Wish You Well (44 page)
The tall woman walks along a field of bluegrass slowly curving in the wind. The line of mountains sweeps across in the background. Her hair is silver and hangs to her waist. She holds a pen and a paper tablet and sits on the ground and begins to write.
Maybe the wishing well did work. Or perhaps it was the unwavering faith of a little boy. Or maybe it was as simple as a little girl telling her mother she loved her. The important thing was our mother came back to us. Even as our beloved Louisa Mae left us. We had Louisa but a minute, yet we came close to having her not at all.
The woman rises, walks along, and then stops at two granite tombstones with the names Cotton Longfellow and Amanda Cardinal Longfellow engraved upon them. She sits and continues writing.
My mother and Cotton were married a year later. Cotton adopted Oz and me, and I showed equal love and affection to him and my mother. They spent over four wonderful decades together on this mountain and died within a week of one another. I will never forget Cotton’s great kindness. And I will go to my own grave knowing that my mother and I made the most of our second chance.
My little brother did grow into those big feet, and developed an even bigger arm. And on a glorious autumn day, Oz Cardinal pitched and won a World Series for the New York Yankees. He’s now a schoolteacher there, with a well-deserved reputation for helping timid children thrive. And his grandson has inherited that immortal bear. Some days I want nothing more than to be holding that little boy again, running my fingers through his hair, comforting him. My cowardly lion. But children grow up. And my little brother became a fine man. And his sister is truly proud of him.
Eugene went on to have his own farm and family and still lives nearby. He remains to this day one of my best friends in the world. And after his performance in that courtroom so long ago, I never heard anyone ever again refer to him as Hell No.
And me? Like my father, I left the mountain. But unlike Jack Cardinal, I came back. I married and raised a family here in a home I built on the land Louisa Mae left us. Now my own grandchildren come and visit every summer. I tell them of my life growing up here. About Louisa Mae, Cotton, and my dear friend Diamond Skinner. And also about others who touched our lives. I do so because I believe it important for them to know such things about their family.
Over the years I had read so many books, I started to write one of my own. I loved it so much, I wrote fourteen more. I told stories of happiness and wonder. Of pain and fear. Of survival and triumph. Of the land and its people. As my father had. And while I never won the sorts of awards he did, my books tended to sell a little better.
As my father wrote, one’s courage, hope, and spirit can be severely tried by the happenstance of life. But as I learned on this Virginia mountain, so long as one never loses faith, it is impossible to ever truly be alone.
This is where I belong. It is a true comfort to know that I will die here on this high rock. And I fear my passing not at all. My enthusiasm is perfectly understandable, you see, for the view from here is so very fine.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would be remiss in not thanking various people who helped with this project. First, all the fine folks at Warner Books, and especially my dear friend Maureen Egen, who was wonderfully supportive of my trying something different, and who performed a marvelous editing job on the novel. And thanks also to Aaron Priest and Lisa Vance for all their help and encouragement. They both make my life far less complicated. And to Molly Friedrich, for taking the time from her extraordinarily busy schedule to read an early draft of the novel and provide many insightful comments. And to Frances Jalet-Miller, who brought her usual superb editing skills and heartfelt enthusiasm to the story. And to my cousin Steve for reading all the words as usual. And to Jennifer Steinberg for her help.
To Michelle for all she does. It is a well-known fact that I would be utterly lost without her.
And to Spencer and Collin, for being my Lou and Oz.
And to my dear friend Karen Spiegel for all her help and encouragement with this work. You really helped make it better, and maybe one day we’ll see it on the big screen.
And to all the fine people at the Library of Virginia in Richmond for allowing me use of its archives, providing a quiet place to work and think, and for pointing me in the direction of numerous treasure troves: remembrances penned by mountain folks; oral histories documented by diligent WPA staff in the 1930s; pictorial histories of rural counties in Virginia; and the first state publication on midwifery.
A very special thanks to Deborah Hocutt, the Executive Director of the Virginia Center for the Book at the Library of Virginia, for all her assistance with this project, and also with the many other endeavors I’m involved with in the Commonwealth.
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