Part 9 (1/2)
”And he hurt Oz.”
Louisa's expression softened. ”You got to go to school, honey. You got to learn to get along.”
Lou scowled. ”Why can't they get along with us?”
” 'Cause this their home. They act like that 'cause you're not like n.o.body they ever seen.”
Lou stood. ”You don't know what it's like to be an outsider.” She ran out the door, while Louisa looked after her, shaking her head.
Oz was waiting for his sister on the front porch.
”I put your bag in your room,” he told her.
Lou sat on the steps and rested her chin on her knees.
”I'm okay, Lou.” Oz stood and spun in a circle to show her and almost fell off the porch. ”See, he didn't hurt me any.”
”Good thing, or I really would've pounded him.”
Oz closely studied her cut lip. ”Does it hurt much?”
”Don't feel a thing. Shoot, they might be able to milk cows and plow fields, but mountain boys sure can't hit worth anything.”
They looked up as Cotton's Oldsmobile pulled into the front yard. He got out, a book cradled under one arm.
”I heard about your little adventure over at the school today,” he said, walking up.
Lou looked surprised. ”That was fast.”
Cotton sat next to them on the steps. ”Up here when a good fight breaks out people will move heaven and earth to get the word around.”
”Wasn't much of a fight,” said Lou proudly. ”Billy Davis just curled up and squawked like a baby.”
Oz added, ”He cut Lou's lip, but it doesn't hurt any.”
She said, ”They called us Yankees, like it was some kind of disease.”
”Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm a Yankee too. From Boston. And they've accepted me here. Well, at least most of them have.”
Lou's eyes widened as she made the connection and wondered why she hadn't before. ”Boston? Longfellow. Are you-”
”Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was my grandfather's great-grandfather. I guess that's the easiest way to put it.”
”Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Gos.h.!.+”
”Yeah, gos.h.!.+” Oz said, though in fact he had no idea who they were talking about.
”Yes, gosh indeed. I wanted to be a writer since I was a child.”
”Well, why aren't you?” asked Lou.
Cotton smiled. ”While I can appreciate inspired, well-crafted writing better than most, I'm absolutely confounded when attempting to do it myself. Maybe that's why I came here after I got my law degree. As far from Longfellow's Boston as one can be. I'm not a particularly good lawyer, but I get by. And it gives me time to read those who can write well.” He cleared his throat and recited in a pleasant voice: ”Often I think of the beautiful town, that is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down-”
Lou took up the verse: ”The pleasant streets of that dear old town. And my youth comes back to me.”
Cotton looked impressed. ”You can quote Longfellow?”
”He was one of my dad's favorites.”
He held up the book he was carrying. ”And this is one of my my favorite writers.” favorite writers.”
Lou glanced at the book. ”That's the first novel my dad ever wrote.”
”Have you read it?”
”My dad read part of it to me. A mother loses her only son, thinks she's all alone. It's very sad.”
”But it's also a story of healing, Lou. Of one helping another.” He paused. ”I'm going to read it to your mother.”
”Dad already read all his books to her,” she said coldly.
Cotton realized what he had just done. ”Lou, I'm not trying to replace your father.”
She stood. ”He was a real writer. He didn't have to go around quoting other people.”
Cotton stood too. ”I am sure if your father were here he would tell you that there is no shame in repeating the words of others. That it's a show of respect, in fact. And I have the greatest respect for your father's talents.”
”You think it might help? Reading to her,” said Oz.
”Waste your time if you want.” Lou walked off.
”It's okay with me if you read to her,” said Oz.
Cotton shook the boy's hand. ”Thank you much for your permission, Oz. I'll do my best.”
”Come on, Oz, there's ch.o.r.es to do,” called Lou.
As Oz ran off, Cotton glanced down at me book and then went inside. Louisa was in the kitchen.
”You here to do your reading?” she asked.
”Well, that was my thinking, but Lou made it very clear she doesn't want me to read from her father's books. And maybe she's right.”
Louisa looked out me window and saw Lou and Oz disappear into the barn. ”Well, I tell you what, I got lots of letters Jack wrote to me over the years. They's some he sent me from college that I always liked. He use some big words then I ain't know what they mean, but the letters' still nice. Why don't you read those to her? See, Cotton, my thinking is it ain't what what folks read to her that's important. I think the best thing is for us to spend time with her, to let Amanda know we ain't give up hope.” folks read to her that's important. I think the best thing is for us to spend time with her, to let Amanda know we ain't give up hope.”