Wish You Well

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, horseshitted 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?” asked 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 can’t survive here without the gas folks, then I suggest you leave. Because you see, Miss Cardinal doesn’t have that problem. Every lick of coal and gas could disappear from this earth tomorrow, and electricity and phones too, and she’d be just fine.” He stared pointedly at the well-dressed man. “Now tell me, who’s the stupid one?”

Cotton told the children to climb in the car, and he eased himself into the driver’s seat, even as the men pushed forward a bit, crowding him. Several of them moved back and blocked the rear of the car. Cotton started the engine of the Olds, rolled down the window, and looked at them. “Now, the clutch on this thing is right peculiar. Sometimes it pops out and this old girl jumps about a country mile. Almost killed a man one time when it did that. Well, here goes. Look out now!”

He popped the clutch, and the Olds jumped backward, and so did all the men. The path cleared, Cotton backed out and they headed off. When the rock banged against the rumble seat of the car, Cotton pushed down on the accelerator and told Lou and Oz to get down and stay down. Several more rocks hit against the car, before they were safely out of range.

“What about Louisa?” asked Lou.

“She’ll be fine. Travis is most always around, and he’s a man not to be beat with a shotgun. And when he’s not there, his nurse is just about as fine a shot. And I warned the sheriff folks were getting a bit riled. They’ll keep close watch. But those people aren’t going to do anything to a helpless woman in a bed. They’re hurting, but they’re not like that.”

“Are they going to throw rocks at us every time we come to visit Louisa?” asked Oz fearfully.

Cotton put an arm around the boy. “Well, if they do, I suspect they’ll run out of rocks long before we run out of visits.”

When they got back to the farmhouse, an anxious-looking Eugene hurried out, a piece of paper in his hand.

“Man from the town come by with this, Mr. Cotton. I ain’t knowed what it is. He say give it to you quick.”

Cotton opened up the slip of paper and read it. It was a delinquent tax notice. He had forgotten Louisa had not paid her property taxes for the last three years because there had been no crops, and thus no money. The county had carried her over, as it did with all the other farmers in similar circumstances. They were expected to pay of course, but they were always given time. This notice, however, was demanding payment in full immediately. Two hundred dollars’ worth of payment. And since she had been in default for so long, they could foreclose and sell the land far more quickly than normal. Cotton could feel Southern Valley’s vicious stamp all over the paper.

“Is something wrong, Cotton?” asked Lou.

He looked at her and smiled. “I’ll take care of it, Lou. Just paperwork, honey.”

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.