David Baldacci

by Wish You Well (v5)

  “What about Louisa?” asked Lou.

  “She’ll be fine. Travis is most always around, and he’s a man not to be beat with a shotgun. And when he’s not there, his nurse is just about as fine a shot. And I warned the sheriff folks were getting a bit riled. They’ll keep close watch. But those people aren’t going to do anything to a helpless woman in a bed. They’re hurting, but they’re not like that.”

  “Are they going to throw rocks at us every time we come to visit Louisa?” asked Oz fearfully.

  Cotton put an arm around the boy. “Well, if they do, I suspect they’ll run out of rocks long before we run out of visits.”

  When they got back to the farmhouse, an anxious-looking Eugene hurried out, a piece of paper in his hand.

  “Man from the town come by with this, Mr. Cotton. I ain’t knowed what it is. He say give it to you quick.”

  Cotton opened up the slip of paper and read it. It was a delinquent tax notice. He had forgotten Louisa had not paid her property taxes for the last three years because there had been no crops, and thus no money. The county had carried her over, as it did with all the other farmers in similar circumstances. They were expected to pay of course, but they were always given time. This notice, however, was demanding payment in full immediately. Two hundred dollars’ worth of payment. And since she had been in default for so long, they could foreclose and sell the land far more quickly than normal. Cotton could feel Southern Valley’s vicious stamp all over the paper.

  “Is something wrong, Cotton?” asked Lou. He looked at her and smiled. “I’ll take care of it, Lou. Just paperwork, honey.”

  Cotton counted out the two hundred dollars to the clerk of the court and was given a stamped receipt. He trudged back to his apartment and boxed up the last pile of books. A few minutes later he looked up to see Lou standing in his doorway.

  “How did you get here?” he asked.

  “I got a ride with Buford Rose in his old Packard. There are no doors on the thing, so it’s a fine view, but you’re only one jolt away from flying out, and it’s pretty cold.” She stared around at the empty room. “Where are all your books, Cotton?”

  He chuckled. “They were taking up too much space.” He tapped his forehead. “And, leastways, I’ve got it all right up here.”

  Lou shook her head. “I went by the courthouse. I figured there was more to that paper we got than you were letting on. Two hundred dollars for all your books. You shouldn’t have done it.”

  Cotton closed up the box. “I still have some left. And I’d like you to have them.”

  Lou stepped into the room. “Why?”

  “Because they’re your father’s works. And I can’t think of a better person to take care of them.”

  Lou said nothing while Cotton taped the box shut.

  “Let’s go over and see Louisa now,” Cotton said.

  “Cotton, I’m getting scared. More stores have closed. And another bus full of people just left. And the looks folks gave me on the street. They’re really angry. And Oz got in a fight at school with a boy who said we were ruining people’s lives by not selling.”

  “Is Oz all right?”

  She smiled weakly. “He actually won the fight. I think it surprised him more than anybody. He’s got a black eye, and he’s right proud of it.”

  “It’ll be all right, Lou. Things will work out. We’ll weather this.”

  She took a step closer, her expression very serious. “Things aren’t working out. Not since we’ve come here. Maybe we should sell and leave. Maybe it’ll be better for all of us. Get Mom and Louisa the care they need.” She paused and could not look at him as she added, “Someplace else.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  Lou wearily stared off. “Sometimes what I want to do is go up on the little knoll behind our house, lay on the ground, and never move again. That’s all.”

  Cotton considered this for a few moments and then said, “In the world’s broad field of battle, / In the bivouac of Life, / Be not like dumb, driven cattle! / Be a hero in the strife! / Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! / Let the dead Past bury its dead! / Act—act in the glorious Present! / Heart within, and God o’erhead! / Lives of great men all remind us / We can make our lives sublime, / And, departing, leave behind us…Footprints on the sands of time.”

  “ ‘A Psalm of Life.’ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,” said Lou without much enthusiasm.

  “There’s more to the poem, but I’ve always considered those lines the essential parts.”

  “Poetry is beautiful, Cotton, but I’m not sure it can fix real life.”

  “Poetry needn’t fix real life, Lou, it need just be. The fixing is up to us. And laying on the ground and never moving again, or running from trouble, is not the Lou Cardinal I know.”

  “That’s very interesting,” said Hugh Miller, as he stood there in the doorway. “I looked for you at your office, Longfellow. I understand you’ve been over at the courthouse paying the debts of others.” He flashed a nasty grin. “Right good of you, however misguided.”

  “What do you want, Miller?” said Cotton.

  The little man stepped into the room and looked at Lou. “Well, first I want to say how sorry I am about Miss Cardinal.”

  Lou crossed her arms and looked away.

  “Is that all?” Cotton said curtly.

  “I also came by to make another offer on the property.”

  “It’s not my property to sell.”

  “But Miss Cardinal isn’t in a position to consider the offer.”

  “She already refused you once, Miller.”

  “That’s why I’m cutting right to the chase and raising my offer to five hundred thousand dollars.”

  Cotton and Lou exchanged startled glances, before Cotton said, “Again, it’s not my property to sell.”

  “I assumed you would have a power of attorney to act on her behalf.”

  “No. And if I did, I still wouldn’t sell to you. Now, is there anything else I can’t do for you?”

  “No, you’ve told me all I need to know.” Miller handed a packet of papers to Cotton. “Consider your client served.”

  Miller walked out with a smile. Cotton quickly read through the papers, while Lou stood nervously beside him.

  “What is it, Cotton?”

  “Not good, Lou.”

  Cotton suddenly grabbed Lou’s arm, and they raced down the stairs and over to the hospital. Cotton ushed open the door to Louisa’s room. The flashbulb went off right as they came in. The man looked over at them and then he took other picture of Louisa in her bed. There was another man next to him, large and powerfully built. Both were dressed in nice suits and wore creased hats.

  “Get out of here!” cried Cotton.

  He raced over and tried to grab the camera from the man, but the big fellow pulled him away, allowing his partner to slide out the door. Then the big man backed out of the room, a smile on his lips.

  Cotton could only stand there, breathing hard and looking helplessly between Lou and Louisa.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  IT WAS A PARTICULARLY COLD, CLOUDLESS DAY when Cotton entered the courtroom. He stopped when he saw Miller and another man there, who was tall, portly, and very well dressed, his fine silver hair combed neatly on a head so massive it seemed hardly natural.

  Cotton said to Miller, “I was pretty sure I’d see you today.”

  Miller inclined his head at the other man. “You probably heard of Thurston Goode, Commonwealth’s attorney for Richmond?”

  “Indeed I have. You argued a case before the United States Supreme Court recently, didn’t you, sir?”

  “More precisely,” Goode said in a deep, confident baritone, “I won the case, Mr. Longfellow.”

  “Congratulations. You’re a long way from home.”

  “The state was kind enough to allow Mr. Goode to come down here and act on its behalf in this very important matter,” explained Miller.

  “Since when does a simple suit
to declare a person mentally unfit qualify for the expertise of one of the finest lawyers in the state?”

  Goode smiled warmly. “As an officer of the Commonwealth I don’t have to explain to you why I’m here, Mr. Longfellow. Suffice it to say, that I am here.”

  Cotton put a hand to his chin and pretended to ponder something. “Let’s see now. Virginia elects its Commonwealth’s attorneys. Might I inquire as to whether Southern Valley has made a donation to your campaign, sir?”

  Goode’s face flushed. “I don’t like what you’re implying!”

  “I did not mean it as an implication.”

  Fred the bailiff came in and announced, “All rise. The Court of the Honorable Henry J. Atkins is now in session. All those having business before this court draw near and you shall be heard.”

  Judge Henry Atkins, a small man with a short beard, thinning silver hair, and clear gray eyes, came into the room from his adjacent chambers and took his seat behind the bench. Before he got up there, he looked too small for his black robe. Once he got there, he looked too large for the courtroom.

  It was at this point that Lou and Oz crept in without anyone seeing them. Wearing barter coats and thick socks stuffed into oversized boots, they had retraced their steps across the poplarlog bridge and down the mountain, catching a ride on a truck to Dickens. It had been a much harder trek in cold weather, but the way Cotton had explained it to them, the potential effect of this proceeding on all their lives was very clear. They sat slumped down at the rear, their heads barely visible over the back of the seats in front of them.

  “Call the next case,” said Atkins. It was his only case today, but the law court had its rituals.

  Fred announced the pending matter of Commonwealth versus Louisa Mae Cardinal.

  Atkins smiled broadly from his judicial perch. “Mr. Goode, I’m honored to have you in my courtroom, sir. Please state the Commonwealth’s position.”

  Goode rose and hooked a finger in his lapel.

  “This certainly is not a pleasant task, but one that the Commonwealth has a duty to perform. Southern Valley Coal and Gas has made an offer to purchase property solely owned by Miss Cardinal. We believe that because of her recent stroke she is not legally fit to make an informed decision on that offer. Her only relatives are both underage and thus disqualified from acting for her. And we understand that the surviving parent of these children is herself severely mentally incapacitated. We also have it on good authority that Miss Cardinal has signed no power of attorney allowing others to represent her interests.”

  On this Cotton cast a sharp glance at Miller, who just looked ahead in his cocksure manner.

  Goode continued, “In order to fully protect Miss Cardinal’s rights in this matter, we are seeking to have her declared mentally unfit, and to have a guardian appointed so that an orderly disposition of her affairs may be conducted, including this very lucrative offer from Southern Valley.”

  Atkins nodded as Goode sat down. “Thank you, Mr. Goode. Cotton?”

  Cotton rose and stood before the bench. “Your Honor, what we have here is an attempt to circumvent rather than facilitate Miss Cardinal’s wishes. She has already rejected an offer from Southern Valley to purchase her land.”

  “Is that true, Mr. Goode?” queried the judge.

  Goode looked confident. “Miss Cardinal rejected one such offer; however, the present offer is for considerably more money, and thus must be separately entertained.”

  “Miss Cardinal made it very clear that she would not sell her land at any price to Southern Valley,” said Cotton. He looped his finger around his coat lapel as Goode had done, then thought better of it and removed it.

  “Do you have any witnesses to that effect?” asked Judge Atkins.

  “Uh…just me.”

  Goode immediately pounced. “Well, if Mr. Longfellow intends to make himself a material witness in this case, I insist he recuse himself as counsel for Miss Cardinal.”

  Atkins looked at Cotton. “Is that what you want to do?”

  “No, it’s not. However, I can represent Louisa’s interests until she’s better.”

  Goode smiled. “Your Honor, Mr. Longfellow has expressed a clear prejudice to my client in full view of the court. He can hardly be considered independent enough to fairly represent Miss Cardinal’s interests.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with him there, Cotton,” said Atkins.

  “Well, then we contend that Miss Cardinal is not mentally unfit,” countered Cotton.

  “Then we have ourselves a dispute, gentlemen,” said the judge. “I’m setting this for trial in one week.”

  Cotton was astonished. “That’s not enough time.”

  “One week’s fine with us,” said Goode. “Miss Cardinal’s affairs deserve to be attended to with all due speed and respect.”

  Atkins picked up his gavel. “Cotton, I’ve been over to the hospital to see Louisa. Now, whether she has her senses or not, it seems to me those children are going to at least need a guardian. We might as well get it done as quick as possible.”

  “We can take care of ourselves.”

  They all looked to the back of the courtroom, where Lou was now standing. “We can take care of ourselves,” she said again. “Until Louisa gets better.”

  “Lou,” said Cotton, “this is not the time or place.”

  Goode smiled at them. “Well, you two sure are adorable children. I’m Thurston Goode. How y’all doing?”

  Neither Lou nor Oz answered him.

  “Young lady,” said Atkins, “come up here.”

  Lou swallowed the lump in her throat and walked up to the bench, where Atkins peered down at her, like Zeus to mortal.

  “Young lady, are you a member of the State Bar?”

  “No. I mean…no.”

  “Do you know that only members of the Bar may address the court except in the most extraordinary circumstances?”

  “Well, since this concerns me and my brother, I think the circumstances are extraordinary.”

  Atkins looked at Cotton and smiled before looking back at Lou. “You’re smart, that’s easy to see. And quick. But the law is the law, and children your age can’t live by themselves.”

  “We have Eugene.”

  “He’s not a blood relative.”

  “Well, Diamond Skinner didn’t live with anybody.”

  Atkins looked over at Cotton. “Cotton, will you explain this to her, please.”

  “Lou, the judge is right, you’re not old enough to live by yourself. You need an adult.”

  Lou’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Well, we keep running out of those.” She turned and raced down the aisle, pushed open the double doors, and was gone. Oz fled after her.

  Cotton looked back up at Judge Atkins.

  “One week,” said the judge. He smacked his gavel and returned to his chambers, like a wizard resting after throwing a particularly difficult spell.