Wish You Well

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Lou and Oz raced past the empty yard and inside the schoolhouse. Breathless, they hustled to their seats.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Lou said to Estelle McCoy, who was already chalking something on the board. “We were working in the fields and . . .” She looked around and noted that fully half the seats were empty.

“Lou, it’s all right,” said her teacher. “Planting time’s starting, I’m just glad you made it in at all.”

Lou sat down in her seat. From the corner of her eye she saw that Billy Davis was there. He looked so angelic that she told herself to be cautious. When she lifted up her desk top to put away her books, she could not stifle the scream. The snake coiled in her desk—a three-foot brown and yellow-banded copperhead—was dead. However, the piece of paper tied around the serpent, with the words “Yankee Go Home” scrawled upon it, was what really made Lou angry.

“Lou,” called Mrs. McCoy from the blackboard, “is anything wrong?”

Lou closed the desk and looked at Billy, who pursed his lips and attended to his book. “No,” said Lou.

It was lunchtime, and the air was cool, but with a warming sun, and the children gathered outside to eat, lard buckets and other like containers in hand. Just about everyone had something to line his or her stomach, even if it was just scraps of cornbread or biscuit, and many a hand cradled a small jug of milk or jar of springwater. Children settled back on the ground to do their eating, drinking, and talking. Some of the younger ones ran around in circles until they were so dizzy they fell down, and then older siblings picked them up and made them eat.

Lou and Oz sat under the deep shade of the walnut tree, the breeze slowly lifting the ends of Lou’s hair. Oz bit heartily into his buttered biscuit and drank down the cold springwater they had brought in a canning jar. Lou, though, did not eat. She seemed to be waiting for something, and stretched her limbs as though preparing for a race.

Billy Davis strutted through the small clumps of eaters, prominently swinging his wooden lunch pail made from a small nail keg with a wire driven through it for a handle. He stopped at one group, said something, laughed, glanced over at Lou, and laughed some more. He finally climbed into the lower branches of a silver maple and opened his lunch pail. He screamed out, fell backward out of the tree, and landed mostly on his head. The snake was on him, and he rolled and pitched trying to get the serpent off. Then he realized it was his own dead copperhead that had been tied to the lid of the pail, which he still clutched in his hand. When he stopped squealing like a stabbed pig, he realized everyone in the schoolyard was belly-laughing at him.

All except Lou, who just sat there with her arms crossed pretending to ignore this spectacle. Then she broke out into a smile so wide it threatened to block the sun. When Billy stood, so did she. Oz pushed the biscuit into his mouth, gulped down the rest of the water, and scooted to safety behind the walnut tree. Fists cocked, Lou and Billy met in the very center of the schoolyard. The crowd closed around them, and Yankee girl and mountain boy went for round two.

Lou, the other side of her lip cut this time, sat at her desk. She stuck her tongue out at Billy, who sat across from her, his shirt torn and his right eye a nice purplish black. Estelle McCoy stood in front of them, arms crossed, a scowl on her face. Right after stopping the championship bout, the angry teacher had ended school early and sent word to the fighters’ respective families.

Lou was in high spirits, for she had clearly licked Billy again in front of everybody. He didn’t look too comfortable, though, fidgeting in his chair and glancing nervously at the door. Lou finally understood his anxiety when the schoolhouse door crashed open and George Davis stood there.

“What in the hell’s going on here?” he roared loud enough to make even Estelle McCoy cower.

As he stalked forward, the teacher drew back. “Billy was in a fight, George,” Mrs. McCoy said.

“You called me in here on ’count of a damn fight?” he snarled at her, and then towered menacingly over Billy. “I were out in the field, you little bastard, ain’t got time for this crap.” When George saw Lou, his wild eyes grew even more wicked, and then the man threw a backhand that caught Billy on the side of his head and knocked him to the floor.

Father stood over the fallen son. “You let a damn girl do that to you?”

“George Davis!” Estelle McCoy cried out. “You let your son be.”

He held up a menacing hand to her. “Now on, boy works the farm. No more this damn school.”

“Why don’t you let Billy decide that?”

Louisa said this as she walked into the room, Oz following closely behind her clutching at the woman’s pants leg.

“Louisa,” the teacher said with great relief.

Davis stood his ground. “He a boy, he damn well do what I say.”

Louisa helped Billy into his seat and comforted him, before turning to the father. “You see a boy? I see me a fine young man.”

Davis snorted. “He ain’t no growed man.”

Louisa took a step toward him and spoke in a quiet voice, but her look was so fierce Lou forgot to breathe. “But you are. So don’t you never hit him agin.”

Davis pointed right in her face with a nail-less finger. “Don’t you go telling me how to handle my boy. You had yourself one child. Had me nine, ’nuther on the way.”

“Number of children fathered got little enough to do with being a good daddy.”

“You got that big nigger Hell No livin’ with you. God’ll strike you down for that. Must be that Cherokee blood. You don’t belong here. Never did, Injun woman.”

A stunned Lou looked at Louisa. Yankee. And Indian.

“His name is Eugene,” said Louisa. “And my daddy were part Apache, not Cherokee. And the God I know punishes the wicked. Like men who beat their children.” Louisa took one more step forward. “You ever lay a hand on that child agin, best pray to whatever god you counsel with I ain’t find you.”

Davis laughed nastily. “You scaring me, old woman.”

“Then you smarter than I thought.”

Davis’s hand curled to a fist and he looked ready to swing until he saw big Eugene filling the doorway, and his courage seemed to peter away.

Davis grabbed Billy. “Boy, you git on home. Git!” Billy raced out of the room. Davis followed slowly, taking his time. He looked back at Louisa. “This ain’t over. No sir.” He banged the door shut on his way out.