Wish You Well(19)

"Sorry as I can be I ain't made the funeral. News comes slowly here when it bothers to

come a'tall." She looked down for a moment, as though gripped by something Lou

couldn't see. "You're Oz. And you're Lou." Louisa pointed to them as she said the names.

Lou said, "The people who arranged our coming, I guess they told you."

"I knew long afore that. Y'all call me Louisa. They's chores to be done each day. We

make or grow 'bout all we need. Breakfast's at five. Supper when the sun falls."

"Five o'clock in the morning!" exclaimed Oz.

"What about school?" asked Lou.

"Called Big Spruce. No more'n couple miles off. Eugene take you in the wagon first day,

and then y'all walk after that. Or take the mare. Ain't spare the mules, for they do the

pulling round here. But the nag will do."

Oz paled. "We don't know how to ride a horse."

"Y'all will. Horse and mule bestest way to get by up here, other than two good feet."

"What about the car?" asked Lou.

Louisa shook her head. "T'ain't practical. Take money we surely ain't got. Eugene know

how it works and built a little lean-to for it. He start it up every now and agin, 'cause he

say he have to so it run when we need it. Wouldn't have that durn thing, 'cept William

and Jane Giles on down the road give it to us when they moved on. Can't drive it, no

plans to ever learn."

"Is Big Spruce the same school my dad went to?" asked Lou.

"Yes, only the schoolhouse he went to ain't there no more. 'Bout as old as me, it fall

down. But you got the same teacher. Change, like news, comes slowly here. You

hungry?"

"We ate on the train," said Lou, unable to draw her gaze from the woman's face.

"Fine. Your momma settled in. Y'all g'on see her."

Lou said, "I'd like to stay here and look around some."

Louisa held the door open for them. Her voice was gentle but firm. "See your momma

first."

The room was comfortable—good light, window open. Homespun curtains, curled by the

damp and bleached by the sun, were lightly flapping in the breeze. As Lou looked

around, she knew it had probably taken some effort to make this into what amounted to a

sickroom. Some of the furniture looked worked on, the floor freshly scrubbed, the smell

of paint still lingering; a chipped rocking chair sat in one corner with a thick blanket

across it.

On the walls were ancient ferrotypes of men, women, and children, all dressed in what

was probably their finest clothing: stiff white-collared shirts and bowler hats for the men;

long skirts and bonnets for the women; lace frills for the young girls; and small suits and

string ties for the boys. Lou studied them. Their expressions ran the gamut from dour to

pleased, the children being the most animated, the grown women appearing the most

suspicious, as though they believed their lives were to be taken, instead of simply their

photographs.

Amanda, in a bed of yellow poplar, was propped up on fat feather pillows, and her eyes

were shut. The mattress was feather-filled too, lumpy but soft, housed in a striped ticking.

A patchwork quilt covered her. A faded drugget lay next to the bed so bare feet wouldn't

have to touch a cold wood floor first thing in the morning. Lou knew her mother would

not be needing that. On the walls were pegs with items of clothing hung from them. An

old dresser was in one corner, a painted china pitcher and bowl resting on it. Lou

wandered around the room idly, looking and touching. She noted that the window frame

was slightly crooked, the panes of glass filmy, as though a fog had infiltrated the material

somehow.

Oz sat next to his mother, leaned over, and kissed her.

"Hi, Mom."

"She can't hear you," Lou muttered to herself as she stopped her wandering and looked

out the window, smelling air purer than any she had before; in the draft were a medley of

trees and flowers, wood smoke, long bluegrass, and animals large and small.

"It sure is pretty here in..." Oz looked at Lou.

"Virginia," Lou answered, without turning around.

"Virginia," Oz repeated. Then he took out the necklace.

From the doorway, Louisa watched this exchange.

Lou turned and saw what he was doing. "Oz, that stupid necklace doesn't work."

"So why'd you get it back for me then?" he said sharply.

This stopped Lou dead, for she had no ready answer. Oz turned back and began his ritual

over Amanda. But with each swing of the quartz crystal, with each softly spoken

utterance by Oz, Lou just knew he was trying to melt an iceberg with a single match; and

she wanted no part of it. She raced past her great-grandmother and down the hall.

Louisa stepped into the room and sat down next to Oz. "What's that for, Oz?" she asked,