Дэвид Балдаччи - Wish You Well

Cotton counted out the two hundred dollars to the clerk of the court and was given a stamped receipt. He trudged back to his apartment and boxed up the last pile of books. A few minutes later he looked up to see Lou standing in his doorway.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“I got a ride with Buford Rose in his old Packard. There are no doors on the thing, so it’s a fine view, but you’re only one jolt away from flying out, and it’s pretty cold.” She stared around at the empty room. “Where are all your books, Cotton?”

He chuckled. “They were taking up too much space.” He tapped his forehead. “And, leastways, I’ve got it all right up here.”

Lou shook her head. “I went by the courthouse. I figured there was more to that paper we got than you were letting on. Two hundred dollars for all your books. You shouldn’t have done it.”

Cotton closed up the box. “I still have some left. And I’d like you to have them.”

Lou stepped into the room. “Why?”

“Because they’re your father’s works. And I can’t think of a better person to take care of them.”

Lou said nothing while Cotton taped the box shut.

“Let’s go over and see Louisa now,” Cotton said.

“Cotton, I’m getting scared. More stores have closed. And another bus full of people just left. And the looks folks gave me on the street. They’re really angry. And Oz got in a fight at school with a boy who said we were ruining people’s lives by not selling.”

“Is Oz all right?”

She smiled weakly. “He actually won the fight. I think it surprised him more than anybody. He’s got a black eye, and he’s right proud of it.”

“It’ll be all right, Lou. Things will work out. We’ll weather this.”

She took a step closer, her expression very serious. “Things aren’t working out. Not since we’ve come here. Maybe we should sell and leave. Maybe it’ll be better for all of us. Get Mom and Louisa the care they need.” She paused and could not look at him as she added, “Someplace else.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

Lou wearily stared off. “Sometimes what I want to do is go up on the little knoll behind our house, lay on the ground, and never move again. That’s all.”

Cotton considered this for a few moments and then said, “In the world’s broad field of battle, / In the bivouac of Life, / Be not like dumb, driven cattle! / Be a hero in the strife! / Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! / Let the dead Past bury its dead! / Act—act in the glorious Present! / Heart within, and God o’erhead! / Lives of great men all remind us / We can make our lives sublime, / And, departing, leave behind us . . . Footprints on the sands of time.”

“ ‘A Psalm of Life.’ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,” said Lou without much enthusiasm.

“There’s more to the poem, but I’ve always considered those lines the essential parts.”

“Poetry is beautiful, Cotton, but I’m not sure it can fix real life.”

“Poetry needn’t fix real life, Lou, it need just be. The fixing is up to us. And laying on the ground and never moving again, or running from trouble, is not the Lou Cardinal I know.”

“That’s very interesting,” said Hugh Miller, as he stood there in the doorway. “I looked for you at your office, Longfellow. I understand you’ve been over at the courthouse paying the debts of others .” He flashed a nasty grin. “Right good of you, however misguided.”

“What do you want, Miller?” said Cotton.

The little man stepped into the room and looked at Lou. “Well, first I want to say how sorry I am about Miss Cardinal.”

Lou crossed her arms and looked away.

“Is that all?” Cotton said curtly.

“I also came by to make another offer on the property.”

“It’s not my property to sell.”

“But Miss Cardinal isn’t in a position to consider the offer.”

“She already refused you once, Miller.”

“That’s why I’m cutting right to the chase and raising my offer to five hundred thousand dollars.”

Cotton and Lou exchanged startled glances, before Cotton said, “Again, it’s not my property to sell.”

“I assumed you would have a power of attorney to act on her behalf.”

“No. And if I did, I still wouldn’t sell to you. Now, is there anything else I can’t do for you?”

“No, you’ve told me all I need to know.” Miller handed a packet of papers to Cotton. “Consider your client served.”

Miller walked out with a smile. Cotton quickly read through the papers, while Lou stood nervously beside him.

“What is it, Cotton?”

“Not good, Lou.”

Cotton suddenly grabbed Lou’s arm, and they raced down the stairs and over to the hospital. Cotton pushed open the door to Louisa’s room. The flashbulb went off right as they came in. The man looked over at them and then he took another picture of Louisa in her bed. There was another man next to him, large and powerfully built. Both were dressed in nice suits and wore creased hats.

“Get out of here!” cried Cotton.

He raced over and tried to grab the camera from the man, but the big fellow pulled him away, allowing his partner to slide out the door. Then the big man backed out of the room, a smile on his lips.

Cotton could only stand there, breathing hard and looking helplessly between Lou and Louisa.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

It was a particularly cold, cloudless day when Cotton entered the courtroom. He stopped when he saw Miller and another man there, who was tall, portly, and very well dressed, his fine silver hair combed neatly on a head so massive it seemed hardly natural.

Cotton said to Miller, “I was pretty sure I’d see you today.”

Miller inclined his head at the other man. “You probably heard of Thurston Goode, Commonwealth’s attorney for Richmond?”

“Indeed I have. You argued a case before the United States Supreme Court recently, didn’t you, sir?”

“More precisely,” Goode said in a deep, confident baritone, “I won the case, Mr. Longfellow.”

“Congratulations. You’re a long way from home.”

“The state was kind enough to allow Mr. Goode to come down here and act on its behalf in this very important matter,” explained Miller.

“Since when does a simple suit to declare a person mentally unfit qualify for the expertise of one of the finest lawyers in the state?”

Goode smiled warmly. “As an officer of the Commonwealth I don’t have to explain to you why I’m here, Mr. Longfellow. Suffice it to say, that I am here.”

Cotton put a hand to his chin and pretended to ponder something. “Let’s see now. Virginia elects its Commonwealth’s attorneys. Might I inquire as to whether Southern Valley has made a donation to your campaign, sir?”

Goode’s face flushed. “I don’t like what you’re implying!”

“I did not mean it as an implication.”

Fred the bailiff came in and announced, “All rise. The Court of the Honorable Henry J. Atkins is now in session. All those having business before this court draw near and you shall be heard.”

Judge Henry Atkins, a small man with a short beard, thinning silver hair, and clear gray eyes, came into the room from his adjacent chambers and took his seat behind the bench. Before he got up there, he looked too small for his black robe. Once he got there, he looked too large for the courtroom.

It was at this point that Lou and Oz crept in without anyone seeing them. Wearing barter coats and thick socks stuffed into oversized boots, they had retraced their steps across the poplar-log bridge and down the mountain, catching a ride on a truck to Dickens. It had been a much harder trek in cold weather, but the way Cotton had explained it to them, the potential effect of this proceeding on all their lives was very clear. They sat slumped down at the rear, their heads barely visible over the back of the seats in front of them.