of his shoes, and they clomped around with the others.
The music and laughter drifted down the hall and into Amanda's room. Since they had been here, winter had turned to spring and spring had given way to summer. And during all that time, Amanda's condition had not changed. Lou interpreted that as positive proof that her mother would never rejoin them, while Oz, ever the optimist, saw it as a good thing, because his mother's condition had not become any worse. Despite her bleak opinion of her mother's future, Lou helped Louisa sponge-bathe Amanda every day and also wash her hair once a week. And both Lou and Oz changed their mother's resting positions frequendy and exercised her arms and legs daily. Yet there was never any reaction from their mother; she was just there, eyes closed, limbs motionless. She was not "dead," but what her mother was could surely not be called "living" either, Lou had often thought. However, something was a little odd now with the music and laughter filtering into her room. Perhaps if it was possible to smile without moving one facial muscle, Amanda Cardinal had just accomplished it.
Back in the front room a few records later, the music had changed to tunes designed to make one kick up his heels. The partners had also changed: Lou and Diamond jumped and spun with youthful energy; Cotton twirled Oz; and Eugene—bad leg and all—and Louisa were doing a modest jitterbug.
Cotton left the dance floor after a while and went to Amanda's bedroom and sat next to her. He spoke to her very quietly, relaying news of the day, how the children were doing, the next book he intended to read to her. All just normal conversation, really, and Cotton hoping that she could hear him and be encouraged by it. "I have enjoyed the letters you wrote to Louisa immensely. Your words show a beautiful spirit. However, I look forward to getting to know you personally, Amanda." He took her hands very gently and moved them slowly to the music.
The sounds drifted outside, and the light spilled into the darkness. For one stolen moment, all in the house seemed happy and secure.
The small coal mine on Louisa's land was about two miles from the house. There was a matted-down path leading to it, and that connected with a dirt road that snaked back to the farm. The opening of the mine was broad and tall enough for sled and mule to enter easily, which they did each year to bring out coal for the winter's heat. With the moon now shielded by high clouds, the entrance to the mine was invisible to the naked eye.
Off in the distance there was a wink of light, like a firefly. Then came another flash and then another. Slowly the group of men emerged from the darkness and came toward the mine, the blinks of light now revealed as lit kerosene lamps. The men wore hard hats with carbide lamps strapped to them. In preparation for entering the mine, each man took off his hat, filled the lamp pouch with moistened carbide pellets, turned the handle, which adjusted the wick, struck a match, and a dozen lamps together ignited.
A man bigger than all the others called the workers around, and they formed a tight huddle. His name was Judd Wheeler, and he had been exploring dirt and rock looking for things of value most of his adult life. In one big hand he held a long roll of paper which he spread open, and one of the men shone a lantern upon it. The paper held detailed markings, writing and drawings. The caption on the paper was printed boldly across the top: "Southern Valley Coal and Gas Geological Survey."
As Wheeler instructed his men on tonight's duties, from out of the darkness another man joined them. He wore the same felt hat and old clothes. George Davis also held a kerosene lamp and appeared quite excited at all the activity. Davis spoke animatedly with Wheeler for a few minutes, and then they all headed inside the mine.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LOU WOKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING. THE SOUNDS of music had stayed with her through the night, and her dreams had been pleasant ones. She stretched, gingerly touched the floor, and went to look out the window. The sun had already begun its rise and she knew she had to get to the barn to milk, a task she had rapidly taken as her own, for she had grown to like the coolness of the barn in the morning, and also the smell of the cows and the hay. She would sometimes climb to the loft, push open the hay doors, and sit on the edge there, gazing out at the land from her high perch, listening to the sounds of birds and small animals darting through trees, crop field, and high grass and catching the breeze that always seemed to be there.
This was just such another morning of flaming skies, brooding mountains, the playful lift of birds, the efficient business of animals, trees, and flowers. However, Lou was not prepared for the sight of Diamond and Jeb slipping out of the barn and heading off down the road.
Lou dressed quickly and went downstairs. Louisa had food on the table, though Oz had not yet appeared.
"That was fun last night," Lou said, sitting at the table.
"You prob'ly laugh now, but when Fs younger, I could do me some stompin'," remarked Louisa, as she put a biscuit covered with gravy and a glass of milk on the table for Lou.
"Diamond must have slept in the barn," said Lou as she bit into her biscuit. "Don't his parents worry about him?" She gave Louisa a sideways glance and added, "Or I guess I should be asking if he has any parents."
Louisa sighed and then stared at Lou. "His mother passed when he was born. Happen right often up here. Too often. His daddy joined her four year ago."
Lou put down her biscuit. "How did his father die?"
"No business of ours, Lou."
"Does this have anything to do with what Diamond did to that man's car?"
Louisa sat and tapped her fingers against the table.
"Please, Louisa, please. I really want to know. I care about Diamond. He's my friend."
"Blasting at one of the mines," Louisa said bluntly. 'Took down a hillside. A hillside Donovan Skinner was farming."
"Who does Diamond live with then?"
"He a wild bird. Put him in a cage, he just shrivel up and die. He need anythin', he know to come to me."
"Did the coal company have to pay for what happened?"
Louisa shook her head. "Played legal tricks. Cotton tried to help but weren't much he could do. Southern Valley's a powerful force hereabouts."
"Poor Diamond."
"Boy sure didn't take it lying down," Louisa said. "One time the v/heels of a motorman's car fell off when it come out the mine. And then a coal tipple wouldn't open and they had to send for some people from Roanoke. Found a rock stuck in the gears. That same coal mine boss, he was in an outhouse one time got tipped over. Durn door wouldn't open, and he spent a sorry hour in there. To this day nobody ever figgered out who tipped it over or how that rope got round it."
"Did Diamond ever get in trouble?"
"Henry Atkins the judge. He a good man, know what was what, so's nothing ever come of it. But Cotton kept talking to Diamond, and the mischief finally quit." She paused. "Least it did till the horse manure got in that man's car."
Louisa turned away, but Lou had already seen the woman's broad smile.
Lou and Oz rode Sue every day and had gotten to the point where Louisa had proclaimed them good, competent riders. Lou loved riding Sue. She could see forever, it seemed, from that high perch, the mare's body wide enough that falling off seemed impossible.
After morning chores, they would go swimming with Diamond at Scott's Hole, a patch of water Diamond had introduced them to, and which he claimed had no bottom. As the summer went along Lou and Oz became dark brown, while Diamond simply grew larger freckles.
Eugene came with them as often as he could, and Lou was surprised to learn he was only twenty-one. He did not know how to swim, but the children remedied that, and Eugene was soon performing different strokes, and even flips, in the cool water, his bad leg not holding him back any in that environment.
They played baseball in a field of bluegrass they had scythed. Eugene had fashioned a bat from an oak plank shaved narrow at one end. They used Diamond's cover-less ball and another made from a bit of rubber wound round with sheep's wool and knitted twine. The bases were pieces of shale set in a st
raight line, this being the proper way according to Diamond, who termed it straight-town baseball. New York Yankees' fan Lou said nothing about this, and let the boy have his fun. It got so that none of them, not even Eugene, could hit a ball that Oz threw, so fast and tricky did it come.
They spent many afternoons running through the adventures of the Wizard of Oz, making up parts they had forgotten, or which they thought, with youthful confidence, could be improved upon. Diamond was quite partial to the Scarecrow; Oz, of course, had to be the cowardly Hon; and, by default, Lou was the heartless tin man. They unanimously proclaimed Eugene the Great and Mighty Wizard, and he would come out from behind a rock and bellow out lines they had taught him so loud and with such a depth of feigned anger that Oz, the Cowardly Lion, asked Eugene, the Mighty Wizard, if he could please tone it down a bit. They fought many pitched battles against flying monkeys and melting witches, and with a little ingenuity and some luck at just the right moments, good always triumphed over evil on the glorious Virginia mountain.
Diamond told them of how in the winter he would skate on the top of Scott's Hole. And how using a short-handled ax he would cleave off a strip of bark from an oak and use that as his sled to go sailing down the iced slopes of the mountains at speeds never before achieved by a human being. He said he would be glad to show them how he did it, but would have to swear them to secrecy, lest the wrong sort of folks found out and maybe took over the world with such valuable knowledge.
Lou did not once let on that she knew about Diamond's parents. After hours of fun, they would say their goodbyes and Lou and Oz would ride home on Sue or take turns with Eugene when he came with them. Diamond would stay behind and swim some more or hit the ball, doing, as he often said, just as he pleased.
On the ride back home after one of these outings, Lou decided to take a different way. A fine mist hung over the mountains as she and Oz approached the farmhouse from the rear. They cleared a rise, and on top of a little knoll about a half-mile from the house, Lou reined Sue to a halt. Oz squirmed behind her.
"Come on, Lou, we need to get back. We've got chores."
Instead, the girl clambered off Sue, leaving Oz to grab at the reins, which almost made him fall off the animal. He called crossly after her, but she seemed not to hear.
Lou went over to the little cleared space under the dense shade of an evergreen and knelt down. The grave markers were simple pieces of wood grayed by the weather. And clearly much time had passed. Lou read the names of the dead and the bracket dates of their existence, which were carved deeply into the wood and were probably about as distinct as the day they were chiseled.
The first name was Joshua Cardinal. The date of his birth and death made Lou believe that he must have been Louisa's husband, Lou and Oz's great-grandfather. He had passed in his fifty-second year—not that long of a life, Lou thought. The second grave marker was a name that Lou knew from her father. Jacob Cardinal was her father's father, her and Oz's grandfather. As she recited the name, Oz joined her and knelt down in the grass. He pulled off his straw hat and said nothing. Their grandfather had died far younger than even his father. Was there something about this place? Lou wondered. But then she thought of how old Louisa was, and the wondering stopped there.
The third grave marker looked to be the oldest. It only had a name on it, no dates of birth or death.
"Annie Cardinal," Lou said out loud. For a time the two just knelt there and stared at the pieces of board marking the remains of family they had never known. Then Lou rose, went over to Sue, gripped the horse's bushy mane, climbed up, and then helped Oz on board. Neither spoke all the way back.
At supper that night, more than once Lou was about to venture a question to Louisa about what they had seen, but then something made her not. Oz was obviously just as curious, yet, like always, he was inclined to follow his sister's lead. They had time, Lou figured, for all of their questions to be answered. Before she went to sleep that night, Lou went out on the back porch and looked up to that knoll. Even with a nice slice of moon she could not see the graveyard from here, yet now she knew where it was. She had never much been interested in the dead, particularly since losing her father. Now she knew that she would go back soon to that burying ground and look once more at those bits of plain board set in dirt and engraved with the names of her flesh and blood.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
COTTON SHOWED UP WTTH DIAMOND A WEEK LATER and handed out small American flags to Lou, Oz, and Eugene. He had also brought a five-gallon can of gas, which he put in the Hudson's fuel tank. "We all can't fit in the Olds," he explained. "And I handled an estate problem for Leroy Meekins who runs the Esso station. Leroy doesn't like to pay in cash, though, so one could say I'm flush with oil products right now."
With Eugene driving, the five went down to Dickens to watch the parade. Louisa stayed behind to keep watch over Amanda, but they promised to bring her back something.
They ate hot dogs with great splotches of mustard and ketchup, swirls of cotton candy, and enough soda pop to make the children run to the public toilet with great frequency. There were contests of skill at booths set up wherever space was available, and Oz cleaned up on all those that involved throwing something in order to knock something else down. Lou bought a pretty bonnet for Louisa, which she let Oz carry in a paper bag.
The town was done up in red, white, and blue, and both townfolk and those from the mountain lined both sides of the street as the floats came down. These barges 0n land were pulled by horse, mule, or track and displayed the most important moments in America's history, which, to most native Virginians, had naturally all occurred in the Commonwealth. There was a group of children on one such float representing the original thirteen colonies, with one boy carrying the Virginia colors, which were far bigger than the flags the other children carried, and he wore the showiest costume as well. A regiment of decorated war veterans from the area trooped by, including several men with long beards and shriveled bodies who claimed to have served with both the honorable Bobby Lee and the fanatically pious Stonewall Jackson. One float, sponsored by Southern Valley, was devoted to the mining of coal and was pulled by a customized Chevrolet track painted gold. There wasn't a black-faced, wrecked-back miner in sight, but instead, smack in the center of the float, on a raised platform simulating a coal tipple, stood a pretty young woman with blond hair, a perfect complexion, and brilliant white teeth, wearing a sash that read "Miss Bituminous Coal 1940" and waving her hand as mechanically as a windup doll. Even the most dense in the crowd could probably grasp the implied connection between lumps of black rock and the pot of gold pulling it. And the men and boys gave the expected reaction of cheers and some catcalls to the passing beauty. There was one old and humpbacked woman standing next to Lou who told her that her husband and three sons all labored in the mines. The old woman watched the beauty queen with scornful eyes and then commented that that young gal had obviously never been near a coal mine in her entire life. And she wouldn't know a lump of coal if it jumped up and grabbed her in the bituminous.
High-ranking representatives of the town made important speeches, motivating the citizens into bursts of enthusiastic applause. The mayor held forth from a temporary stage, with smiling, expensively dressed men next to him, who, Cotton told Lou, were Southern Valley officials. The mayor was young and energetic, with slicked hair, wearing a nice suit and fashionable watch and chain, and carrying boundless enthusiasm in his beaming smile and hands reaching to the sky, as though ready to snag on any rainbows trying to slip by.
"Coal is king," the mayor announced into a clunky microphone almost as big as his head. "And what with the war heating up across the Atlantic and the mighty United States of America building ships and guns and tanks for our friends fighting Hitier, the steel mill's demands for coke, our good, patriotic Virginia coke, will skyrocket. And some say it won't be long before we join the fighting. Yes, prosperity is here in fine abundance and here it will stay," said the mayor. "No
t only will our children live the glorious American dream, but their children will as well. And it will be all due to the good work of folks like Southern Valley and their unrelenting drive to bring out the black rock that is driving this town to greatness. Rest assured, folks, we will become the New York City of the south. One day some will look back and say, 'Who knew the outstanding things that destiny held for the likes of Dickens, Virginia?' But y'all already know, because I'm telling you right now. Hip-hip hooray for Southern Valley and Dickens, Virginia." And the exuberant mayor threw his straw boater hat high into the air. And the crowd joined him in the cheer, and more hats were catapulted into the swirling breeze. And though Diamond, Lou, Oz, Eugene, and Cotton all applauded too, and the children grinned happily at each other, Lou noticed that Cotton's expression wasn't one of unbridled optimism.
As night fell, they watched a display of fireworks color the sky, and then the group climbed in the Hudson and headed out of town. They had just passed the courthouse when Lou asked Cotton about the mayor's speech and his muted reaction to it.
"Well, I've seen this town go boom and bust before," he said. "And it usually happens when the politicians and the business types are cheering the loudest. So I just don't know. Maybe it'll be different this time, but I just don't know."
Lou was left to ponder this while the cheers of the fine celebration receded and then those sounds were gone entirely, replaced with wind whistling through rock and tree, as they headed back up the mountain.
There had not been much rain, but Louisa wasn't worried yet, though she prayed every night for the skies to open up and bellow hard and long. They were weeding the cornfield, and it was a hot day and the flies and gnats were particularly bothersome. Lou scraped at the dirt, something just not seeming right. "We already planted the seeds. Can't they grow by themselves?"
"Lot of things go wrong in farming and one or two most always do," Louisa answered. "And the work don't never stop, Lou. Just the way it is here."
Lou swung the hoe over her shoulder. "All I can say is, this corn better taste good."
"This here's field corn," Louisa told her. "For the animals."
Lou almost dropped her hoe. "We're doing all this work to feed