Wish You Well(34)

into his armpit. "Now, you tell Billy you're sorry," she said.

Lou's response was to lunge and take another furious swing at him. Billy jumped back

like a rabbit cornered by a snake intent on eating it.

Mrs. McCoy pulled hard on Lou's arm. "Louisa Mae, you stop that right now and tell him

you're sorry."

"He can go straight on to hell."

Estelle McCoy looked ready to keel over in the face of such language from the daughter

of a famous man.

"Louisa Mae! Your mouth!"

Lou jerked free and ran like the wind down the road.

Billy fled in the other direction. And Estelle McCoy stood there empty-handed on the

field of battle.

Oz, forgotten in all this, quietly got off the ground, picked up his sister's burlap bag,

brushed it off, and went and tugged on his teacher's dress. She looked down at him.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Oz said. "But her name is Lou."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LOUISA CLEANED THE CUT ON LOU'S FACE WITH WATER and lye soap, and applied some

homemade tincture that stung like fire, but Lou made herself not even flinch.

"Glad you got yourself off to such a good start, Lou."

"They called us Yankees!"

"Well, good Lord," Louisa said with mock indignity. "Ain't that evil!"

"And he hurt Oz."

Louisa's expression softened. "You got to go to school, honey. You got to learn to get

along."

Lou scowled. "Why can't they get along with us?"

" 'Cause this their home. They act like that 'cause you're not like nobody they ever seen."

Lou stood. "You don't know what it's like to be an outsider." She ran out the door, while

Louisa looked after her, shaking her head.

Oz was waiting for his sister on the front porch.

"I put your bag in your room," he told her.

Lou sat on the steps and rested her chin on her knees.

"I'm okay, Lou." Oz stood and spun in a circle to show her and almost fell off the porch.

"See, he didn't hurt me any."

"Good thing, or I really would've pounded him."

Oz closely studied her cut lip. "Does it hurt much?"

"Don't feel a thing. Shoot, they might be able to milk cows and plow fields, but mountain

boys sure can't hit worth anything."

They looked up as Cotton's Oldsmobile pulled into the front yard. He got out, a book

cradled under one arm.

"I heard about your little adventure over at the school today," he said, walking up.

Lou looked surprised. "That was fast."

Cotton sat next to them on the steps. "Up here when a good fight breaks out people will

move heaven and earth to get the word around."

"Wasn't much of a fight," said Lou proudly. "Billy Davis just curled up and squawked

like a baby."

Oz added, "He cut Lou's lip, but it doesn't hurt any."

She said, "They called us Yankees, like it was some kind of disease."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm a Yankee too. From Boston. And they've

accepted me here. Well, at least most of them have."

Lou's eyes widened as she made the connection and wondered why she hadn't before.

"Boston? Longfellow. Are you—"

"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was my grandfather's great-grandfather. I guess that's the

easiest way to put it."

"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Gosh!"

"Yeah, gosh!" Oz said, though in fact he had no idea who they were talking about.

"Yes, gosh indeed. I wanted to be a writer since I was a child."

"Well, why aren't you?" asked Lou.

Cotton smiled. "While I can appreciate inspired, well-crafted writing better than most, I'm

absolutely confounded when attempting to do it myself. Maybe that's why I came here

after I got my law degree. As far from Longfellow's Boston as one can be. I'm not a

particularly good lawyer, but I get by. And it gives me time to read those who can write

well." He cleared his throat and recited in a pleasant voice: "Often I think of the beautiful

town, that is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down—"

Lou took up the verse: "The pleasant streets of that dear old town. And my youth comes

back to me."

Cotton looked impressed. "You can quote Longfellow?"

"He was one of my dad's favorites."

He held up the book he was carrying. "And this is one of my favorite writers."

Lou glanced at the book. "That's the first novel my dad ever wrote."

"Have you read it?"

"My dad read part of it to me. A mother loses her only son, thinks she's all alone. It's very

sad."

"But it's also a story of healing, Lou. Of one helping another." He paused. "I'm going to

read it to your mother."