her mouth, and spat several times before taking a long drink. She wanted to kick,
scream. To kill Iola and Filmore, tear them to shreds. But she remained
motionless, hands on the rim of the barrel.
You have to think, she told herself. They are going to come back. Maybe theyplan to tie you up again.
The sight of the discarded petticoat, stained with her blood, made her feel like
vomiting. She wadded it up and shoved it into the pile of hay where she
wouldn’t have to look at it. Then she studied the barn in the dim light that filtered through the cracks between the boards. It was empty except for the bed,
two chairs, the hay, and the water barrel. That was why Filmore had moved
everything outside – so there would be nothing sharp or heavy in here, nothing
for her to use as a weapon. She rose and paced the length of all four walls, placing her hand on each board, fruitlessly searching for one that was loose or rotten.
The floor was of dirt. Perhaps she could dig under the wall, if only she had some kind of utensil, even a tin cup. Then she remembered the chamber pot Iola
had mentioned and got to her knees to retrieve it from under the bed. It was tin,
with a thin lip all around the edge, and she could already imagine herself
crawling out of her prison. She chose a place to dig behind the hay, where they wouldn’t see it the moment they came in, but the dirt floor was packed tight. She
barely managed to scratch it. Perhaps if it were wet. She went to the barrel and
cupped her hand, splashing water over the side to fill the chamber pot, but quickly lost patience. She had no time for that tedious process, had to get out of
there before they came back.
Overcoming her disgust, she plunged the tin pot into the barrel that she was to
drink from. She poured water over the scratches she had made and filled the pan
again and again, but the earth remained unyielding. She rose and walked the
walls again, desperately kicking at the dirt floor, searching for a softer spot. It was no use. She’d never manage to dig her way out of here, even with a shovel.
She sank down onto the hay and put her face in her hands, but the hay scratched
her calves and ankles, forcing her back to her feet.
Fire, she thought. This hay is as dry as hay gets. Must be last year’s. I’ll movea heap of it up against the wall and set it ablaze. Folks in Fae’s Landing are sure
to notice the smoke. Nothing brings people running like a fire. Mourning will see
it too, and Jeremy. They’ll both come to help put it out.
She eagerly reached into her pocket, searching for her flint and punk wood.
They were gone. Iola must have taken everything after Olivia passed out. Her disappointment was like another slap in the face and she felt herself dissolving.
Then she heard the faint strains of their voices.
“I gotta be getting Beauty back over to Emery’s,” Filmore was saying.
“First let me give her dinner,” Iola said. “Chicken’s just about ready. You can
go after that, once she’s all locked up.”
Their steps faded away. Olivia slid the chamber pot back under the bed and
ran her bare foot over the floor by the wall, concealing her attempt to burrow a
way out. Then she sat on the bed, hands clasped in her lap.
Think, Olivia told herself. This may be the only chance I’ll get, the one timeI’ll know for sure that Iola is out there alone. I’ll hear the horse’s hooves, know
exactly when Filmore leaves. It will take him at least an hour and a half to ride
into Fae’s Landing and walk back. There must be a way to get Iola to open the
door while he’s gone. So when she brings me the food I have to behave … how?
Not like I want to murder her. I have to seem subdued, as if I’m not a threat.
