to the parlor, talk about something else for a while. Come on, Angel.”
The kitten followed her like a dog. Mrs. Place sank into a stuffed wing back
chair. A basket of needlework stood on the floor next to it and she tossed the kitten a ball of bright red yarn. Olivia took the uncomfortable ladder back chair
and watched Angel tangle herself up in the yarn.
“You don’t much favor your mother.” Mrs. Place glanced over at her.
“No. No one ever said I did.”
“You can thank the good Lord you don’t look much like your father neither.
And even more for not giving you his personality, cantankerous old goat that he
was.”
“Did you hate him?” Olivia asked timidly.
“Hate him? Course not. I guess I loved him in my own pitiful way. But it
warn’t nothing like what a young girl like you thinks of when she thinks of love.
I seen too much and gotten too hard for that. But I cared for him and I loved having someone to care for, even that little. And I think he might a cared for me
in his own stingy way. It just didn’t come natural to him. Either that or he used it
all up on your mother.” She shook her head and then smiled. “I think he maybe
worked at keeping himself mean, so I wouldn’t have any expectations of him
making me Mrs. Killion number two. Well, he didn’t need to worry none on that account. Never thought he would. Don’t know if I woulda wanted him to. There
are advantages to an arrangement like the one we had. When they’re your husband, they never go home.”
Olivia stared at the toes of her shoes, hands in her lap. Her hostess seemed oblivious to her embarrassment. Mrs. Place yawned and glanced up at the clock
on the wall. “I think maybe it’s late enough for us to go get your things.”
Olivia rose for her cloak and then followed Mrs. Place out to the barn where
she kept the wagon. It was larger than a child’s toy, but rode low to the ground
like one. They walked to the church in silence, without a lantern, Mrs. Place dragging the wagon behind her. The town looked deserted and they saw no one
outside, but the clatter of the wagon’s wheels sounded deafening to Olivia.
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Place said. “There’s sure to be one of them women God
put in charge of the town looking out their window, but they’ll think you’re one
of my outcast friends come to visit. Just don’t take that cloak home with you when you go.”
The baskets were where Olivia had left them. The two women balanced them
on the wagon, one on top of the other, and Olivia held them steady as they walked back. Mrs. Place helped Olivia get them up the porch steps, one at a time, and inside the front door.
“You’re on your own getting whatever you need upstairs,” Mrs. Place said,
out of breath. “With my knees, I’m doing well to drag myself up them steps. Just
leave everything here for now. Take out whatever you need for tonight and I’ll
show you up to the extra room. You can worry about the rest later, if you decide
to stay here for a while.”
Olivia’s eyes opened wider at this round-about invitation, but she said
nothing. While Olivia searched for her nightgown and hairbrush, Mrs. Place lit
another lantern. She carried both it and the one that was still burning by the window as she led Olivia up the stairs to the guest room.
It was small and done up simply – a nightstand between two single beds
covered with patchwork quilts. A chest of drawers stood against the opposite
wall, next to the window. All the furniture was of the same dark wood. If not for
