Wish You Well, Page 25

  "Use some finished board, posts, nails, hardware for the doors, and such," said Eugene. "Got me a good list right chere." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and laid it on the counter. McKenzie did not look at it.

  "I'll need cash up front," he said, finally letting his beard alone.

  Eugene stared at the man. "But we good on our 'count. All paid up, suh."

  Now McKenzie eyed the paper. "Lot of stuff on that list. Can't carry you for that much."

  "So's we bring you crop. Barter."

  "No. Cash."

  "Why can't we get credit?" asked Lou.

  "Hard times," replied McKenzie.

  Lou looked around at the piles of supplies and goods everywhere. 'Times look pretty good to me."

  McKenzie slid back the list. "I'm sorry."

  "But we's got to have a barn," said Eugene. "Winter come fast and we ain't keep the animals out. They die."

  "The animals we have left" said Lou, glaring some more at the still staring faces.

  A man equal in size to Eugene approached from the rear of the store. Lou knew him to be McKenzie's son-in-law, who was no doubt looking forward, she figured, to inheriting this good business one day when McKenzie squinted his last.

  "Look here, Hell No," said the man, "you got your answer, boy."

  Before Lou could say a word, Eugene stepped directly in front of the man. "You knowed that ain't never been my name. It be Eugene Randall. And don't you never call me nuthin' else." The big man appeared stunned, and he took a step back. Lou and Oz exchanged glances and then looked proudly upon their friend.

  Eugene stared down each of the customers in the store, ostensibly, Lou thought, to make clear that this statement applied to all of them as well.

  Rollie McKenzie called out, "I'm sorry for that, Eugene. It won't never happen again."

  Eugene nodded at McKenzie and then told the children to come on. They went outside and climbed on the wagon. Lou was shaking with anger. "It's that gas company. They've scared everybody. Turned people against us."

  Eugene took up the reins. "It be all right. We think'a somethin'."

  Oz cried out, "Eugene, wait a minute." He jumped down from the wagon and ran back inside.

  "Mr. McKenzie? Mr. McKenzie?" Oz called out, and the old man came back to the counter, blinking and picking at his beard.

  Oz plopped his mitts and ball on the curled maple planks. "Will this buy us a barn?"

  McKenzie stared at the child, and the old man's lips trembled some, and his blinking eyes grew moist through the heft of glass. "You go on home, boy. You go on home now."

  They cleared all the debris from the remains of the barn and collected all the nails, bolts, and usable wood that they could from the ruins. Cotton, Eugene, and the children stood and stared at the meager pile.

  "Not much there," said Cotton.

  Eugene looked at the surrounding forests. "Well, we got us lot of wood, and it all free, 'cept the sweat of felling it."

  Lou pointed to the abandoned shack her father had written about. "And we can use stuff from there," she said, then looked at Cotton and smiled. They had not spoken since Lou's outburst, and she was feeling badly about it. "Maybe make us a miracle," she added.

  "Well, let's get to work," said Cotton.

  They tore down the shack and salvaged what they could. Over the next several days they cut down trees with an ax and a crosscut saw that had been in the corn-crib and thus had escaped the fire. They pulled out the felled trees with the mules and chains. Fortunately, Eugene was a first-rate, if self-taught, carpenter. They topped off the trees and stripped the bark, and using a square and a measuring tape, Eugene cut marks in the wood showing where notches needed to be chiseled. "Ain't got 'nough nails, so's we got to make do. Notch and strap the joints best we can, mud chink 'tween. When we get mo' nails, we do the job right."

  "What about the corner posts?" asked Cotton. "We don't have any mortar to set them in."

  "Ain't got to. Dig the holes deep, way below the cold line, crack up the rock, pack it in good and hard. It hold. I give us some extra hep at the corners with the braces. You see."

  "You're the boss," said Cotton with an encouraging smile.

  Using a pick and shovel, Cotton and Eugene dug one hole. It was tough going against the hard ground. Their cold breath filled the air, and their gloved hands ached with the raw. While they were doing this, Oz and Lou chiseled out and hand-drilled the notches and insertion holes on the posts where timber mortise would meet timber tenon. Then they mule-dragged one of the posts to the hole and realized they had no way to get it in there. Try as they might, from every angle, and with every conceivable leverage, and with big Eugene straining every muscle he had, and little Oz too, they could not lift it enough. "We figger that out later," said Eugene finally, his big chest heaving from the failed effort.

  He and Cotton laid out the first wall on the ground and started to hammer. Halfway through they ran out of nails. They collected all the scrap metal they could find and Eugene made a roaring coal fire for his forge. Then, using his smithy hammer, tongs, and shoeing anvil, he fashioned as many rough nails from the scrap as he could.

  "Good thing iron doesn't burn," remarked Cotton, as he watched Eugene working away on the anvil, which still stood in the middle of what used to be the barn.

  All of Eugene's hard work netted them enough nails to finish another third of the first wall, and that was all.

  They had been at this for many cold days now, and all they had to show for it was one hole and a single finished corner post and no way to allow either to meet, and a wall without enough nails to hold it together.

  They collected early one morning around the post and hole to mull this over, and all agreed the situation did not look good. A hard winter was creeping ever closer and they had no barn. And Sue, the cows, and even the mules were showing the ill effects of being out in the freezing air all night. They could not afford to lose any more livestock.

  And as bad as this plight was, it was really the least of their problems, for while Louisa had regained consciousness from time to time, she had not spoken a word when awake, and her eyes appeared dead. Travis Barnes was very worried, and fretted that he should send her to Roanoke, but he was afraid she would still not survive the trip, and the fact was, there wasn't much they could do for her there anyway. She had been able to drink and eat a bit, and while it wasn't much, Lou took it as something to hold on to. It was as much as her mother was able to do. At least they were both still alive.

  Lou looked around their small, depressed group, then gazed at the naked trees on the angled slopes and wished winter would magically dissolve to summer's warmth, and Louisa would rise fine and healthy from her sickbed. The sounds of the wheels made them all turn and stare. The line of approaching wagons pulled by mule, horse, and oxen teams was a long one. They were filled with cut lumber, large padstones, kegs of nails, ropes, ladders, block and tackle, augers, and all manners of other tools, that Lou suspected came in part from McKenzie's Mercantile. Lou counted thirty men in all, all from the mountain, all of them farmers. Strong, quiet, bearded, they wore coarse clothing and wide-brimmed hats against a winter's sun, and all had large, thick hands severely battered by both the mountain elements and a lifetime of hard work. With them were a half dozen women. They unloaded their supplies. While the women laid out canvas and blankets and used Louisa's cookstove and fireplace to start preparing the meals, the men began to build a barn.

  Under Eugene's direction, they constructed supports for the block and tackle. Forgoing the route of post and mortar in hole, they opted to use the large, flat padstones for the barn's foundation. They dug shallow footers, laid the stones, leveled them, and then placed massive hewn timbers across the stones as the sill plates. These plates were secured together all around the foundation. Additional timbers were run down the middle of the barn floor and attached to the sill plates. Later, other posts would be placed here and braced to support the roof framework and hayloft. Usin
g the block and tackle, the mule teams lifted the massive corner posts up and on top of the sill plates. Thick brace timbers were nailed into the corner posts on either side, and then the braces themselves were firmly attached to the plates.

  With the barn's foundation set, the wall frames were built on the ground, and Eugene measured and marked and called out instructions on placement. Ladders were put up against the corner posts and holes augured into them. They used the block and tackle to raise other timbers up to be used as the crossbeams. Holes had been hand-drilled through these timbers, and they were attached to the corner posts with long metal bolts.

  There was a shout as the first wall was run up, and each time after that as the remaining walls were built and run up. They framed the roof, and then the hammering became relentless as stud walls were further built out. Saws sliced through the air, cold breaths crowded each other, sawdust swirled in the breeze, men held nails in their mouths, and hands moved hammers with practiced motions.

  Two meals were rung for, and the men dropped to the ground and ate hard each time. Lou and Oz carried plates of warm food and pots filled with hot chicory coffee to the groups of tired men. Cotton sat with his back against the rail fence, sipping his coffee, resting his sore muscles, and watching with a broad smile as a barn began to emerge out of nothing but the sweat and charity of good neighbors.

  As Lou placed a platter of hot bread slathered with butter in front of the men, she said, "I want to thank all of you for helping."

  Buford Rose picked up a piece of the bread and took a savage, if near toothless, bite. "Well, got to hep each other up here, 'cause ain't nobody else gonna. Ask my woman, ain't b'lieve me. And Lord knows Louisa's done her share of hepping folks round here." He looked over at Cotton, who tipped his cup of coffee to the man. "I knowed what I said to you 'bout being all worked out, Cotton, but lotta folk got it badder'n me. My brother be a dairy farmer down the Valley. Can't barely walk no more with all that setting on the stool, fingers done curled like some crazy root. And folk say two things dairy farmer ain't never gonna need they's whole lives: suit'a nice clothes and a place to sleep." He tore off another bread chunk.

  A young man said, "Hell, Ms. Louisa done borned me. My ma say I aint'a coming to this world what she not there." Other men nodded and grinned at this remark. One of them looked over to where Eugene was standing near the rising structure, chewing on a piece of chicken and figuring out the next tasks to be done.

  "And he done help me raise new barn two spring ago. Man good with hammer 'n saw. Ain't no lie."

  From under knotted plugs of eyebrows Buford Rose studied Lou's features. "I 'member your daddy good, girl. You done take after him fine. That boy, all the time pestering folk with questions. I had to tell him I done ain't got no more words in my head." He gave a near toothless grin, and Lou smiled back.

  The work continued. One group planked the roof and then laid out the roll of roofing paper on top. Another team, headed up by Eugene, fashioned the double doors for both ends, as well as the hayloft doors, while yet another group planked and daubed the outside walls. When it got too dark to see what they were hitting and cutting, kerosene lamps lit the night. The hammering and sawing got to be almost pleasing to hear. Almost. None complained, though, when the final board had been laid, the last nail driven. It was well into dark when the work was done and the wagons headed out.

  Eugene, Cotton, and the children wearily herded the animals into their new home and laid the floor with hay gathered from the fields and the corncrib. The hayloft, stalls, storage bins, and such still needed to be built out, roll of roofing would eventually need to be covered with proper wood shingles, but the animals were inside and warm. With a very relieved smile, Eugene shut the barn doors tight.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  COTTON WAS DRIVING THE CHILDREN DOWN TO VISIT Louisa. Though they were well into winter, heavy snow had not yet come, merely dustings of several inches, though it would only be a matter of time before it fell hard and deep. They passed the coal company town where Diamond had adorned the superintendent's new Chrysler Crown Imperial with horse manure. The town was empty now, the housing abandoned, the store vacant, the tipple sagging, the entrance to the mine boarded up, and the mine superintendent's fancy, horse-shitted Chrysler long gone. "What happened?" said Lou.

  "Shut down," answered Cotton grimly. "Fourth mine in as many months. Veins were already petering out, but then they found out the coke they make here is too soft for steel production, so America's fighting machine went looking elsewhere for its raw material. Lot of folks here out of work. And the last lumber company moved on to Kentucky two months ago. A double blow. Farmers on the mountain had a good year, but the people in the towns are hurting bad. It's usually one or the other. Prosperity only seems to come in halves up here." Cotton shook his head. "Indeed, the fine mayor of Dickens resigned his post, sold out his stake at inflated prices before the crash, and headed to Pennsylvania to seek a new fortune. I've often found the ones who talk the best game are the first ones to run at the earliest sign of trouble."

  Coming down the mountain, Lou noted that there were fewer coal trucks, and that many of the mountainside tipples weren't even being operated. When they passed Tremont, she saw that half the stores were boarded up, and there were few people on the streets, and Lou sensed it wasn't just because of the chilly weather.

  When they got to Dickens, Lou was shocked, for many stores were boarded up here as well, including the one Diamond had opened an umbrella in. Bad luck had reigned there after all, and it was no longer funny to Lou. Ill-clothed men sat on sidewalks and steps, staring at nothing. There weren't many cars slant-parked, and shopkeepers stood, idle hands on hips, nervous looks on faces, in the doorways of their empty stores. The men and women walking the streets were very few in number, and their faces carried an anxious pallor. Lou watched as a bus filled with folks slowly headed out of town. An empty coal train symbolically crept behind the line of buildings and parallel to the main road. The "Coal Is King" banner was no longer flying mighty and proud across the street, and Miss Bituminous Coal of 1940 had probably fled as well, Lou imagined.

  As they went along, Lou could see more than one group of people point at them and then talk among themselves.

  "Those people don't look very happy," said Oz nervously, as they climbed out of Cotton's Oldsmobile and looked across the street at another collection of men who were watching them closely. At the front of this mob was none other than George Davis.

  "Come on, Oz," said Cotton. "We're here to see Louisa, that's all."

  He led them into the hospital, where they learned from Travis Barnes that Louisa's condition had not changed. Her eyes were wide open and glassy. Lou and Oz each held one of her hands, but she clearly did not know them. Lou would have thought she had already passed, except for her shallow breathing. She watched the rise and fall of that chest with the deepest intensity, praying with all her soul for it to keep rising, until Cotton told her it was time to go, and Lou was surprised to learn that an hour had passed.

  When they walked back to the Oldsmobile, the men were waiting for them. George Davis had his hand on the door of Cotton's car.

  Cotton walked boldly up to them. "What can I do for you folks?" he inquired politely, even as he firmly removed Davis's hand from the Olds.

  "You get that fool woman in there sell her land, that what!" shouted Davis.

  Cotton looked the men over. Other than Davis, they were all men from the town, not the mountain. But he knew that didn't mean they were any less desperate than folks who tethered their survival to dirt, seed, and the fickleness of rain. These folks had just tied their hopes to coal. But coal was unlike corn; once plucked, coal didn't grow back.

  "I've already been over this with you, George, and the answer hasn't changed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get these children home."

  "Whole town gone to hell," said another man.

  "And you think that's Louisa's fault?" ask
ed Cotton.

  "She dying. She ain't need her land," said Davis.

  "She's not dying!" said Oz.

  "Cotton," said a well-dressed man about fifty years old who, Cotton knew, ran the automobile dealership in Dickens. He had narrow shoulders, thin arms, and smooth palms that clearly showed he had never hoisted a hay bale, swung a scythe, or plowed a field. "I'm going to lose my business. I'm going to lose everything I've got if something doesn't replace the coal. And I'm not the only one like that. Look around, we're hurting bad."

  "What happens when the natural gas runs out?" countered Cotton. "Then what will you be looking for to save you?"

  "Ain't got to look that fer ahead. Take care of bizness now, and that bizness be gas," said Davis in an angry voice. "We all git rich. I ain't got no problem selling my place, hep my neighbor."

  "Really?" said Lou. "I didn't see you at the barn raising, George. In fact you haven't been back since Louisa ran you off. Unless you had something to do with our barn burning down in the first place."

  Davis spit, wiped his mouth, and hitched his britches, and would've no doubt throttled the girl right there if Cotton hadn't been standing next to her.

  "Lou," said Cotton firmly, "that's enough."

  "Cotton," said the well-dressed man, "I can't believe you're abandoning us for some stupid mountain woman.

  Hell, you think you'll have any lawyering to do if the town dies?"

  Cotton smiled. "Don't y'all worry about me. You'd be amazed at how little I can get by on. And regarding Miss Cardinal, y'all listen up, because it's the last time I'm going to say it. She does not want to sell her land to Southern Valley. That's her right, and y'all better damn well respect it. Now, if you really and truly