“That boy of yours seems to know what he’s doing all right,” he said to Olivia.
“I told him I’ll be more than glad to have the use of them oxen. Whoever trained
’em made a good job of it. Hope you got what to do with lots of Yula’s eggs and
butter. And I’ll give your boy a day of my sweat, keep us quits. We’ll come back
for them next week.”
“Oh, I’m glad,” Olivia said, giving Iola’s arm a pat. “That way we’ll have all
the more reason to visit with one another.”
“Praise the Lord. You’re going to be just like a little sister to me.” Iola gave
Olivia a hug. “I told you. We’re like family now.”
She pulled back and looked Olivia up and down in a manner that was
unsettling. But Olivia was willing to ignore these strange quirks. She was glad to
have neighbors.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mourning paused to watch Olivia watering her garden with a tin cup.
“Which a them seeds you been plantin’?” he asked.
“Onions, peas, beans, and turnips.” She pointed at the rows. “Now I’m
putting in tomatoes, summer squash, greens, and watermelon.”
“Watermelon? Don’t remember buyin’ no seeds for no watermelon.”
“Mrs. Stubblefield gave me some before they left. Says you can sell the
melons in Detroit for a shilling apiece.”
“You like her pretty good?”
“I’d like her more if she weren’t as old as a rock, but she seems all right.”
Olivia almost mentioned the way their neighbors had spoken about coloreds,
but bit those words back. Why make him uncomfortable? She did tell him what
Iola had said about selling deer in Detroit.
“Okay. You get out there and shoot three deer, we take ’em to Detroit. We
could stay over a night, take that ferry south to Canada.”
She smiled, appreciative that he had remembered, and changed the subject. “I
think tomorrow I’m going to try chopping down some of those.” She pointed at
the stand of young trees a few yards from her garden.
He nodded. “Start out with them soft little maples. They ain’t gonna break
your head, they fall on it. And once you decide you a tree-chopping expert, we
can always use more punk wood. Can’t never have too much a that.”
“We still have lots of matches.”
He shook his head. “Don’t matter. You always gotta keep some punk wood in
your pocket or in that possibles bag you carry ’round, ’long with a flint and a knife. You ever get yourself lost and havin’ to spend the night in the woods, fire
gonna be your best protection.”
“How do you find punk wood?” Olivia asked.
“Cut down an old tree what got black knots near the top. Saw it off above and
below them knots, and you most likely gonna find it full a punk. Look all brown
