the fresh blood drip over the old on the remains of the petticoat. Then she lay on
the bed, facing the door, her knees curled up to her chest, her “rope” hidden under the top edge of the sheet, and the bloody cloth wadded between her legs.
“Iola,” she called out softly.
There was no reaction and she shouted four more times, each time more
loudly.
“What?” Iola asked through the door. “You should be getting some rest.”
“Something’s wrong. I’m bleeding … down there.”
“That’s perfectly normal. Nothing to fret about.”
“No, please, help me. I feel awful and there’s so much blood.” Olivia tried her
best to imitate a dying woman, gasping for breath. “Maybe you have some kind
of tea.”
“I’m telling you, it ain’t nothing to worry about. Every woman bleeds her first
time.”
“It’s not a little. It’s gushing all over. I feel like I’m going to die.”
There was a long silence before Iola said, “I’ll be in with some tea for you when Filmore gets back.”
Olivia kept still.
“Olivia?” Iola called out. “I said I would bring you some tea.”
Olivia waited a moment before emitting a low moan.
“You’re not fooling me, Little Missy. You’re perfectly healthy. Not one thing
wrong with you.”
Olivia moaned once more, barely audibly, but heard Iola walk away. A few
minutes later footfalls returned.
“I’m going to open this door,” Iola said, “but not until I know you’re over on
the bed. Let me hear your voice.”
“I … I am …”
“You stay where you are. You’ll be good and sorry if you don’t.”
The lock and chain clanked again and sun streamed into the barn. Iola stood
silhouetted in the strip of light, surrounded by dancing motes, peering at Olivia.
She cautiously approached the bed.
“Take that cloth from between your legs and throw it here.”
Olivia appeared to attempt to obey, but her limp wrist let the cloth drop next
to the bed. Only then did she notice that Iola was holding a pistol, pointed at the
floor. Iola moved toward the foot of the bed, but remained at a distance and raised the weapon.
“Open your legs.”
“I can’t. It hurts too much.”
“I said spread your legs. Roll over on your back and let me see you. Pull that
skirt up.”
With a great show of difficulty, Olivia did as told.
“Ain’t no bleeding. Ain’t nothing wrong with you at all.”
In one movement Olivia was up and off the bed, the braid of fabric clutched
