Wish You Well

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. Buford 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 the 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: I 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 there. 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 better’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.”

“I believe you. Now, you’ve heard Lou testify as to being knocked down while she was outside the mine. Whenever you were waiting outside the mine, that ever happen to you when the dynamite went off ?”

Eugene was shaking his head before Cotton finished his question. “Little bit of dynamite I used ain’t have nowhere near that kind’a kick. Just getting me some for the bucket. Use more dynamite come winter when I take the sled and mules down, but even that wouldn’t come out the mine like that. Lord, you talking three hunnerd feet in and round two curves.”

“You found Jimmy’s body. Was there rock and stone on it? Had the mine collapsed?”

“No, suh. But I know he dead. He ain’t got no lantern, see. You in that mine with no light, you ain’t know which way in or out. Mind play tricks on you. He ain’t prob’ly even see Jeb pass him heading out.”

“Can you tell us exactly where you found Jimmy?”

“ ’Nuther hunnerd twenty feet in. Past the first curve, but not the second.”

Farmer and merchant sat and stood side by side as they watched Cotton work. Miller fiddled with his hat and then leaned forward and whispered into Goode’s ear. Goode nodded, looked at Eugene, and then smiled and nodded again.

“Well, let’s assume,” said Cotton, “that Jimmy was close to the dynamite charge when it went off. It could have thrown his body a good ways, couldn’t it?”

“If’n he close, sure could.”

“But his body wasn’t past the second curve?”

Goode stood up. “That’s easily explained. The dynamite explosion could have thrown the boy past the second curve.”

Cotton looked at the jury. “I fail to see how a body in flight can negotiate a ninety-degree curve and then proceed on before coming to rest. Unless Mr. Goode is maintaining that Jimmy Skinner could fly of his own accord.”

Ripples of laughter floated across the courtroom. Atkins creaked back in his chair, yet did not smack his gavel to stop the sounds. “Go on, Cotton. This is getting kind’a interesting.”

“Eugene, you remember feeling bad when you were in the mine that day?”

Eugene thought about this. “Hard to recollect. Maybe a little pain in the head.”

“Okay, now, in your expert opinion, could the dynamite explosion alone have caused Jimmy Skinner’s body to end up where it did?”

Eugene looked over at the jury and took his time in eyeing them one by one. “No, suh!”

“Thank you, Eugene. No further questions.”

Goode approached and put the palms of his hands on the witness box and leaned close to Eugene.

“Boy, you live with Miss Cardinal in her house, don’t you?”

Eugene sat back a bit, his gaze steady on the man. “Yes, suh.”

Goode gave the jury a pointed look. “A colored man and a white woman in the same house?”

Cotton was on his feet before Goode finished his question. “Judge, you can’t let him do that.”

“Mr. Goode,” said Atkins, “y’all might do that sort of thing on down Richmond way, but we don’t in my courtroom. If you got something to ask the man about this case, then you do it, or else sit yourself down. And last time I checked, his name was Mr. Eugene Randall, not ‘boy.’ ”

“Right, Your Honor, certainly.” Goode cleared his throat, stepped back, and slid his hands in his pockets. “Now, Mister Eugene Randall, you said in your expert opinion that you were two hundred feet or so from the charge, and that Mr. Skinner was about half that distance from the dynamite and such. You remember saying all that?”

“No, suh. I says I was eighty feet in the mine, so’s I was two hunnerd and twenty feet from the charge. And I says I found Diamond a hunnerd and twenty feet from where I was. That mean he be a hunnerd feet from where I set the dynamite. I ain’t got no way to tell how far he got blowed.”

“Right, right. Now, you ever been to school?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No, suh.”

“So you never took math, never did any adding and subtracting. And yet you’re sitting up here testifying under oath to all these exact distances.”

“Yep.”

“So how can that be for an uneducated colored man such as yourself? Who’s never even added one plus one under the eye of a teacher? Why should this good jury believe you up here spouting all these big numbers?”

Eugene’s gaze never left Goode’s confident features. “Knowed my numbers real good. Cipher and all. Takeaway. Miss Louisa done taught me. And I right handy with nail and saw. I hepped many a folk on the mountain raise barns. You a carpenter, you got to know numbers. You cut a three-foot board to fill a four-foot space, what ’xactly have you done?”

Laughter floated across the room again, and again Atkins let it go.

“Fine,” said Goode, “so you can cut a board. But in a pitch-dark twisting mine how can you be so sure of what you’re saying? Come on now, Mister Eugene Randall, tell us.” Goode looked at the jury as he said this, a smile playing across his lips.

“ ’Cause it be right there on the wall,” said Eugene.

Goode stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I done marked the walls in that mine with whitewash in ten-foot parcels over four hunnerd feet in. Lotta folk up here do that. You blasting in a mine, you better durn sure know how fer you got to go to get out. I knowed I do ’cause I got me the bad leg. And that way I ’member where the good coal veins are. You get yourself on down to the mine right now with a lantern, mister lawyer, you see them marks clear as the day. So’s you can put down what I done said here as the word of the Lord.”

Cotton glanced at Goode. To him the Commonwealth’s attorney looked as though someone had just informed him that heaven did not admit members of the legal Bar.

“Any further questions?” Atkins asked Goode. The man said nothing in response but merely drifted back to his table like an errant cloud and collapsed in the chair.

“Mr. Randall,” said Atkins, “you’re excused, sir, and the court wants to thank you for your expert testimony.”

Eugene stood and walked back to his seat. From the balcony Lou observed that his limp was hardly noticeable.

Cotton next called Travis Barnes to the stand. “Dr. Barnes, at my request you examined the records pertaining to Jimmy Skinner’s death, didn’t you? Including a photograph taken outside the mine.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Can you tell us the cause of death?”

“Massive head and body injuries.”

“What was the condition of the body?”

“It was literally torn apart.”

“You ever treated anybody injured by a dynamite explosion?”

“In coal mining country? I say I have.”

“You heard Eugene testify. In your opinion, under those circumstances, could the dynamite charge have caused the injuries you saw on Jimmy Skinner?”

Goode did not bother to rise to offer his objection. “Calls for speculation from the witness,” he said gruffly.

“Judge, I think Dr. Barnes is fully competent to answer that question as an expert witness,” said Cotton.

Atkins was already nodding. “Go on ahead, Travis.”

Travis eyed Goode with contempt. “I well know the sorts of dynamite charges folks up here use to get a bucket of coal out. That distance from the charge and around a shaft curve, there is no way that dynamite caused the injuries I saw on that boy. I can’t believe nobody figured that out before now.”

Cotton said, “I guess a person goes in a mine and dynamite goes off, they just believe that’s what killed him. You ever seen such injuries before?”

“Yes. Explosion at a manufacturing plant. Killed a dozen men. Same as Jimmy. Literally blown apart.”

“What was the cause of that explosion?”

“Natural gas leak.”

Cotton turned and looked dead-on at Hugh Miller.

“Mr. Goode, unless you care to take a shot, I’m calling Mr. Judd Wheeler to the stand.”

Goode looked at Miller, betrayed. “No questions.”

A nervous Wheeler fidgeted in the witness box as Cotton approached.

“You’re Southern Valley’s chief geologist?”

“I am.”

“And you headed up the team that was exploring possible natural gas deposits on Miss Cardinal’s property?”

“I did.”

“Without her permission or knowledge?”

“Well, I don’t know about—”

“Did you have her permission, Mr. Wheeler?” Cotton snapped.

“No.”

“You found natural gas, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“And it was something your company was right interested in, wasn’t it?”

“Well, natural gas is getting to be very valuable as a heating fuel. We mostly use manufactured gas, town gas they call it. You get that from heating coal. That’s what fuels the streetlights in this town. But you can’t make much money with town gas. And we have seamless steel pipe now, which allows us to send gas in pipelines a long way. So yes, we were very interested.”

“Natural gas is explosive, right?”

“If properly used—”

“Is it, or isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Exactly what did you do in that mine?”

“We took readings and did tests and located what appeared to be a huge field of gas in a trap not too far underneath the surface of that mine shaft and about six hundred feet in the mine. Coal, oil, and gas are often found together because all three result from similar natural processes. The gas always lies on top because it’s lighter. That’s why you have to be careful when you’re mining coal. Methane gas buildup is a real danger to the miners. Anyway, we drilled down and hit that gas field.”

“Did the gas come up in the mine shaft?”

“Yes.”

“On what date did you hit the gas field?”

When Wheeler told them the day, Cotton said loud and clear to the jury, “One week before Jimmy Skinner’s death! Would somebody be able to smell the gas?”

“No, in its natural state gas is colorless and odorless. When companies process it, they add a distinct smell so that if there’s a leak people can detect it before it overcomes them.”

“Or before something ignites it?”

“That’s right.”

“If someone set off a dynamite charge in a mine shaft where there was natural gas present, what would happen?”

“The gas would explode.” Wheeler looked like he wanted to be blown up himself.

Cotton faced the jury. “I guess Eugene was real lucky he was so far away from the hole where the gas was pouring through and his lamp flame didn’t ignite the gas. And he was even luckier he didn’t strike a match to light that fuse. But the dynamite going off sure did the trick.” He turned back to Wheeler. “What sort of explosion? Big enough to cause Jimmy Skinner’s death, in the manner described by Dr. Barnes?”

“Yes,” Wheeler conceded.

Cotton put his hands on the frame of the witness box and leaned in. “Didn’t you ever think about posting warning signs telling people that there was gas there?”

“I didn’t know they dynamited in there! I didn’t know they used that old mine for anything.”

Cotton thought he caught Wheeler shooting an angry look at George Davis, but he couldn’t be sure.

“But if anyone went in, they might be overcome by the gas alone. Wouldn’t you want to warn people?”

Wheeler spoke fast. “The ceilings in that mine shaft are real high, and there’s some natural ventilation through the rock too, so the buildup of the methane wouldn’t be so bad. And we were going to cap the hole, but we were waiting on some equipment we needed. We didn’t want anybody to get hurt. That’s the truth.”

“The fact is, you couldn’t post warning signs because you were there illegally. Isn’t that right?”

“I was just following orders.”

“You took great pains to hide the fact that you were working in that mine, didn’t you?”

“Well, we only worked at night. Whatever equipment we carried in, we took out with us.”

“So nobody would know you’d been there?”

“Yes.”

“Because Southern Valley was hoping to buy Miss Cardinal’s farm for a lot less money if she didn’t know she was sitting on an ocean of gas?”

“Objection!” Goode said.

Cotton steamed right on. “Mr. Wheeler, you knew Jimmy Skinner died in that mine explosion. And you had to know the gas played some role in it. Why didn’t you come forward and tell the truth then?”

Wheeler fidgeted with his hat. “I was told not to.”

“And who told you not to?”

“Mr. Hugh Miller, company vice president.”

Everyone in the courtroom looked at Miller. Cotton stared at Miller when he asked his next questions.

“You have any children, Mr. Wheeler?”

Wheeler looked surprised, but answered: “Three.”

“They all doing well? Healthy?”

Wheeler’s gaze dropped to his lap before he responded. “Yes.”

“You’re a lucky man.”

Goode was addressing the jury with his closing argument.

“Now, we’ve heard far more evidence than is necessary for you to find that Louisa Mae Cardinal is mentally unfit. In fact, her own lawyer, Mr. Longfellow, has conceded that she is. Now, all this talk about gas and explosions and such, well what does it really have to do with this case? If Southern Valley was somehow involved in Mr. Skinner’s death, then his survivors may be entitled to damages.”

“He doesn’t have any survivors,” said Cotton.

Goode chose to ignore this. “Now, Mr. Longfellow asks whether my client is an appropriate party to be buying land up here. Fact is, folks, Southern Valley has big plans for your town. Good jobs, bring prosperity back to you all.”

He got real close to the jury, their best friend. “The question is, should Southern Valley be allowed to ‘enrich’ all of your lives as well as Miss Cardinal’s? I think the answer to that is obvious.”

Goode sat down. And Cotton came at the jury. He moved slowly, his bearing confident but not threatening. His hands were in his pockets, and he rested one of his scuffed shoes on the lower rail of the jury box. When he spoke, his voice leaned more southern than New England, and every single juror except George Davis hunched forward so as not to miss anything the man said. They had watched Cotton Longfellow bloody the nose of what they assumed was one of the finest lawyers from the great city of Richmond. And he had made humble a company that was as close to a monarch as one could get in a country of democracy. Now they undoubtedly wanted to see if the man could finish it.

“Let me give you good folks the legal side of the case first. And it’s not complicated at all. In fact it’s like a good bird dog, it points straight and true in one direction, and one direction only.” He took one hand from his pocket and, like a good hound, pointed right at Hugh Miller as he spoke. “The reckless actions of Southern Valley killed Jimmy Skinner, you folks can have no doubts about that. Southern Valley’s not even disputing it. They were illegally on Louisa Mae’s property. They posted no warnings that the mine was filled with explosive gas. They allowed innocent people to enter that mine when they knew it was deadly. It could’ve been any of you. And they did not come forward with the truth because they knew they were in the wrong. And now they seek to use the tragedy of Louisa Mae’s stroke as a way to take her land. The law clearly says one cannot profit from one’s misdeeds. Well, if what Southern Valley did does not qualify as a misdeed, then nothing on this earth ever would.” His voice up to this point had been slow and steady. Now it rose one delicate notch, but he kept his finger pointed at Hugh Miller. “One day God will hold them accountable for killing an innocent young man. But it’s your job to see that they are punished today.”

Cotton looked at each and every juror, stopping on George Davis; he spoke directly to him. “Now, let’s get to the nonlegal part of this business, for I think that’s where the struggle you folks are going through lies. Southern Valley has come in here swinging bags full of money in front of you, telling you that it’s the savior of the whole town. But that’s what the lumber folks told you. They’re going to be here forever. Remember? So why were all the lumber camps on rails? How much more temporary can you get? And where are they now? Last time I checked, Kentucky was not part of the Commonwealth of Virginia.”

He looked over at Miller. “And the coal companies told you the same thing. And what did they do? They came and took everything they wanted and left you with nothing except hollowed-out mountains, family with the black lung and dreams replaced with nightmares. And now Southern Valley’s singing that same old tune with gas. It’s just one more needle in the mountain’s hide. Just one more thing to suck out, leaving nothing!” Cotton turned and addressed the entire courtroom.

“But this isn’t really about Southern Valley, or coal or gas. It’s ultimately about all of you. Now, they can cut the top of that mountain easy enough, pull out that gas, run their fine seamless steel pipeline, and it might keep going for ten, fifteen, even twenty years. But then it’ll all be gone. You see, that pipeline is taking the gas to other places, just like the trains did the coal, and the river did the trees. Now, why is that, do you think?” He took his time looking around the room. “I’ll tell you why. Because that’s where the real prosperity is, folks. At least in the way Southern Valley defines it. And all of you know that. These mountains just got what they need to keep that prosperity going and their pockets filled. And so they come here and they take it.

“Dickens, Virginia, will never be a New York City, and let me tell you there’s not a damn thing wrong with that. In fact, I believe we have us enough big cities, and a dwindling number of places like right here. Y’all will never become rich working at the foot of these mountains. Those who will claim great wealth are the Southern Valleys of the world, who take from the land and give nothing back to it. You want a real savior? Look at yourselves. Rely on each other. Just like Louisa Mae’s been doing her whole life up on that mountain. Farmers live on the whim of the weather and the ground. Some years they lose, other years are fine. But for them, the resources of the mountain are never extinguished, because they do not tear its soul away. And their reward for that is being able to live a decent, honest life for as long as they so desire, without the fear that folks intent on nothing more than making a pile of gold by raping mountains will come with grand promises, and then leave when there is nothing to be gained by staying, and destroy innocent lives in the process.”

He pointed to Lou where she sat in the courtroom. “Now, that girl’s daddy wrote many wonderful stories about this area, and those very issues of land, and the people who live on it. In words, Jack Cardinal has enabled this place to survive forever. Just like the mountains. He had an exemplary teacher, for Louisa Mae Cardinal has lived her life the way all of us should. She’s helped many of you at some point in your lives and asked for nothing in return.” Cotton looked at Buford Rose and some of the other farmers staring at him. “And you’ve helped her when she needed it. You know she’d never sell her land, because that ground is as much a part of her family as her great-grandchildren waiting to see what’s going to happen to them. You can’t let Southern Valley steal the woman’s family. All folks have up on that mountain is each other and their land. That’s all. It may not seem like much to those who don’t live there, or for people who seek nothing but to destroy the rock and trees. But rest assured, it means everything to the people who call the mountains home.”

Cotton stood tall in front of the jury box, and though his voice remained level and calm, the large room seemed inadequate to contain his words.

“You folks don’t have to be an expert in the law to reach the right decision in this case. All you got to have is a heart. Let Louisa Mae Cardinal keep her land.”