for a reason she couldn’t quite get at, Lou did not know if she could stay here for long. Maybe there was a good reason her father had never come back.