Wish You Well(36)

"That sky. Oh, that sky. You told me so many times that up on the mountain it seems you

can just reach up and take it, hold it in your hand, stroke it like a dozing cat, admire its

abundant grace. I always found it to be a generous blanket I just wanted to wrap myself

in, Louisa, take a long nap on the porch with as I settled under its cool warmth. And

when night came, I would always hold the memory of that sky tight and fast, as though an

honored dream, right up to the smoldering pink of sunrise.

"I also remember you telling me that you often looked out upon your land knowing full

well that it never truly belonged to you, no more than you could hold deed to the sunlight

or save up the air you breathed. I sometimes imagine many of our line standing at the

door of the farmhouse and staring out at that same ground. But, at some point, the

Cardinal family will all be gone. After that, my dear Louisa, you take heart, for the sweep

of open land across the valley, the race of busy rivers, and the gentle bumps of green-

shrouded hills, with little beads of light poking out here and there, like bits of sly gold—

they all will continue on. And they won't be worse off either, for our mortal dabbling in

their forever existence, seeing that God made them to last forever, as you've also told me

so many times.

"Though I have a new life now, and am enjoying the city for the most part, I will never

forget that the passing down of memories is the strongest link in the gossamer bridge that

binds us as people. I plan to devote my life to doing just that. And if you taught me

anything, it's that what we hold in our hearts is truly the fiercest component of our

humanity."

Cotton heard a noise, glanced toward the window, and saw a glimpse of Lou right before

she ducked down. Cotton silently read the last part of the letter and then decided to read it

in a very loud voice. He would be speaking as much to the daughter, who the man knew

lurked right outside the window, as to the mother lying in bed.

"And from watching you all those years conduct your life with honesty, dignity, and

compassion, I know that there is nothing so powerful as the emboldened kindness of one

human being reaching out to another, who is held only by despair. I think of you every

day, Louisa, and so I will, as long as my heart continues to beat. With much love, Jack."

Lou poked her head over the sill again. Inch by inch she turned until she was looking at

her mother. But there was no change in the woman, none at all. Lou angrily pushed away

from the window. Poor Diamond was teetering mightily now, for her shove against the

windowsill had done his balancing efforts no kindness. Diamond finally lost the battle,

and both he and Lou went tumbling over, their plummet ending in a series of grunts and

groans as they sprawled on the ground.

Cotton rushed to the window in time to see the pair race around the house. He turned

back to the woman in bed. "You really must come and join us, Miss Amanda," he said,

and then added quietly, as though afraid that anyone other than himself would hear, "for a

lot of reasons."



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE HOUSE WAS DARK, THE SKY A MESS OF CLOUDS that promised a good rain come

morning. However, when skittish clouds and fragile currents bumped over high rock, the

weather often changed quickly: snow became rain and clear became foul, and a body got

wet or cold when he least expected to. The cows, hogs, and sheep were safely in the barn,

for Old Mo, the mountain lion, had been seen around, and there had been talk of the Tyler

farm losing a calf, and the Ramsey's a pig. All those on the mountain handy with a

shotgun or rifle were keeping their eyes peeled for the old scavenger.

Sam and Hit stood silently in their own corral. Old Mo would never prey on the pair. An

ornery mule could kick just about anything to death in a matter of minutes.

The front door of the farmhouse opened. Oz made not a sound when he closed the door

behind him. The boy was fully dressed and had his bear clutched tight. He looked around

for a few seconds and then took off past the corral, cleared the fields, and plunged into

the woods.

The night was a bucket of coal, the wind rattled tree limbs, the underbrush was thick with

sounds of stealthy movement, and the tall grass seemed to clutch at Oz's pant legs. The

little boy was certain that regiments of hobgoblins were roaming nearby in full terrifying

splendor, he their sole target on earth. Yet something inside Oz had clearly risen superior

to these horrors, for he did not once think of turning back. Well, maybe once, he admitted

to himself. Or perhaps twice.

He ran hard for a while, making his way over knolls, navigating crisscross gullies, and

stumbling through the jumble of dense woods. He cleared one last grove of trees,