Olivia half-listened, nodding her head at appropriate intervals, as she sipped
the burnt coffee. Then she shook herself and asked Mrs. Hardaway if she needed
any help. The housekeeper went to the window and pulled back the red and
white checkered curtain.
“Well, I would, but I hate to ask you to go back out in this. It’s coming right
down again.”
“I don’t mind snow,” Olivia said, rising. “A walk would feel good. What do
you need? Something from the store?” She reached for her coat.
Mrs. Hardaway shook her head. “I got a pile of pot handles need mending.
Been putting it off, but now that darn oven door has got loose again, about ready
to fall right off. I got to be able to keep food warm, what with all the folks coming to call. You think you could go scare up Mourning Free? I believe I seen
him working over to Ferguson’s Livery this week.”
Mourning Free. Olivia felt like giving Mrs. Hardaway a hug.
Why didn’t I think of him? Olivia felt like shouting out loud. She turned away
from the housekeeper, thinking, Mourning would be perfect. The way he’s
worked everywhere in town, he knows how to do everything – fix a wagon wheel,raise a barn, put on a roof, clear a field, shoe a horse. Even knows how to cook
– sometimes makes breakfast, dinner, and supper for the boarders at Mrs.
Monroe’s. Won’t expect to be paid as much as a white man either. And, mostimportant of all, if ever there was a soul in need of a new start in life, it’s Mr.
Mourning Free.
Chapter Three
Olivia told Mrs. Hardaway that she would be glad to go fetch Mourning Free.
“But I think I’ll wait until after dinner,” she said and returned her coat to the rack.
She would be glad for an excuse to flee the house after the noon meal – when
more flocks of women could be expected to climb the Killion’s front porch, each
carrying a covered dish or pie as the price of admission. No one wanted to miss
what might be their last chance to snoop around Old Man Killion’s house.
Yesterday Olivia had caught one of the church ladies in his study, going through
the drawers of the desk. What made women so nosy about the inside of other people’s houses? Olivia could see nothing interesting about theirs. It was a
regular wood frame, clapboard house. It may have been larger than most others
in town, but there was nothing fancy about it. She did, however, understand why
they were so curious about her father. Since she was a child Olivia had known
that – according to the busybodies – her father “had hardly buried that crazy wife
of his before he started carrying on with that Place woman.”
But avoiding those women with their stew pans was not the only reason
Olivia chose to wait. She didn’t want to be in the middle of explaining her proposition to Mourning Free and have to go home to eat. It might take a while
to convince him that going to Michigan was the best chance he’d ever have to make something of himself. She could imagine the way he’d look at her when
she first told him her plan – like a horse must have kicked her in the head. But
eventually she would make him realize what a great opportunity this was, even
more so for him than for her.
She moved about the kitchen, setting the table and slicing bread, her face set
