keep exercising her arms and legs, the muscles won't get too weak." He paused and set
his cup down. "But I'm afraid that's also the bad news, for that means the problem lies
here." He touched his forehead. "And there's not much we can do about that. Certainly
beyond me. We can only hope and pray that she comes out of it one day."
Oz took this in stride, his optimism barely tarnished. Lou absorbed this information
simply as further validation of what she already knew.
School had been going more smoothly than Lou had thought it would. She and Oz found
the mountain children to be far more accepting of them now than before Lou had thrown
her punches. Lou didn't feel she would ever be close to any of them, but at least the
outright hostility had waned. Billy Davis did not return to school for several days. By the
time he did, the bruises she had inflicted were mostly healed, though there were fresh
ones which Lou suspected had originated with the awful George Davis. And that was
enough to make her feel a certain guilt. For his part, Billy avoided her like she was a
water moccasin looking to get the jump on him, yet Lou was still on her guard. She knew
by now: It was right when you least expected it that trouble tended to smack you in the
head.
Estelle McCoy, too, was subdued around her. It was apparent that Lou and Oz were well
ahead of the others in terms of book learning. They did not flaunt this advantage, though,
and Estelle McCoy seemed appreciative of that. And she never again referred to Lou as
Louisa Mae. Lou and Oz had given the school library a box of their own books, and the
children had slipped by one after the other to thank them. It was a steady if not
spectacular truce all around.
Lou rose before dawn, did her chores, then went to school and did her work there. At
lunchtime she ate her cornbread and drank her milk with Oz under the walnut tree, which
was scored with the initials and names of those who had done their learning here. Lou
never felt an urge to carve her name there, for it suggested a permanency she was far
from willing to accept. They went back to the farm to work in the afternoon, and then
went to bed, exhausted, not long after the sun set. It was a steady, uninspired life much
appreciated by Lou right now.
Head lice had made their way through Big Spruce, though, and both Lou and Oz had
endured shampoos in kerosene. "Don't get near the fire," Louisa had warned.
"This is disgusting," said Lou, fingering the coated strands.
"When I was at school and got me the lice, they put sulfur, lard, and gunpowder on my
hair," Louisa told them.
"I couldn't bear to smell myself, and I was terrible afraid somebody'd strike a match and
my head would blow."
"They had school when you were little?" Oz asked.
Louisa smiled. "They had what was called subscription school, Oz. A dollar a month for
three month a year, and I were a right good student. We was a hunnerd people in a oneroom log cabin with a puncheon floor that was splintery on hot days and ice on cold.
Teacher quick with the whip or strap, some bad child standing on tippy-toe a good half
hour with his nose stuck in a circle the teacher drawed on the board. I ain't never had to
stand on tippy-toe. I weren't always good, but I ain't never got caught neither. Some were
growed men not long from the War missing arms and legs, come to learn they's letters
and numbers. Used to say our spelling words out loud. Got so the durn noise spooked the
horses." Her hazel eyes sparkled. "Had me one teacher who used the markings on his cow
to learn us geography. To this day, I can't never look at no map without thinking of that
durn animal." She looked at them. "I guess you can fill up your head just about anywhere.
So you learn what you got to. Just like your daddy done," she added, mostly for Lou's
benefit, and the girl finally stopped complaining about her kerosene hair.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LOUISA FELT SORRY FOR THEM ONE MORNING AND GAVE Lou and Oz a much needed
Saturday off to do as they pleased. The day was fine, with a clean breeze from the west
across a blue sky, trees flushed with green swaying to its touch. Diamond and Jeb came
calling that morning, because Diamond said there was a special place in the woods he
wanted to show them, and they started off.
His appearance was httle changed: same overalls, same shirt, no shoes. The bottoms of
his feet must have had every nerve deadened like hoofs, Lou thought, because she saw
him run across sharp rocks, over briars, and even through a thorny thicket, and never
once did she see blood drawn or face wince. He wore an oily cap pulled low on his
forehead. She asked him if it was his father's, but received only a grunt in response.
They came to a tall oak set in a clearing, or at least where underbrush had been cut away