Wish You Well

by David Baldacci

  "Give up what?" This came from Oz, who was so excited the boy seemed to float above the supple grass like a tethered bubble.

  Diamond lifted Ms arms to the dark sky. "Like just the most grandest, importantest thing they got in the whole dang world."

  Lou was surprised he didn't take a bow. She knew what was coming now, as Oz tugged at her sleeve.

  "Lou, maybe we can—"

  "No!" she said sharply. "Oz, you have got to understand that dangling necklaces and wishing wells won't work. Nothing will."

  "But, Lou."

  The girl stood and pulled her brother's hand free. "Don't be stupid, Oz. You'll just end up crying your eyes out again."

  Lou ran off. After a second's hesitation Oz followed her.

  Diamond was left with the spoils of something, surely not victory, judging by his disappointed face. He looked around and whistled, and Jeb came running. "Let's get on home, Jeb," he said quietly.

  The pair ran off in the opposite direction from Lou and Oz, as the mountains headed for sleep.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THERE WAS NO TRACE OF OUTSIDE LIGHT AS YET, when Lou heard the creak of foot on stair. The door to her room opened and Lou sat up in bed. The glow of lantern light eased into the space, followed by Louisa, already fully dressed. With her flow of silver hair and the gentle illumination around her, the woman seemed a messenger from heaven to Lou's sleepy mind. The air in the room was chilly; Lou thought she could see her own breath.

  "Thought I'd let you and Oz sleep in," Louisa said softly as she came and sat next to Lou.

  Lou stifled a yawn and looked out the window at the blackness. "What time is it?"

  "Nearly five."

  "Five!" Lou dropped back against her pillow and pulled the covers over her head.

  Louisa smiled. "Eugene's milking the cows. Be good you learn how."

  "I can't do it later?" Lou asked from under the blanket.

  "Cows don't care to wait round for us people," Louisa said. "They moan till the bag's dry." She added, "Oz is already dressed."

  Lou jolted upright. "Mom couldn't get him out of bed before eight, and even that was a fight."

  "He's right now having a bowl of molasses over corn-bread and fresh milk. Be good if you'd join us."

  Lou threw off the covers and touched the cold floor, which sent a shiver directly to her brain. Now she was convinced she could see her breath. "Give me five minutes," she said bravely.

  Louisa noted the girl's obvious physical distress. "Had us a frost last night," Louisa said. "Stays cold up here longer. Works into your bones like a little knife. Be warm afore long, and then when winter comes, we move you and Oz down to the front room, right by the fire. Fill it with coal, keep you warm all night. We'll make it right good for you here." She paused and looked around the room. "Can't give you what you had in the city, but we do our best." She rose and went to the door. "I put hot water in the washbowl earlier so's you can clean up."

  "Louisa?"

  She turned back, the arc of lantern light throwing and then magnifying her shadow against the wall. "Yes, honey?"

  "This was my dad's room, wasn't it?"

  Louisa looked around slowly before coming back to the girl, and the question. "From time he was four till he gone away. Ain't nobody use this room since."

  Lou pointed to the covered walls. "Did my dad do that?"

  Louisa nodded. "He'd walk ten miles to get ahold of a paper or a book. Read 'em all a dozen times and then stuck them newspapers up there and kept right on reading. Never saw a boy that curious in all my life." She looked at Lou. "Bet you just like him."

  "I want to thank you for taking Oz and me in."

  Louisa looked toward the door. 'This place be good for your mother too. We all pitch in, she be fine."

  Lou looked away, started to fumble with her nightdress. "I'll be down in a minute," she said abruptly.

  Louisa accepted this change in the girl's manner without comment and softly closed the door behind her.

  Downstairs, Oz was just finishing the last of his breakfast when Lou appeared, dressed, as he was, in faded overalls, long John shirt, and lace-up boots Louisa had laid out for them. A lantern hanging on a wall hook, and the coal fire, gave the room its only light. Lou looked at the grandmother clock on the fireplace mantel, itself a six-by-six timber of planed oak. It was indeed a little past five. Who would have thought cows would be up so early? she thought.

  "Hey, Lou," Oz said. "You've got to taste this milk. It's great."

  Louisa looked at Lou and smiled. "Those clothes fit real good. Said a prayer they would. If'n the boots too big, we fill 'em with rags."

  "They're fine," said Lou, though they were actually too small, pinching her feet some.

  Louisa brought over a bucket and a glass. She put the glass on the table, draped a cloth over it, and poured the milk from the bucket into it, foam bubbling up on the cloth. "Want molasses on your cornbread?" she asked. "Real good that way. Line your belly."

  "It's great," gushed Oz as he swallowed the last bite of his meal and washed it down with the rest of his milk.

  Lou looked at her glass. "What's the cloth for?"

  "Take things out the milk you don't need in you," answered Louisa.

  "You mean the milk's not pasteurized?" Lou said this in such a distressed tone that Oz gaped at his empty glass, looking as though he might drop dead that very instant.

  "What's pastures?" he asked anxiously. "Can it get me?"

  "The milk's fine," Louisa said in a calm tone. "I've had it this way all my life. And your daddy too."

  At her words, a relieved Oz sat back and commenced breathing again. Lou sniffed at her milk, tasted it gingerly a couple of times, and then took a longer swallow.

  "I told you it was good," Oz said. "Putting it out to pasture probably makes it taste bad, I bet."

  Lou said, "Pasteurization is named after Louis Pasteur, the scientist who discovered a process that kills bacteria and makes milk safe to drink."

  "I'm sure he were a smart man," said Louisa, as she set down a bowl of cornbread and molasses in front of Lou. "But we boil the cloth in between, and we get by just fine." The way she said this made Lou not want to wrestle the issue anymore.

  Lou took a forkful of the cornbread and molasses. Her eyes widened at the taste. "Where do you buy this?" she asked Louisa.

  "Buy what?"

  "This food. It's really good."

  "Told you," said Oz again smugly.

  Louisa said, "Don't buy it, honey. Make it."

  "How do you do that?"

  "Show, remember? A lot better'n telling. And best way of all is doing. Now, hurry up and you get yourself together with a cow by the name of Bran. Old Bran's got trouble you two can help Eugene fix."

  With this enticement, Lou quickly finished her breakfast, and she and Oz hurried to the door.

  "Wait, children," Louisa said. "Plates in the tub here, and you gonna need this." She picked up another lantern and lit it. The smell of working kerosene filled the room.

  'This house really doesn't have electricity?" Lou asked.

  "Know some folks down Tremont got the dang thing. It go off sometimes and they got no idea what to do with theirselves. Like they forgot how to light kerosene. Just give me a good lantern in hand and I be fine."

  Oz and Lou carried their plates to the sink.

  "After you done in the barn, I show you the spring-house. Where we get our water. Haul it up twice a day. Be one of your chores."

  Lou looked confused. "But you have the pump."

  "That just for dishes and such. Need water for lots of things. Animals, washing, tool grinder, bathing. Pump ain't got no pressure. Take you a day to fill up a good-sized lard bucket." She smiled. "Sometimes seems we spend most our breath hauling wood and water. First ten years'a my life, I thought my name was 'git.' "

  They were about to go out the door again, Lou carrying the lantern, when she stopped. "Uh, which one's the cow barn?"
>
  "How's 'bout I show you?"

  The air was bone-hurting cold and Lou was grateful for the thick shirt, but still wedged her bare hands under her armpits. With Louisa and her lantern leading the way, they went past the chicken coop and corrals and over to the barn, a big A-frame building with a wide set of double doors. These doors stood open and a solitary light was on inside. From the barn Lou heard the snorts and calls of animals, the shuffling of restless hoofs on dirt, and from the coop came the flapping of skittish wings. The sky was curiously darker in some places than in others, and then Lou realized these ebony patches were the Appalachians.

  She had never encountered night such as this. No streetlights, no lights from buildings, no cars, no illumination of any kind granted by battery or electricity. The only lights were the few stars overhead, the kerosene lamp Louisa was carrying, and the one Eugene presumably had on in the barn. The darkness didn't frighten Lou at all, though. In fact she felt oddly safe here as she followed the tall figure of her great-grandmother. Oz trailed close, and Lou could sense he was not nearly so comfortable right now. She well knew that, given time to think about it, her brother could imagine unspeakable terror in just about anything.

  The barn smelled of stacked hay, wet earth, large animals and their warm manure. The floor was dirt covered with straw. On the walls hung bridles and harnesses, some cracked and worn out, others well oiled and supple. There were single- and doubletrees stacked on top of each other. A hayloft was reached by a wooden ladder with a broken second step. The loft took up most of the upper level and was filled with both loose and baled hay. There were center poles of poplar, which Lou assumed helped hold up the building. The barn had small wings built onto it on the sides and rear. Stalls and pens had been constructed there, and the mare, mules, hogs, and sheep loitered in their respective areas. Lou could see clouds of cold air erupting from warm animal nostrils.

  In one stall, Eugene sat on a small three-legged stool that was barely visible under his bulk. Right next to him was a cow, white with black patches. Her tail twitched back and forth, her head dipping into the manger box.

  Louisa left them there with Eugene and returned to the farmhouse. Oz crowded close to Lou as the cow in the next stall bumped into the partition and let out a moo. Eugene looked up at them.

  "Old Bran got the milk fever," he said. "Got to hep Old Bran out." He pointed to a rusty tire pump in one corner of the stall. "Hand me that there pump, Miss Lou."

  Lou gave it to him, and Eugene held the hose tightly against one of Bran's teats.

  "Now g'on pump."

  Oz pumped while Eugene went about holding the hose end against each of the four teats and rubbing the cow's udder, which was inflating like a ball.

  "That a good girl, never held your milk afore. We take care of you," Eugene said soothingly to Bran. "Okay, that's right good," he said to Oz, who stopped pumping and stepped back, waiting. Eugene set the pump aside and motioned for Lou to take his place on the stool. He guided her hands to Bran's teats and showed her how to grip them properly and also how to rub them to get them supple to help the flow.

  "We done pumped her up, now we got to get her dry. You pull hard, Miss Lou, Old Bran ain't caring none. Got to get her milk to run. That what be hurting her bad."

  Lou pulled tentatively at first, and then started to hit her stride. Her hands worked efficiently, and they all heard the air escaping from the udder. It made small, warm clouds in the cold air.

  Oz stepped forward. "Can I try?"

  Lou got up and Eugene moved Oz in, set him up. Soon he was pulling as well as Lou, and finally drips of milk appeared at the ends of the teats.

  "You doing good, Mr. Oz. You done pulled cow teat up there in the city?"

  They all laughed over that one.

  Three hours later, Lou and Oz were no longer laughing. They had milked the other two cows—one heavy with calf, Louisa told them—which had taken half an hour each; carried four large buckets of water into the house; and then lugged four more from the springhouse for the animals. That was followed by two loads of wood and three of coal to fill the house's wood and coal bins. Now they were slopping the hogs, and their chore list only seemed to be growing.

  Oz struggled with his bucket and Eugene helped him get it over the top rail. Lou dumped hers and then stepped back.

  "I can't believe we have to feed pigs," she said.

  "They sure eat a lot," added Oz, as he watched the creatures attack what appeared to be liquid garbage.

  "They're disgusting," said Lou, as she wiped her hands on her overalls.

  "And they give us food when we need it."

  They both turned and saw Louisa standing there, a full bucket of com feed for the chickens in hand, her brow already damp with sweat, despite the coolness. Louisa picked up Lou's empty slop bucket and handed it to her. "Snow come there's no going down the mountain. Have to store up. And they're hogs, Lou, not pigs." Lou and Louisa held a silent stare-down for a half dozen heartbeats, until the sound of the car coming made them look toward the farmhouse.

  It was an Oldsmobile roadster, packing all of forty-seven horsepower and a rumble seat. The car's black paint was chipped and rusted in numerous places, fenders dented, skinny tires near bald; and it had a convertible top that was open on this cold morning. It was a beautiful wreck of a thing.

  The man stopped the car and got out. He was tall, with a lanky body that both foretold a certain fragility and also promised exceptional strength. When he took off his hat, his hair was revealed as dark and straight, cutting a fine outline around his head. A nicely shaped nose and jawline, pleasant light blue eyes, and a mouth that had an abundance of laugh lines shimmying around it gave him a face that would prompt a smile even on a trying day. He appeared closer to forty than thirty. His suit was a two-piece gray, with a black vest and a gentleman's watch the size of a silver dollar hanging from a heavy chain riding across the front of the vest. The pants were baggy at the knee, and the man's shoes had long since given back their shine for good. He started to walk toward them, stopped, went back to his car, and pulled out a fat and battered briefcase.

  Absentminded, Lou thought to herself as she watched him closely. After meeting the likes of Hell No and Diamond, she wondered what odd moniker this stranger might have.

  "Who's that?" Oz asked.

  Louisa said in a loud voice, "Lou, Oz, this here's Cotton Longfellow, the finest lawyer round."

  The man smiled and shook Louisa's hand. "Well, since I'm also one of the very few lawyers round here, that's a dubious distinction at best, Louisa."

  His voice, a mixture of southern drawl and a New England rhythm, was unique to Lou. She could not place him to a particular area, and she was usually quite good at that. Cotton Longfellow! Lord, she had not been disappointed with the name.

  Cotton put down his briefcase and shook their hands solemnly, though there was an easy twinkle in his eye as he did so. "Very honored to meet you both. I feel like I know you from all that Louisa has told me. I've always hoped to meet you one day. And I'm right sorry it has to be under these circumstances." He said the last with a gentleness that not even Lou could fault.

  "Cotton and I got things to talk about. After you slop the hogs, you help Eugene turn the rest of the livestock out and drop hay. Then you can finish gathering the eggs."

  As Cotton and Louisa walked off, Oz picked up his bucket and happily went for some more slop. But Lou stared after Cotton and Louisa, clearly not thinking of hogs. She was wondering about a man with the strange name of Cotton Longfellow, who spoke sort of oddly and seemed to know so much about them. Finally, she eyed a four-hundred-pound hog that would somehow keep them from all starving come winter, and trudged after her brother. The walls of mountains seemed to close around the girl.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN