sayin’ I forced it on you.”
“You think that of me?” She stood up and put her fists on her hips. “That’s what you’ve been looking so angry about? You think I could do that to you?”
“Don’t know. Happen to plenty a colored men.”
“Well, it won’t happen to you. You should know that without me having to
say so.” She stomped away.
“All right then. Guess I do.” He called to her back.
They both set to work and didn’t speak again until supper. When it began to
grow dark, he lit a fire in the pit and played his harmonica. Olivia joined him and
poked a stick in the flames as she hummed along to Green Sleeves, Yankee Doodle, some hymns she didn’t recognize, and then his favorite, the one he always played last – Amazing Grace. The sky was soon black and she looked up
at the stars, hugging herself. Maybe everything would be all right. Maybe he would still be her friend. She could get through anything, as long as she wasn’t
all by herself.
She relaxed enough to grow curious. There were so many things she wanted
to ask him. Here she was, what folks call an experienced woman, but she didn’t
feel that way. She hadn’t even seen his mysterious thing. He’d sat there studying
every little nook and cranny of her body, but Olivia hadn’t gotten a single glimpse of his privates. She almost giggled, imagining herself asking him to be
fair – drop his pants and let her poke around.
“Mourning,” she said when he stopped playing, “you’ve done that before,
haven’t you?”
He shrugged.
“Is it different with different people?”
“People got different faces?”
“Oh.”
He rose and threw dirt on the fire, then turned his back to her before he spoke.
“I heard there ain’t so many men what know how to do the way a woman need.
You gotta find you one what does. You ask me, most white women be plain
stupid. When they huntin’ themselves up a husband, all they aksin’ is how much
money he got. Then for the rest of they lives they sit around together, drinkin’
tea in fancy cups, and wondrin’ why ain’t none of ’em happy. You gotta find a
man what can do right for you. Then you got to do right for him. You ’llowed to
move. Don’t gotta be lyin’ there like no dead cat.”
“Oh,” Olivia said and fled into the cabin, her cheeks burning.
The next day Iola came up the trail, calling, “Yoo-hoo, Happy Almost Fourth
of July,” reminding Olivia and Mourning of the upcoming holiday they had
completely forgotten.
She was all smiles and good cheer, bearing more eggs and butter, exclaiming
how glad she was to see Olivia. She kept patting Olivia’s arm and calling her
“dear child.” That was all the proof Olivia needed – as long as her monthly visitor arrived on time this month, she and Mourning would never be found out.
If nosy old Iola didn’t sense anything different about her, not a soul on earth would. There was something possessive about the way Iola kept laying her
hands on Olivia, but Olivia didn’t pay it much mind.
“I got a great big favor to ask of you,” Iola said. “I’d be real grateful if you
