was no hostility in his voice, only amazement, as if Mourning had sprouted a second head. Mourning handed the man the paper and he pressed it to his
scrawny chest and patted it several times. He promised to give it to the owner of
the mill first thing in the morning.
“You tell him I be back soon to settle on a price.”
“Surely will. I surely will do that.”
“You got a barrel to sell us?” Mourning asked.
“Nah. Might try over at the livery, if they’s anyone there.” The man had lost
interest in them and was busy scratching himself.
Mourning turned to leave, but paused in the doorway to ask, “You know
anyone might be wantin’ to hire a yoke of oxen?”
“Can’t say I do. But I’ll let folks know you’re offerin’.”
Their next stop was the livery, where they bought a barrel from the fattest man Olivia had ever seen. He was foul smelling and no more friendly than the
man at the saw mill, but at least he was fully clothed. Mourning asked him the same question about the oxen and received the same reply.
“Well, I guess that’s it for our big day in town,” Olivia said when they went
back outside. “Lucky I dressed for the occasion.”
“You spectin’ a welcome committee gonna invite us to Sunday potluck?”
Mourning asked, unperturbed by their lack of social success.
“I certainly did expect to see some normal looking folks. Someone who might
bother to ask who we are and where we’ve come from.” She climbed up into the
wagon and looked around. “This surely is the right place for the likes of us. No
need to make up some story about my poor dead husband for the folks in this town. We could probably live out at the farm for twenty years without anyone taking notice.”
“He say they all gone to a picnic. Next time we come, folks’ll be home.”
“I don’t think I’d feel like knocking on any of those decrepit front doors, even
if folks were at home.”
She thought she was going to cry, but took a few deep breaths and held it in.
Mourning drove back the way they had come.
“At least we can stop at the General Store,” Olivia said, though she had lost
her enthusiasm. It looked no better than the other buildings – weather-beaten wood and one filthy window. “I think it’s open. I saw something move in there.”
“You go ’head,” Mourning said and stopped the wagon for her to climb down.
A musky smell greeted Olivia when she pushed the door open. A young
woman stood behind the counter. She might have once been pretty, before she
was marked by the pox. If not for the scars, she would have reminded Olivia of a
younger, clean-scrubbed Jettie Place.
“Hullo, I’m new in the area and wanted to get acquainted. Olivia Killion.”
She offered a hand. “I’m out at the Scruggs cabin. Lorenzo was my uncle.”
“Norma Gay Meyers.” The woman returned the smile and warmly took
Olivia’s hand in hers. “Your uncle left here before I ever got to meet him, but I
know the place. Nice that it won’t be standing empty no more. Always glad to
see new faces. Mrs. Stubblefield …” Miss Meyers turned to a woman in the back
of the store. She had been fingering bolts of cloth, but now took a step forward
