Wish You Well by David Baldacci Page A

down the row again. Throws up same furrows of dirt on both sides. It kicks up big clods of earth too. So’s after we plow, we drag the field to break up the clods. Then we harrow, makes the dirt real smooth. Then we use what’s called a laid-off plow. Gives you fine rows. Then we plant.”
    She had Eugene plow one row to show them how, and then Louisa kicked at the plow. “You look purty strong, Lou. You want’a give it a go?”
    “Sure,” she said. “It’ll be easy.”
    Eugene set her up properly, put the guide straps around her waist, handed her the whip, and then stepped back. Hit apparently summed her up as an easy mark, because he took off unexpectedly fast. Strong Lou very quickly got a taste of the rich earth.
    As Louisa pulled her up and wiped her face, she said, “That old mule had the best of you this time. Bet it won’t next go round.”
    “I don’t want to do this anymore,” Lou said, hiding her face with her sleeve, spitting up chunks of things she didn’t want to think about. Her cheeks were red, and tears edged from under her eyelids.
    Louisa knelt in front of her. “First time your daddy tried to plow, he your age. Mule took him on a ride ended in the crick. Took me the better part of a day to get him and that durn animal out. Your daddy said the same thing you did. And I decided to let him be about it.”
    Lou stopped brushing at her face, her eyes drying up. “And what happened?”
    “For two days he wouldn’t go near the fields. Or that mule. And then I come out here to work one morning and there he was.”
    “And he plowed the whole field?” Oz guessed.
    Louisa shook her head. “Mule and your daddy ended up in the hog pen with enough slop on both choke a bear.” Oz and Lou laughed, and then Louisa continued, “Next time, boy and mule reached an unnerstanding. Boy had paid his dues, and mule had had his fun, and them two made the best plow team I ever saw.”
    From across the valley there came the sound of a siren. It was so loud that Lou and Oz had to cover their ears. The mule snorted and jerked against its harness. Louisa frowned.
    “What is that?” Lou shouted.
    “Coal mine horn,” said Louisa.
    “Was there a cave-in?”
    “No, hush now,” Louisa said, her eyes scanning the slopes. Five anxious minutes passed by and the siren finally stopped. And then from all sides they heard the low rumbling sound. It rose around them like an avalanche coming. Lou thought she could see the trees, even the mountain, shaking. She gripped Oz’s hand and was thinking of fleeing, but she didn’t because Louisa hadn’t budged. And then the quiet returned.
    Louisa turned back to them. “Coal folks sound the horn afore they blast. They use dynamite. Sometimes too much and they’s hill slides. And people get hurt. Not miners. Farmers working the land.” Louisa scowled once more in the direction where the blast seemed to have come from, and then they went back to farming.

    At supper, they had steaming plates of pinto beans mixed with cornbread, grease, and milk, and washed down with springwater so cold it hurt. The night was chilly, the wind howling fiercely as it attacked the structure, but the walls and roof withstood this charge. The coal fire was warm, and the lantern light gentle on the eye. Oz was so tired he almost fell asleep in his Crystal Winters Oatmeal plate the color of the sky.
    After supper Eugene went out to the barn, while Oz lay in front of the fire, his little body so obviously sore and spent. Louisa watched as Lou went over to him, put his head in her lap, and stroked his hair. Louisa slid a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles over her eyes and worked on mending a shirt by the firelight. After a while, she stopped and sat down beside the children.
    “He’s just tired,” Lou said. “He’s not used to this.”
    “Can’t say a body ever gets used to hard work.” Louisa rubbed at Oz’s hair too. It seemed the little boy just had a head people liked to touch. Maybe for