Wish You Well(64)

Diamond looked over at the photo. "Yep, he was." He caught a breath and glared at Lou.

"Louisa told me," she said.

Diamond rose and poked the fire with a crooked stick. "Ain't right playing no tricks on

me."

"Why didn't you tell me on your own?"

"Why should I?"

"Because we're friends."

This took the sting out of Diamond and he sat back down.

"You miss your mom?" Lou asked.

"Naw, how could I? Never knowed the woman." He ran his hand along the crumpling

brick, mud, and horsehair of the fireplace, and his features grew troubled. "See, she died

when Fs born."

"That's okay, Diamond. You can still miss her, even if you didn't know her."

Diamond nodded, his thumb now idly scratching at a dirty cheek. "I do think 'bout what

my momma were like. Ain't got no pitchers. My daddy told me course, but it ain't the

same." He stopped, nudged a piece of firewood with a stick, and then said, "I think

mostly 'bout what her voice was like. And how she smelled. The way her eyes and hair

could'a catch the light just so. But I miss my daddy too, 'cause he were a good man.

Schooled me all's I need to know. Hunting, fishing." He looked at her. "I bet you miss

your daddy too."

Lou looked uncomfortable. She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. "I miss him."

"Good thing you got your momma."

"No, I don't. I don't, Diamond."

"Looks bad now, but it be okay. Folks don't never leave out, less we fergit 'em. I ain't

knowed much, but I knowed that."

Lou wanted to tell him that he didn't understand. His mother was gone from him, without

question. Lou sat atop quicksand with her mother. And Lou had to be there for Oz.

They sat listening to the sounds of the woods, as trees, bugs, animals, and birds went

about their lives. "How come you don't go to school?" Lou asked. "I's fourteen year old,

and doing just fine." "You said you had read the Bible." "Well, some folks read parts of it

to me." "Do you even know how to sign your name?" "Why, everybody up here knowed

who I is." He stood and pulled out the pocketknife and carved an "X" in a bare wall stud.

"That's how my daddy done it all his life, and it be good enough fer him, it be good

enough fer me."

Lou wrapped the blanket around her and watched the dance of flames, a wicked chill

eating into her.



CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ONE ESPECIALLY WARM NIGHT THERE CAME A POUND-ing on the door about the time

Lou was thinking of going upstairs to bed. Billy Davis almost fell into the room when

Louisa opened the door.

Louisa gripped the shaking boy. "What's wrong, Billy?"

"Ma's baby coming."

"I knew she were getting on. Midwife got there?"

The boy was wild-eyed, his limbs twitching like he was heatstroked. "Ain't none. Pa

won't let 'em."

"Lord, why not?"

"Say they charge a dollar. And he ain't paying it."

"That a He. No midwife up here ever charge a dime."

"Pa said no. But Ma say baby ain't feel right. Rode the mule come get you."

"Eugene, get Hit and Sam doubletreed to the wagon. Quick now," she said.

Before Eugene went out, he took the rifle off the rack and held it out to Louisa. "Better be

taking this, you got to deal with that man."

Louisa, though, shook her head as she looked at a nervous Billy, finally smiling at the

boy. "I'll be watched over, Eugene. I feel it. It be fine."

Eugene held on to the gun. "I go with you, then. That man crazy."

"No, you stay with the children. Go on now, get the wagon ready." Eugene hesitated for a

moment, and then did as she told him.

Louisa grabbed some things and put them in a lard bucket, slipped a small packet of

cloths in her pocket, bundled together a number of clean sheets, and started for the door.

"Louisa, I'm coming with you," said Lou.

"No, ain't a good place for you."

"I'm coming, Louisa. Whether in the wagon or on Sue, but I'm coming. I want to help

you." She glanced at Billy. "And them."

Louisa thought for a minute and then said, "Prob'ly could use another set of hands. Billy,

your pa there?"

"Gotta mare gonna drop its foal. Pa said he ain't coming out the barn till it born."

Louisa stared at the boy. Then, shaking her head, she headed for the door.

They followed Billy in the wagon. He rode an old mule, its muzzle white, part of its right

ear torn away. The boy swung a kerosene lamp in one hand to help guide them. It was so

dark, Louisa said, a hand right in front of your face could still get the drop on you.

"Don't whip up the mules none, Lou. Ain't do no good for Sally Davis we end up in a