She opened the back door and peeked out. A gravel path, sheltered by a
makeshift wooden structure, led from the back porch of the house to the hinged
door that had been cut into the narrow sidewall of the barn. Olivia knew that Mrs. Place did all the baking in the roomy back of the barn. The small front area
had been walled off and converted into her shop, with a small porch and roofed
entrance that jutted out toward the road. The shop even had glass windows and a
fitted door.
Olivia went back upstairs where she found only a room filled with what
looked like discarded furniture, a linen closet, the room in which she had slept,
and Mrs. Place’s spacious bedroom. Olivia entered it shamelessly, listening for the sound of the back door. A lumpy-looking double bed with a brass bedstead
stood against the far wall. The pink cover thrown over it matched the throw rug
on the floor. Olivia reached under the cover and felt the sheets. Plain white muslin, like the ones on her bed. She had expected perfumed silk. She wondered
if anyone had shared that bed with Mrs. Place since Seborn died. Perhaps every
older man in town had seen himself as a likely candidate to replace him and droves of them had come calling. Mrs. Place wasn’t what you’d call pretty, but
her body was still slim, unlike most of the women her age. Olivia thought there
must also be something appealing about her wide-open eyes and quick smile.
The door to Mrs. Place’s wardrobe boasted an inlaid mirror, surrounded by fat
little cherubs carved into the wood. Most of the clothing looked vaguely familiar,
except for a long boa of white feathers and a shiny red dress with puffy sleeves
and a plunging neckline. Olivia took the red dress out and held it against her body, closing the door of the wardrobe so she could admire herself in the mirror.
She tried to guess when a younger version of Mrs. Place might have last worn such a dress. Had she lived some other mysterious life, before being trapped in
the dull routine of the bakery in Five Rocks? It would have to have been a long time ago. For as long as Olivia could remember herself, Mrs. Place had been behind the counter in her shop, every day except Sunday. And there had never been any sign of a Mr. Place, dead or alive.
As Olivia continued to snoop through the room and reflect on the life lived by
its occupant, she began to understand why Mrs. Place had so readily offered her
hospitality. How lonely she must be. Olivia returned the dress to the wardrobe and closed it with a sigh. The only other furniture in the room was a large dressing table. Cosmetics and the tools for applying them were scattered on its glass top. Her arsenal, Olivia thought. Weapons to fight off more than
encroaching age. She must have known how the church ladies talked about “all
that paint” she wore, but she sat there every morning and defiantly applied her
mask. Poor Mrs. Place.
Looked at another way, however, Mrs. Place’s life was anything but pitiable.
She had her own business. She didn’t depend on anyone. Olivia wondered how
much of the feminine disapproval heaped on her was rooted in plain old envy.
She gave up ruminating over Mrs. Place’s life and returned to her bed to
worry about her own. Whether she returned home now or first had to go away and birth a baby, then what? Stay in Five Rocks and wait for some young man to
come calling? Smelly Billy Adams perhaps? Marry him and join Avis and Mabel
for Sunday dinner every week? She realized what had made Jeremy so attractive.
A life shared with him might offer love and friendship, as well as some material
amenities, without the usual constraints of respectability. Jeremy wouldn’t have
objected to her wearing trousers, riding bareback, or having her own money.
That’s why people go west, she thought. To get away from all the silly rules.
They’re willing to trade comfort and safety for freedom. She remembered Jeremy
asking, “Why do they bother making all those rules? Good people don’t need
