Olivia had no appetite. She laid the poultice over her foot and sipped the tea,
but let her food go cold. She picked up the fork and imagined stabbing it into Iola’s eye, but set it back down, beaten. When Iola came back for the tray, neither of them spoke. Then Iola noticed the blood where Olivia had cut herself
and grabbed her arm.
“Stupid girl,” she said and stomped out. When she returned she was carrying
a small glass jar and smeared some of its contents over the wound.
Most of that night Olivia lay awake. Don’t think about it, she told herself.
Don’t think about tomorrow. There’s no way you can stop it. They’ll only hurtyou more. All you can do is wait for it to be over. Save your anger and hatred for
later, after they let you go. Stay strong. You’ve got to eat. Get up and walkaround. It only lasts a few minutes. Think about other things. When she finally
escaped into sleep, she dreamt of her father’s funeral, of jumping down after him into that black pit.
The clank of the barn door woke her in the morning. Her limbs felt heavy, as
if she could barely move. When she opened her eyes and remembered where she
was, the rage that filled her quickly dissipated into apathy. Iola put her head in
and told her to get up and use the chamber pot. They left the barn door open while they stood outside and waited for her to finish. Then they came in and Olivia succumbed to being tied up without a struggle. Filmore, drunk again,
enthusiastically climbed up and shoved himself into her. It took longer this time.
After they left, Olivia rolled over and sobbed, weakly beating her fists against
the mattress. Five more days. She couldn’t survive five more days of this. Not one more day. She didn’t want to. She wanted to die. She didn’t want to inhabit
this body. Finally, she stood, went to the barrel, cleaned herself, and splashed water over her face.
No, she thought, they are not going to get away with this. They have stolen mylife, it will never be the same, but they are not going to get away with it. If I getthrough this without losing my sanity, I will tell people what they did to me.
Someone will believe me.
When Iola brought her a breakfast of fried eggs, buttered biscuits, and an
apple, Olivia kept her voice steady and said, “I want two buckets of warm water,
a washrag, some soap, and a towel. And a dipper. And I want a hairbrush. And
something else to wear while you launder my dress. And a blanket.”
Iola hesitated before she nodded and said, “All right.”
Olivia forced herself to eat. Iola soon returned with the things Olivia had
requested, including one of Iola’s worn house dresses. She set them down and said, “Take off your dress and hand it out the door before we lock it.”
“I want you to leave the door open a crack, enough to let some light in. And I
want some books.”
“You know we aren’t going to leave the chain off the door.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I said open enough to let some light in. Just a strip of light, too narrow for me to get through, but wide enough to read by. And to let
some fresh air in here.”
“We don’t got no books, ’cept for my Bible.”
“I do. On my bed at home. Go get them. The Pioneers and The Last of the Mohicans.”
Iola stood staring at her for a long while. “All right. But it won’t be until later.
We got a farm to take care of, in between waiting on you.”
Filmore tested the lock on different links of the chain until he was satisfied.
After Olivia heard him clomp away, she tore her filthy dress from her body and
tossed it outside. Then she scrubbed herself. The water tingled on her skin and for a moment she felt almost human.
Left with nothing to do but think, Olivia tried to puzzle out why Filmore had
needed a horse on the day they abducted her. It may have had something to do
