Wish You Well, Page 29

  They sat for some minutes in silence until Oz saw the stack of letters on Lou's desk. "Have you read all of them?" Lou nodded. "Did you like them?" he asked.

  Lou looked as though she might start bawling again. "They're wonderful, Oz. Dad wasn't the only writer in the family."

  "Can you read some more of them to me? Please?"

  Lou finally said all right, she would, and Oz settled in and closed his eyes tightly.

  "Why are you doing that?" she asked.

  "If I close my eyes when you read the letters it's like Mom is right here talking to me."

  Lou looked at the letters as though she held gold. "Oz, you are a genius!"

  "I am? Why? What'd I do?" "You just found our miracle."

  Dense clouds had settled over the mountains with no apparent intention to move along anytime soon. Under a freezing rain, Lou, Oz, and Jeb raced along. Chilled to the bone, they reached the clearing, with the old well dead ahead. They ran up to it. Oz's bear and the photo still lay there, soaked and fouled by weather. Oz looked at the photograph and then smiled at his sister. She bent down and took the bear, handing it to Oz.

  'Take your bear back," she said tenderly. "Even if you're all grown now."

  She put the photo in the bag she carried and then reached inside and pulled out the letters. "Okay, Diamond said we had to give up the most important thing we have in the whole world for the wishing well to work. I can't think of anything more important than Mom's letters. So here goes."

  Lou carefully placed the bundle on the edge of the well and set a large rock against it to hold it tight against the wind.

  "Now we have to wish."

  "For Mom to come back?"

  Lou slowly shook her head. "Oz, we have to wish for Louisa to go down to that courthouse. Like Cotton said, it's the only way she'll keep her home."

  Oz looked stricken. "But what about Mom? We might not get another chance to wish."

  Lou hugged him. "I know, but after all she's done for us, we've got to do this for Louisa. She's our family too. And the mountain means everything to her."

  Oz finally nodded sadly in agreement. "You say it then."

  Lou held Oz's hand, closed her eyes, and he did too. "We wish that Louisa Mae Cardinal will get up from her bed and show everyone that she's just fine."

  Together they said, "Amen, Jesus." And then they ran as fast as they could away from that place, both hoping and praying that there was just one wish left in that pile of old brick and stagnant water.

  Late that night Cotton walked along the deserted main street of Dickens, hands stuffed into his pockets, the loneliest man in the world. Cold rain fell steadily, but he was oblivious to it. He sat on a covered bench and eyed the flicker of the street's gas lamps behind the fall of rain. The nameplate on the lamp post was bold and clear: "Southern Valley Coal and Gas." An empty coal truck drifted down the street. A backfire resounded from its tailpipe; the small explosion violently broke the silence of the night.

  Cotton watched the truck go by and then slumped down. Yet as his gaze once again caught the flicker of the gas lamp, a flicker of an idea seeped into his mind. He sat up, stared after that coal truck, and then back at that gas lamp. That's when the flicker became a firm idea. And then a rain-soaked Cotton Longfellow stood tall and clapped his hands together, and it sounded like the mighty smack of thunder, for the firm idea had become a miracle of his own.

  Minutes later Cotton came into Louisa's room. He stood by the bed and gripped the unconscious woman's hand. "I swear to you, Louisa Mae Cardinal, you will not lose your land."

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE COURTROOM DOOR SWUNG OPEN AND COTTON strode in with concentrated purpose. Goode, Miller, and Wheeler were already there. And along with this triumvirate, the entire population of the mountain and town had apparently managed to lever itself into the courtroom. A half-million dollars at stake had stirred feelings in folks that had not been touched in many years. Even one elderly gentleman who had long claimed to be the oldest surviving Rebel soldier of the Civil War had come to experience the final round of this legal battle. He clumped in on an oak timber-toe with a capped stump for a right arm, snowy beard down to his belt, and wearing the glorious butternut colors of the Confederate soldier. Those sitting in the front row respectfully made a space for him.

  It was cold and damp outside, though the mountains had grown weary of the rain and had finally broken up the clouds and sent them on their way. In the courtroom, the accumulation of body heat was fierce, the humidity high enough to fog the windows. And yet every spectator's body was tense against his neighbor, seat or wall.

  "I guess it's about time to bring down the curtain on this show," Goode said amiably enough to Cotton. But what Cotton saw was a man with the satisfied look of a professional killer about to blow the smoke off his six-shooter's barrel and then wink at the body lying in the street.

  "I think it's just getting started" was Cotton's bludgeoning response.

  As soon as the judge was announced and the jury had filed in, Cotton stood. "Your Honor, I would like to make an offer to the Commonwealth."

  "Offer? What are you getting at, Cotton?" said Atkins.

  "We all know why we're here. It's not about whether Louisa Mae Cardinal is competent or not. It's about gas."

  Goode lurched to his feet. "The Commonwealth has a vested interest in seeing that Miss Cardinal's business—"

  Cotton interrupted. "The only business Miss Cardinal has is deciding whether to sell her land."

  Atkins looked intrigued. "What's your offer?"

  "I am prepared to concede that Miss Cardinal is mentally unfit."

  Goode smiled. "Well, now we're getting somewhere."

  "But in return, I want to examine whether Southern Valley is an appropriate party to acquire her land."

  Goode looked astonished. "Lord, they're one of the most substantial companies in the state."

  Cotton said, "I'm not talking about money. I'm talking about morals."

  "Your Honor," Goode said indignantly.

  "Approach the bench," said Atkins.

  Cotton and Goode hurried forward.

  Cotton said, "Judge, there is a long line of Virginia case law that clearly holds that one who commits a wrong shall be barred from profiting from same."

  "This is nonsense," said Goode.

  Cotton drew close to his adversary. "If you don't agree to let me do it, Goode, I've got my own expert who will contradict everything Dr. Ross has said. And if I lose here, I'll appeal. All the way to the Supreme Court if need be. By the time your client gets to that gas, rest assured, we'll all be dead."

  "But I'm a lawyer for the Commonwealth. I have no authority to represent a private company."

  "A more ironic statement I have never heard," said Cotton. "But I waive any objection and agree to be bound by the decision of this jury, even with the sorry likes of George Davis sitting on it." Goode was looking toward Miller for a cue, so Cotton gave him a shove. "Oh, Goode, go over there and talk to your client and stop wasting time."

  With a sheepish look, Goode slipped over and had a heated discussion with Miller, who looked over repeatedly at Cotton. He finally nodded, and Goode came back.

  "No objection."

  The judge nodded. "Go ahead, Cotton."

  %

  Lou had ridden down to the hospital in the Hudson with Eugene while Oz had stayed behind. He had said he wanted nothing more to do with courts and the law. Bu-ford Rose's wife had come over to look after Oz and his mother. Lou sat in the chair staring at Louisa, waiting for her miracle to take effect. The room was cold and sterile, and it did not seem conducive to anybody's getting well, but Lou was not counting on medicine to make the woman better. Her hopes lay with a stack of old bricks in a grassy meadow and a bundle of letters that might very well be the last words of her mother she would ever have.

  Lou rose and drifted to the window. She could see the movie theater from here, where The Wizard of Oz was
still enjoying a long run. However, Lou had lost her dear Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion was no longer afraid. And the Tin Man? Had she finally found her heart? Maybe she had never lost it.

  Lou turned and looked at her great-grandmother. The girl stiffened when Louisa opened her eyes and looked at her. There was a strong sense of recognition, a suspicion of a tender smile, and Lou's hopes soared. As though not only their names, but also their spirits, were identical, a tear trickled down me two Louisas' cheeks. Lou went to her, slipped her hand around Louisa's, and kissed it.

  "I love you, Louisa," she said, her heart so near to breaking, for she could not recall saying those words before. Louisa's lips moved, and though Lou could not hear the words, she clearly saw on her lips what the woman was saying back: / love you, Louisa.

  And then Louisa's eyes slowly closed and did not reopen, and Lou wondered if that was to be all of her miracle.

  "Miss Lou, they want us down to the courthouse."

  She turned and saw a wide-eyed Eugene standing in the doorway. "Mr. Cotton want us both get on the stand."

  Lou slowly let go of Louisa's hand, turned, and left.

  A minute later Louisa's eyes opened once more. She looked around the room. Her expression was fearful for a moment, but then grew calm. She started pushing herself up, confused at first as to why her left side was not cooperating. She kept her gaze on the window of the room, even as she fought hard to move herself. Inch by precious inch she progressed, until she was half-sitting, her eyes still on that window. Louisa was breathing heavily now, her strength and energy nearly gone after this short struggle. Yet she lay back against her pillow and smiled. For outside the large window her mountain was now boldly visible. The sight was so beautiful to the woman, although winter had taken most of its color. Next year, though, it would surely all return. Like it always did. Family that never really left you. That was what the mountain was. And her eyes remained fixed on the familiar rise of rock and trees, even as Louisa Mae Cardinal grew very still.

  In the courtroom, Cotton stood before the bench and announced in a strong voice, "I call Miss Louisa Mae Cardinal."

  A gasp went up from the crowd. And then the door opened and Lou and Eugene came in. Miller and Goode looked smug once more as they saw it was only the child. Eugene sat while Lou went up to the witness chair.

  Fred approached. "Raise your right hand, put your left on the Bible. You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

  "I do," she said quietly, looking around at everyone staring at her. Cotton smiled reassuringly. Out of sight of anyone, he showed her that his fingers were crossed for luck too.

  "Now, Lou, what I have to ask you is going to be painful, but I need you to answer my questions. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Now, on the day Jimmy Skinner was killed, you were with him, right?"

  Miller and Goode exchanged troubled glances. Goode got to his feet.

  "Your Honor, what does this have to do with anything?"

  "The Commonwealth agreed to let me explore my theory," said Cotton.

  "All right," said the judge. "But don't take all day."

  Cotton turned back to Lou. "You were at the mine entrance when the explosion occurred?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you describe for us what happened?"

  Lou swallowed, her eyes becoming watery.

  "Eugene set the dynamite and came out. We were just going to wait for it to go off. Diamond—I mean, Jimmy— ran into the mine to get Jeb, his dog, who had chased a squirrel in mere. Eugene went in to get Jimmy. I was standing in front of the entrance when the dynamite went off."

  "Was it a loud explosion?"

  "Loudest thing I've heard in my life."

  "Could you say whether you heard two explosions?"

  She looked confused. "No, I can't."

  "Likely as not. Then what happened?"

  "Well, this big rush of air and smoke came out and knocked me down."

  "Must've been some force."

  "It was. It truly was."

  "Thank you, Lou. No further questions."

  "Mr. Goode?" said Atkins.

  "No questions, Your Honor. Unlike Mr. Longfellow, I'm not going to waste the jury's valuable time with this nonsense."

  "I next call Eugene Randall," said Cotton.

  A nervous Eugene was on the stand. The hat Lou had given him was clutched tightly in his hands.

  "Now, Eugene, you went to the mine the day Jimmy Skinner was killed to get some coal, correct?"

  "Yes, suh."

  "You use dynamite to get the coal out?'

  "Yep, most folks do. Coal make good heat. Lot bet-ter'n wood."

  "How many times you reckon you've used dynamite in that mine?"

  Eugene thought about this. "Over the years, thirty times or mo'."

  "I think that makes you an expert."

  Eugene smiled at this designation. "I reckon so."

  "How exactly do you go about using the dynamite?"

  "Well, I put the stick'a dynamite in a hole in the wall, cap it, roll out my fuse, and light the fuse with the flame from my lantern."

  "Then what do you do?"

  "That shaft curves in a couple places, so's I sometimes wait round the curve if I ain't using much dynamite.

  Sometime I go outside. Noise's starting to hurt my ears now. And blast kick the coal dust up bad."

  "I bet it can. In fact, on the day in question, you did go outside. Right?"

  "Yes, suh."

  "And then you went back inside to get Jimmy, but were unsuccessful."

  "Yes, suh," Eugene answered, looking down.

  "Was that the first time you'd been in the mine in a while?"

  "Yes, suh. Since the first of the year. Past winter ain't that bad."

  "Okay. Now, when the explosion went off, where were you?"

  "Eighty feet in. Not to the first curve. Got me the bad leg, ain't moving fast no more."

  "What happened to you when the explosion occurred?"

  "Throwed me ten feet. Hit the wall. Thought I be dead. Held on to my lantern, though. Ain't know how."

  "Good Lord. Ten feet? A big man like you? Now, do you remember where you put the dynamite charge?"

  "Don't never forget that, Mr. Cotton. Past the second curve. Three hunnerd feet in. Good vein of coal there."

  Cotton feigned confusion. "I'm not getting something here, Eugene. Now, you testified that on occasion you would actually stay in the mine when the dynamite went off. And you weren't injured then. And yet here, how is it that you were over two hundred feet from the dynamite charge, around not just one but two shaft curves, and the explosion still knocked you ten feet in the air? If you were any closer, you probably would've been killed. How do you explain that?"

  Eugene too was thoroughly bewildered now. "I can't, Mr. Cotton. But it done happened. I swear."