Wish You Well

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Outside the courthouse, Fords, Chevys, and Chryslers were slant-parked next to wagons pulled by mules and horses. A dusting of snow had given pretty white toppers to just about everything, yet no one was paying any attention to that. They had all hurried into the courthouse to see a much grander show.

The courtroom had never held so many souls. The seats on the main floor were filled. Folks even stood in the back and were sandwiched five deep on the second-floor balcony. There were town men in suits and ties, women in church dresses and boxy hats with veils and fake flowers or dangling fruit. Next to them were farmers in clean overalls and felt hats held in hand, their chew stashed in their pockets. Their women were beside them, Chop dresses to the ankles and wire glasses over worn, creased faces. They looked around the room excitedly as though they were about to see a queen or movie star stroll in.

Children were wedged here and there among the adults like mortar between brick. To get a better look, one boy climbed up on the railing around the balcony and clung to a support column. A man hauled him down and sternly told him that this was a court of law and dignity was required here, not tomfoolery. The ashamed boy trudged off. And then the man climbed up on the railing for a better look-see himself.

Cotton, Lou, and Oz were heading up the steps of the courthouse when a boy in an overcoat, slacks, and shiny black shoes ran up to them.

“My pa says you’re doing wrong by the whole town on account of one woman. He said we got to have the gas folks here, any way we can.” The little fellow looked at Cotton as though the lawyer had spit on the boy’s mother and then laughed about it.

“Is that right?” said Cotton. “Well, I respect your daddy’s opinion, though I don’t agree with it. Now, you tell him if he wants to discuss it with me in person later, I’d be right glad to do so.” Cotton glanced around and saw someone who he was sure was the child’s father, for the boy favored the man and he had been staring at them, but quickly looked away. Cotton glanced at all the cars and wagons and then said to the boy, “You and your daddy better get yourselves inside and get a seat. Looks to be a right popular spot today.”

When they entered the courtroom, Cotton was still amazed at the numbers in attendance. Yet, the hard work of farming was over for now, and people had time on their hands. And for the townsfolk it was an accessible show promising fireworks at a fair price. It seemed they were determined to miss not one legal trick, not one semantical headlock. For many this probably would be the most exciting time of their lives. And wasn’t that a sad thing, Cotton thought.

Yet, he knew the stakes here were high. A place dying once more only perhaps to be revitalized by a deep-pocketed company. And all he had to lay against that was an old woman lying in a bed, her senses seemingly struck from her. And there were also two anxious children counting on him; and lying in another bed a woman who maybe he could lose his heart to if only she would awaken. Lord, how was he ever going to survive this?

“Find a seat,” Cotton told the children. “And keep quiet.”

Lou gave him a peck on the cheek. “Good luck.” She crossed her fingers for him. A farmer they knew made room for them in one of the rows of seats.

Cotton went up the aisle, nodding at people he recognized in the crowd. Smack in the front row were Miller and Wheeler.

Goode was at the counsel table, seeming as happy as a hungry man at a church supper as he looked around at a crowd that seemed famished to witness this contest.

“You ready to have a go at this?” said Goode.

“As ready as you are,” Cotton replied gamely.

Goode chuckled. “With all due respect, I doubt that.”

Fred the bailiff appeared and said his official words, and they all rose, and the Court of the Honorable Henry J. Atkins was now in session.

“Send in the jury,” the judge said to Fred.

The jury filed in. Cotton looked at them one by one, and almost fell to the floor when he saw George Davis as one of the chosen.

He thundered, “Judge, George Davis wasn’t one of the jurors we voir dired. He has a vested interest in the outcome of this case.”

Atkins leaned forward. “Now, Cotton, you know we have a hard enough time getting jurors to serve. I had to drop Leroy Jenkins because he got kicked by his mule. Now, I know he’s not the most popular person around, but George Davis has as much right to serve as any other man. Look here, George, can you keep a fair and open mind about this case?”

Davis had his churchgoing clothes on and looked quietly respectable. “Yes, sir,” he said politely and looked around. “Why, y’all knowed Louisa’s place right next to mine. Get along good.” He smiled a black-toothed smile, which he seemed to have difficulty with, as though it were something he’d never before attempted.

“I’m sure Mr. Davis will make a fine juror, your Honor,” said Goode. “No objection here.”

Cotton looked at Atkins, and the curious expression on the judge’s face made Cotton think twice about what was really going on here.

Lou sat in her seat, silently fuming at this. It was wrong. And she wanted to stand up and say it was, yet for once in her life she was too intimidated. This was a court of law, after all.

“He’s lying!” The voice thundered, and every head in the place turned to its source.

Lou looked next to her to find Oz standing on his seat, taller now than all in the courtroom. His eyes were on fire, his finger pointed straight at George Davis. “He’s lying,” Oz roared again in a voice so deep Lou did not even recognize it as her brother’s. “He hates Louisa. It’s wrong for him to be here.”

Cotton had been struck dumb like all the others. He glanced around the room. Judge Atkins stared at the little boy, none too pleased. Goode was about ready to spring to his feet. And Davis’s look was so fierce that Cotton was very grateful that no gun was handy for the man. Cotton raced to Oz and swooped up the boy.

“Apparently, the propensity for public outbursts runs in the Cardinal family,” Atkins boomed. “Now, we can’t have that, Cotton.”

“I know, Judge. I know.”

“It’s wrong. That man is a liar!” yelled Oz.

Lou was scared. She said, “Oz, please, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, Lou,” said Oz. “That man is hateful. He starves his family. He’s wicked!”

“Cotton, take that child out,” roared the judge. “Right now.”

Cotton carried out Oz, with Lou trailing in their wake.

They sat on the cold courthouse steps. Oz wasn’t crying. He just sat there and smacked his small fists against his slender thighs. Lou felt tears trickle down her cheeks as she watched him. Cotton put an arm around Oz’s shoulders.

“It’s not right, Cotton,” said Oz. “It’s just not right.” The boy kept punching his legs.

“I know, son. I know. But it’ll be okay. Why, having George Davis on that jury might be a good thing for us.”

Oz stopped hitting himself. “How can that be?”

“Well, it’s one of the mysteries of the law, Oz, but you’ll just have to trust me on it. Now I suspect y’all still want to watch the trial.” They both said that they would very dearly want to do that.

Cotton glanced around and saw Deputy Howard Walker standing by the door. “Howard, it’s a little cold for these children to be waiting out here. If I guarantee no more outbursts, can you find a way to get them back in, ’cause I got to get going. You understand.”

Walker smiled and gripped his gunbelt. “Y’all come on with me, children. Let Cotton go work his magic.”

Cotton said, “Thank you, Howard, but helping us might cost you some popularity in this town.”

“My daddy and brother died in those mines. Southern Valley can go to hell. Now, you get on in there and show them what a fine lawyer you are.”

After Cotton went back in, Walker took Lou and Oz in through a rear entrance and got them settled at a spot in the balcony reserved for special visitors, after receiving a solemn promise from Oz that he would not be heard from again.

Lou looked at her brother and whispered. “Oz, you were really brave to do that. I was afraid to.” He smiled at her. Then she realized what was missing. “Where’s the bear I bought you?”

“Shoot, Lou, I’m too old for bears and thumb sucking.”

Lou looked at her brother and suddenly realized that this was true. And a tear clutched at her eye, for she suddenly had an image of her brother grown tall and strong and no longer in need of his big sister.

Down below, Cotton and Goode were having a heated sidebar with Judge Atkins at the bench.

“Now look here, Cotton,” said Atkins. “I’m not unmindful of what you’re saying about George Davis, and your objection is duly noted for the record, but Louisa delivered two of those jurors into this world, and the Commonwealth didn’t object to that.” He looked over at Goode. “Mr. Goode, will you excuse us for a minute here?”

The lawyer looked shocked. “Your Honor, an ex parte contact with counsel? We don’t do those sorts of things in Richmond.”

“Well, damn good thing this ain’t Richmond then. Now, just take yourself on over there for a bit.” Atkins waved his hand like he was flicking at flies, and Goode reluctantly moved back to his counsel table.

“Cotton,” said Atkins, “we both know there’s a lot of interest in this case, and we both know why: money. Now, we got Louisa laying over to hospital and most folks thinking she’s not going to make it anyway. And then we got us Southern Valley cash staring folks in the face.”

Cotton nodded. “So you’re thinking the jury is going to go against us despite the merits of the case?”

“Well, I can’t really say, but if you do lose here—”

“Then having George Davis on the jury gives me real good grounds for appeal,” finished Cotton.

Atkins looked very pleased that Cotton had seized upon this strategy so readily. “Why, I never thought of that. Real glad you did. Now let’s get this show on the road.”

Cotton moved back to his counsel table while Atkins smacked his gavel and announced, “Jury is hereby impaneled. Be seated.”

The jury collectively sat itself down.

Atkins looked them over slowly before his gaze came to rest on Davis. “One more thing now before we start. I’ve had my backside on this here bench for thirty-four years, and there’s never been anything close to jury tampering or messing around along those lines in my courtroom. And there’s never going to be such, for if there ever was, the folks that did it will think spending their whole lives in the coal mines a birthday party compared to what I’ll do to them.” He gave Davis one more good stare, fired similar broadsides at both Goode and Miller, and then said, “Now the parties have waived their opening statements. So Commonwealth, call your first witness.”

“Commonwealth calls Dr. Luther Ross,” said Goode.

The ponderous Dr. Ross rose and went to the witness stand. He had the gravity lawyers liked, when he was on their side; otherwise he was just a well-paid liar.

Fred swore him in. “Raise your right hand, put your left one on the Bible. Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

Ross said he most certainly would tell the truth and nothing but, and wedged himself into the witness chair.

Fred retreated and Goode approached.

“Dr. Ross, sir, would you state your mighty fine credentials for the jury please?”

“I’m chief of the asylum down over to Roanoke. I’ve taught courses in mental evaluation at the Medical College in Richmond, and at the University of Virginia. And I’ve personally handled over two thousand cases like this one.”

“Well now, I am sure Mr. Longfellow and this court would agree that you are truly an expert in your field. In fact, you may be the number-one expert in your field, and I would say this jury deserves to hear nothing less.”

“Objection, Your Honor!” said Cotton. “I don’t believe there’s any proof that Mr. Goode is an expert in ranking experts.”

“Sustained, Cotton,” said Atkins. “Get on with it, Mr. Goode.”

Goode smiled benignly, as though this tiny skirmish had been a way for him to evaluate Cotton’s mettle. “Now, Mr. Ross,” said Goode, “have you had occasion to examine Louisa Mae Cardinal?”

“I have.”

“And what is your expert opinion on her mental competence?”

Ross smacked the frame of the witness box with one of his flabby hands. “She is not mentally competent. In fact, my considered opinion is she should be institutionalized.”

There came a loud buzz from the crowd, and Atkins impatiently pounded his gavel. “Quiet down,” said he.

Goode continued. “Institutionalized? My, my. That’s some serious business. So you’re saying she’s in no shape to handle her own affairs? Say, for the sale of her property?”

“Absolutely not. She could be easily taken advantage of. Why, that poor woman can’t even sign her own name. Probably doesn’t know what her name is.” He eyed the jury with a most commanding look. “Institutionalized,” he said again in the projected voice of a stage actor.

Goode asked a series of carefully crafted questions, and to each he got the answers he wanted: Louisa Mae was undoubtedly mentally unfit, according to the esteemed expert Dr. Luther Ross.

“No further questions,” Goode finally said.

“Mr. Longfellow?” said Atkins. “I suspect you want to have a go.”

Cotton got up, took off his glasses, and dangled them by his side as he addressed the witness.

“You say you’ve examined over two thousand people?”

“That’s correct,” Ross said with a lift of his chest.

“And how many did you find incompetent, sir?”

Ross’s chest immediately deflated, for he clearly hadn’t expected that inquiry. “Uh, well, it’s hard to say.”

Cotton glanced at the jury and moved toward him. “No, it’s really not. You just have to say it. Let me help you a little. A hundred percent? Fifty percent?”

“Not a hundred percent.”

“But not fifty?”

“No.”

“Let’s whittle it on down now. Eighty? Ninety? Ninety-five?”

Ross thought for a few moments. “Ninety-five percent sounds about right.”

“Okay. Let me see now. I think that works out to be nineteen hundred out of two thousand. Lord, that’s a lot of crazy people, Dr. Ross.”

The crowd laughed and Atkins banged his gavel, but a tiny smile escaped him as well.

Ross glared at him. “I just call ’em like I see ’em, lawyer.”

“Dr. Ross, how many stroke victims have you examined to determine whether they’re mentally competent?”

“Uh, why, none that I can recall offhand.”

Cotton paced back and forth in front of the witness, who kept his gaze on the attorney as an even line of sweat appeared on Ross’s brow. “I suppose with most of the people you see, they have some mental disease. Here we have a stroke victim whose physical incapacity may make it seem like she’s not mentally fit even though she may very well be.” Cotton sought out and found Lou in the balcony. “I mean, just because one can’t talk or move doesn’t mean one can’t understand what’s going on around her. She may well see, hear, and understand everything. Everything!”

Cotton swung back and looked at his witness. “And given time she may very well fully recover.”

“The woman I saw was not likely to recover.”

“Are you a medical doctor expert on stroke victims?” Cotton said in a sharp voice.

“Well, no. But—”

“Then I’d like an instruction from the bench for the jury to disregard that statement.”

Atkins said to the cluster of men, “You are hereby instructed to take no notice whatsoever of Dr. Ross saying that Miss Cardinal would not recover, for he is most assuredly not competent to testify to that.”

Atkins and Ross exchanged glares at the judge’s choice of words, while Cotton put a hand over his mouth to hide his grin.

Cotton continued. “Dr. Ross, you really can’t tell us that today, or tomorrow, or the next day, Louisa Mae Cardinal won’t be perfectly capable of handling her own affairs, can you?”

“The woman I examined—”

“Please answer the question I asked, sir.”

“No.”

“No, what?” Cotton added pleasantly, “For this fine jury.”

A frustrated Ross crossed his arms. “No, I cannot say for sure that Miss Cardinal will not recover today or tomorrow or the next day.”

Goode heaved himself to his feet. “Your Honor, I see where counsel is going with this and I think I have a resolution. As of right now Dr. Ross’s testimony is that Miss Cardinal is not competent. If she gets better, and we all hope she does, then the court-appointed representative can be dismissed and she can handle her own affairs from then on.”

Cotton said, “By then, she won’t have any land left.”

Goode seized upon this opening. “Well, then Miss Cardinal can surely take comfort in the half a million dollars Southern Valley has offered for her property.”

An enormous gasp went through the crowd at the mention of this ungodly sum. One man almost toppled over the balcony rail before his neighbors pulled him back to safety. Both dirty and clean-faced children looked at one another, eyes popping. And their mothers and fathers were doing the exact same thing. The jurors too looked at one another in clear astonishment. Yet George Davis just sat there staring straight ahead, not one emotion showing on his features.

Goode continued quickly, “As I’m sure others can when the company makes similar offers to them.”

Cotton looked around and decided he would much rather be doing anything other than what he was. He saw both mountain dwellers and townsfolk gaping at him: the one man who stood in the way of their rightful fortune. And yet with all that weighing down upon him, he shook his mind clear and roared, “Judge, he’s just as good as bribed this jury with that statement. I want a mistrial. My client can’t get a fair shake with these people counting Southern Valley dollars.”

Goode smiled at the jury. “I withdraw the statement. Sorry, Mr. Longfellow. No harm intended.”

Atkins leaned back in his chair. “You’re not getting a mistrial, Cotton. Because where else you going to go with this thing? Just about everybody from fifty miles around already’s sitting in this courtroom, and the next nearest bench is a day away by train. And the judge there isn’t nearly as nice as I am.” He turned to the jury. “Now listen here, folks, you’re to ignore Mr. Goode’s statement about the offer to purchase Miss Cardinal’s land. He shouldn’t have said it, and you are to forget it. And I mean what I say!”

Atkins next focused on Goode. “I understand you have a fine reputation, sir, and I’d hate to be the one to taint it. But you pull something like that again, and I got me a nice little jail cell in this building where you’ll be doing your time for contempt, and I might just forget you’re even there. You understand me?”

Goode nodded and said meekly, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Cotton, you have any more questions for Dr. Ross?”

“No, Judge,” Cotton said and dropped into his seat.

Goode put Travis Barnes on the stand, and though he did his best, under Goode’s artful maneuvering, the good doctor’s prognosis for Louisa was rather bleak. Finally, Goode waved a photograph in front of him.

“This is your patient, Louisa Mae Cardinal?”

Barnes looked at the photograph. “Yes.”

“Permission to show the jury.”

“Go on ahead, but be quick about it,” said Atkins.

Goode dropped a copy of the photo in front of Cotton. Cotton didn’t even look at it, but ripped the photograph into two pieces and dropped it in the spittoon next to his table while Goode paraded the original in front of the jurors’ faces. From the clucks and muted comments and shakes of head, the photo had its intended effect. The only one who didn’t look upset was George Davis. He held the photo especially long and seemed to Cotton to have to work awfully hard to hide his delight. The damage done, Goode sat down.

“Travis,” said Cotton, rising and coming to stand next to his friend, “have you ever treated Louisa Cardinal for any ailments before this last one?”

“Yes, I have. A couple of times.”

“Can you tell us about those instances, please.”

“About ten years ago, she was bitten by a rattler. Killed the durn thing herself with a hoe, and then she come down the mountain by horse to see me. Arm swollen to about the size of my leg by that time. She took seriously ill, ran a fever higher’n I’d ever seen. In and out of consciousness for days. But she came out of it, right when we thought she wasn’t going to make it. Fought like a durn mule she did.”

“And the other time?”

“Pneumonia. That winter four years ago when we had more snow than the South Pole. Y’all remember that one?” he asked the folks in the courtroom and they all nodded back at him.

“No way to get up or down the mountain then. It was four days before they got word to me. I got up there and treated her when the storm ended, but she was already past the worst of it all by herself. Would’a killed a young person with medicine, and here she was into her seventies and not a drop of anything except her own will to live. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Cotton went and stood over near the jury. “So, she sounds like a woman of indomitable spirit. A spirit that cannot be conquered.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Goode. “Is that a question, or a divine pronouncement on your part, Mr. Longfellow?”

“I hope both, Mr. Goode.”

“Well, let’s put it this way,” said Barnes, “if I were a betting man, I wouldn’t bet against the woman.”

Cotton looked over at the jury. “Neither would I. No further questions.”

“Mr. Goode, who you calling next?” asked Atkins.

The Commonwealth’s attorney rose and looked around the courtroom. He kept looking and looking until his gaze reached the balcony, moved around its edges, and then came to rest on Lou and Oz. And then finally on Oz alone.

“Young man, why don’t you come on down here and talk to us.”

Cotton was on his feet. “Your Honor, I see no reason—”

“Judge,” broke in Goode, “now, it’s the children that’s going to have the guardian, and thus I think it reasonable to hear from one of them. And for a little fellow he has a mighty fine voice, since everybody in this courtroom has heard it loud and long already.”

There was muted laughter from the crowd, and Atkins absently smacked his gavel while he pondered this request for six rapid beats of Cotton’s heart. “I’m going to allow it. But remember, Goode, he’s just a little boy.”

“Absolutely, Your Honor.”

Lou held Oz’s hand and they slowly walked down the stairs and passed each of the rows, all eyes in the courtroom upon them. Oz put his hand on the Bible and was sworn in as Lou went back to her seat. Oz perched in the chair, looking so small and helpless that Cotton’s heart went out to him, even as Goode moved in.

“Now, Mr. Oscar Cardinal,” he began.

“My name’s Oz, my sister’s name is Lou. Don’t call her Louisa Mae or else she’ll get mad and punch you.”

Goode smiled. “Now, don’t you worry about that. Oz and Lou it is.” He leaned against the witness stand. “Now, you know the court’s right sorry to hear that your momma’s doing so poorly.”

“She’s going to get better.”

“Is that right? That what the doctors say?”

Oz looked up at Lou until Goode touched Oz’s cheek and pointed his face toward him.

“Now, son, up here on the witness stand you got to speak the truth. You can’t look to your big sister for answers. You swore to God to tell the truth.”

“I always tell the truth. Cross my heart, stick a needle.”

“Good boy. So, again, did the doctors say your mother will get better?”

“No. They said they weren’t sure.”

“So how do you know she will?”

“Because . . . because I made a wish. At the wishing well.”

“Wishing well?” said Goode with an expression for the jury that clearly spelled out what he thought of that answer. “There’s a wishing well round here? I wish we had one of them back in Richmond.”

The crowd laughed and Oz’s face turned pink and he squirmed in his seat. “There is a wishing well,” he said. “My friend Diamond Skinner told us about it. You make a wish and give up the most important thing you have and your wish will come true.”

“Sounds mighty fine. Now, you said you made your wish?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you gave up the most important thing you had. What was that?” Oz looked nervously around the room. “The truth, Oz. Remember what you promised to God, son.”

Oz took a long breath. “My bear. I gave up my bear.”

There were a few muffled chuckles from the onlookers, until all saw the single tear slide down the little boy’s face, and then the snickers ceased.

“Has your wish come true yet?” asked Goode.

Oz shook his head. “No.”

“Been a while since you wished?”

“Yes,” Oz answered softly.

“And your momma’s still real sick, isn’t she?”

Oz bowed his head. “Yes,” he said in a tiny voice.

Goode put his hands in his pockets. “Well, sad fact is, son, things don’t come true just ’cause we wish ’em to. That’s not real life. Now, you know your great-grandmother’s real sick, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You make a wish for her too?”

Cotton rose. “Goode, leave it be.”

“Fine, fine. Now, Oz, you know you can’t live by yourself, right? If your great-grandma doesn’t get better, under the law, you have to go live with an adult in their home. Or else go to an orphanage. Now, you don’t want to go to no old orphanage, do you?”

Cotton jumped to his feet again. “Orphanage? When did that become an issue?”

Goode said, “Well, if Miss Cardinal does not make another miraculous recovery as she did with rattlers and pneumonia, then the children are going to have to go somewhere. Now, unless they’ve got some money I don’t know about, they’re going to an orphanage, because that’s where children go who don’t have blood relatives to take care of them, or other persons of a worthy nature willing to adopt them.”

“They can come live with me,” said Cotton.

Goode looked about ready to laugh. “You? An unmarried man? A lawyer in a town that’s dying? You’d be the last person on earth a court would award those children to.” Goode turned back to Oz. “Now, wouldn’t you like to go live in your own home with someone who has your best interests at heart? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Course you would. Orphanages are not the nicest places in the world. Some kids stay there forever.”

“Your Honor,” said Cotton, “does all this have a point other than to terrify the witness?”

“Why, I was just about to ask Mr. Goode that,” declared Atkins.

It was Oz, though, who spoke. “Can Lou come too? I mean, not to the orphanage, but to the other place?”

“Why sure, son, sure,” said Goode quickly. “Never break up sister and brother.” He added quietly, “But there’s no guarantee of that with an orphanage.” He paused. “So, that’d be all right with you, Oz?”

Oz hesitated and tried to look at Lou, but Goode was too quick and blocked his view. Oz finally said quietly, “I guess so.”

Cotton looked up in the balcony. Lou was on her feet, fingers wrapped around the railing, her anxious gaze fixed on her brother.

Goode went over to the jury and made a show of rubbing his eyes. “That’s a fine boy. No further questions.”

“Cotton?” said Atkins.

Goode sat down and Cotton rose, but then he stopped, his fingers gripping the table’s edge as he stared at the ruin of a boy on the big witness chair; a little boy who, Cotton knew, just wanted to get up and go back to his sister because he was scared to death of orphanages and fat lawyers with big words and embarrassing questions, and huge rooms filled with strangers staring at him.

“No questions,” said Cotton very quietly, and Oz fled back to his sister.

After more witnesses had paraded through court, showing that Louisa was utterly incapable of conscious decision, and Cotton only able to slap at bits and pieces of their testimony, the trial was adjourned for the day and Cotton and the children left the courtroom. Outside, Goode and Miller stopped them.

“You’re putting up a good fight, Mr. Longfellow,” said Goode, “but we all know how this is going to turn out. What say we just put an end to it right now? Save people any further embarrassment.” He looked at Lou and Oz as he said this. He started to pat Oz on the head, but the boy gave the lawyer a fierce look that made Goode pull back his hand before he might have lost it.

“Look, Longfellow,” said Miller, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, “I’ve got a check here for half a million dollars. All you got to do is end this nonsense and it’s yours.”

Cotton looked at Oz and Lou and then said, “I tell you what, Miller, I’ll leave it up to the children. Whatever they say, I’ll do.”

Miller squatted down and smiled at Lou and Oz. “This money will go to you now. Buy anything you want. Live in a big house with a fancy car and people paid to look after you. A right nice life. What do you say, children?”

“We already have a home,” said Lou.

“Okay, what about your momma then? People in her condition need a lot of care, and it’s not cheap.” He dangled the check in front of the girl. “This solves all your problems, missy.”

Goode squatted down too and looked at Oz. “And it’ll keep those nasty orphanages far, far away. You want to stay with your sister, now don’t you?”

“You keep your old money,” said Oz, “for it’s not something we need or want. And Lou and I will always be together. Orphanage or not!”

Oz took his sister’s hand and they walked off.

Cotton looked at the men as they rose, and Miller angrily stuffed the check back in his pocket. “From out of the mouths of babes,” said Cotton. “We should all be so wise.” And then he walked off too.

Back at the farmhouse, Cotton discussed the case with Lou and Oz. “I’m afraid unless Louisa can walk into that courtroom tomorrow, she’s going to lose her land.” He looked at them both. “But I want you to know that whatever happens, I will be there for all of you. I will take care of all of you. Don’t you worry about that. You will never go to an orphanage. And you will never be split up. That I swear.” Lou and Oz hugged Cotton as tightly as they could, and then he left to prepare for the final day in court. Perhaps their final day on this mountain.

Lou made supper for Oz and Eugene, and then went to feed her mother. After that she sat in front of the fire for a long time while she thought things through. Though it was very cold, she led Sue out of the barn and rode the mare up to the knoll behind the house. She said prayers in front of each grave, taking the longest at the smallest: Annie’s. Had she lived, Annie would have been Lou’s great-aunt. Lou wished mightily that she could have known what the tiny baby looked like, and she felt miserable that such a thing was now impossible. The stars were fine tonight, and Lou looked around at the mountains painted white, the glitter of ice on branch nearly magical when multiplied as it was ten thousand times. The land could offer Lou no help now, but there was something she could do all on her own. It should have been done long ago, she knew. Yet a mistake was only a mistake if it remained uncorrected.

She rode Sue back, put the mare down for the night, and went into her mother’s room. She sat on the bed and took Amanda’s hand and didn’t move for a bit. Finally, Lou leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek, as the tears started to trickle down the girl’s face. “Whatever happens we’ll always be together. I promise. You will always have me and Oz. Always.” She rubbed at her tears. “I miss you so much.” Lou kissed her again. “I love you, Mom.” She fled the room, and so Lou never saw the solitary tear leave her mother’s eye.

Lou was lying on her bed, quietly sobbing, when Oz came in. Lou did not even make an attempt to stop her weeping. Oz crawled on the bed with her and hugged his sister.

“It’ll be okay, Lou, you’ll see.”

Lou sat up, wiped her face, and looked at him. “I guess all we need is a miracle.”

“I could give the wishing well another try,” he said.

Lou shook her head. “What do we have to give up for a wish? We’ve already lost everything.”

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.”