I know being here all that long time would be hard on you, what with having to
stay inside all that time, but I could keep you busy. Put you to work. I’d get you
up before the roosters, so you could come out to the barn, help me with the baking till folks start stirring. You’d be earning your keep and I’d be more than
glad of the extra pair of hands. And the company. Sundays I could get a buggy
and we could have ourselves a nice ride, long as you keep that monk costume over your head till we’re out of town.”
Olivia blinked, feeling as if she might cry. “That’s awfully kind of you.”
“Ain’t nothing kind about it. Told you, I’d be more than glad of the help and
having a body around to talk to. I wouldn’t turn away a stranger in the fix you’re
in, and what with you being Seborn’s daughter and all ... You know, it’s me what
never thanked you properly for the kindness you showed me that day. Guess it’s
true. Everything does come back at you, you wait long enough.”
Mrs. Place leaned back in her chair and reached for her knitting needles and
then spoke softly. “I can’t imagine how beside himself your father would be, if
he knew all what’s happened to his little girl. But I think he’d be glad that you
felt like you could come to me. That you warn’t all alone.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Without formally accepting Mrs. Place’s invitation Olivia simply carried her
things upstairs and stayed on. Each morning Mrs. Place rapped on her door
while the sky was still black and Olivia came down to join her in the kitchen for
a cup of coffee. They maintained a polite distance – no more personal questions
– and it took only a few days for the two women to settle into a routine. Olivia
was first out the door. She shrouded herself in her cloak and ran out to the barn
where she kindled the fires in the four big bake ovens. Then the two women worked side-by-side. Olivia mixed up bread and cookie dough, while Mrs. Place
cut lard into flour and salt for her famous pie crust. One morning Olivia hauled
the heavy cast iron frying pan out to the barn.
“What do you want that old thing for?” Mrs. Place asked.
“Can I use some of those?” Olivia nodded at the bushel of apples under the
counter.
“Sure.” Mrs. Place shrugged. “I got plenty.”
“Then I’m going to fry up a batch of Michigan apple fritters. It was the devil-
woman who taught me how to make them, but they’re good anyway. So sweet
you think your eyes are going to fall out, but everyone loves them.”
When Mrs. Place came in for dinner that day she told Olivia that the shop
hadn’t been open for two hours before her fritters were sold out.
“If you want,” Olivia said, her voice carefully nonchalant, “you could put up
a sign saying you’ll have them every Thursday.”
“That would be good. Real good.”
And that was how Olivia told Mrs. Place that she would be staying and how
Mrs. Place responded that she was most welcome.
Olivia enjoyed working in the back of the barn. In the early morning the heat
