could see your way to come by our place tomorrow and help me put out fruit to
dry for the winter. I’ll have it all washed, but the cutting and stoning goes by a
whole lot quicker when you got company. We can have us a nice long chat.”
Olivia could think of no good excuse for refusing. Anyway, Iola was quick to
promise her a sack of dried fruit for her trouble. After Iola left, Olivia went out
to the farm where Mourning was working. He took off his hat, wiped his brow
on his sleeve, and put it back on.
“She asked me to go over there tomorrow, help her cut up fruit to dry. I don’t
know how I’ll stand her all day, but I guess it’d be good for me to learn how to
do that. I’ll get something cooking for you before I leave.”
“You don’t gotta worry ’bout that,” he said, his voice and eyes soft. “I can feed myself. You gonna be wore out, walking over there and back in this heat.”
He slapped a mosquito on his neck. “Don’t be feelin’ like you gotta hurry.”
They had become careful of one another, but unfailingly kind. Olivia wished
he could find his way back to ornery teasing. She constantly longed to touch him
and believed he felt the same. She didn’t see how they could go on staying there
together. And she didn’t see how she could bear not to have him near her.
“Maybe day after tomorrow we should plan on going to Backwoods. Find out
about that new law,” she said.
“Maybe we should.”
The next day Olivia rose before sunrise, baked a loaf of bread, rinsed and
hung the laundry she had left soaking overnight, swept out the cabin, and put a
pot on to simmer for Mourning’s dinner.
She was wearing a pair of his trousers, but sighed, remembering what Tobey
had said about trying harder to fit in with society. She pulled a dress over her head, cursing the stupid things women had to wear, filled a skin with water, and
tied her summer bonnet under her chin. It was straw with a red ribbon and she
peeked in the mirror, liking the way she looked in it. When she was ready to leave, Mourning was out in the farm swinging his hoe. She gave a loud whistle
and waved good-bye. He took off his hat and waved it back.
She stood looking at him for a long moment, wondering why she felt so sad –
as if she were starting on a long journey and might never see him again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Olivia gathered her skirts and plunged into the cool woods. The blow of a
deer was followed by the crash of hooves, but she caught only a glimpse of its
white tail. She had never seen light as beautiful as the morning sun filtering through the canopy and turning the leaves a hundred shades of green. How had
that greedy John Jacob Astor dared to call Michigan a useless swamp?
She had never been to the Stubblefields, but – as Iola had promised – the trail
was clear and she wasn’t worried about getting lost. She was, however, tired out
by the time she emerged into their clearing. Iola had obviously been watching for her and rushed out. Filmore stood by the barn and Olivia waved to him. He
took off his hat, but then slapped it back on his head and kicked at the dirt, head
down. Olivia smiled at his shyness.
“Did you buy a horse?” Olivia asked Iola, nodding at the lovely black
