“You forgot feed for the oxen,” she reminded Mourning one evening.
“Ain’t forgot,” he said. “We don’t gotta be buyin’ no team. We can hire us a
wagon in Detroit to take us to your uncle’s place. Farmers don’t buy no team when they just startin’ out. Ain’t none a them can afford to. They pull their own
stumps and push their own plows.”
“Well, we can afford to,” Olivia said. “Do you have any idea how many stumps are going to need pulling? And if you think you’re going to call me out
and hitch me to the plow, you can think again. You save on buying oxen and we’re likely to miss a season. That’s poor man’s thinking,” she quoted her father.
“Save a penny and lose making a dollar.”
“Cost a lot a money to feed ’em.”
“I know that. But we can offer to rent them out to other farmers for a few days a week to help pay for their keep and soon enough we’ll be growing
whatever they eat.”
“Bet they ain’t no corn-crackers out there what got any cash money to be
rentin’ oxen.”
“Then we’ll barter. For butter and eggs or whatever they do have – or for
work. It will be worth it in the long run. My father always said: you have to spend money to make money.”
“You say so. It your money.”
She relentlessly planned and ticked off items, but lay awake most nights,
terrified. What if the boat sinks? Catches on fire? The engine explodes and kills
us? Could slave-catchers really drag Mourning down south? What about
Indians? Robbers? The only way she got any sleep was by reminding herself that
they weren’t really going to go – Mourning was sure to back out at the last minute.
Chapter Eight
For Olivia the hardest part of preparing for life in the Michigan woods was trying to decide how much of what type of clothing to take. The guidebooks
warned that there would be nothing else to wear until the women had begun
shearing sheep, spinning wool, weaving yarn, and sewing clothes. Olivia had no
intention of performing any of those chores. Fae’s Landing must have a
dressmaker and a general store that sold fabric. She decided to pack six dresses –
two for Sunday best, two for work in the summer, and two for winter. On second
thought, perhaps she’d better take three winter work dresses. There was no
telling how long it would take clothes to dry in winter, in front of a fireplace in a
small cabin. Or out in the barn where they would turn to ice.
Olivia was glad Mabel Mears had nagged Avis into putting in a small stock of
the new factory-made dresses. She waited to do her shopping until Monday
afternoon, when she knew Mabel would be at her knitting circle. She had no
desire to hear Mabel’s opinion of a girl wearing bright colors when she should still be in mourning.
She loved the first summer dress she pulled off the rack. It was soft cotton – a
simple print of wispy blue flowers on ivory, with a narrow white collar and sleeves that cuffed below the elbow. The dark blue apron – front and back panels
that tied together at the sides – had deep pockets.
Avis was busy behind the counter up front and paid her no mind. Finally, she
took a deep breath and strode over to him. “I’d like to take this dress home,” she
said, draping it over the counter. “And look for a few others.”
