shops and offices. The smooth white crust of snow was not perfect – a few
lonely trails of footprints had disturbed it – but it managed to make the dingy little town picturesque. Five Rocks had not benefited from the talents of a town
planner; structures went up wherever any of its 768 residents chose to put them,
and the slipshod façade of Main Street was one of the unfortunate results.
As she trudged along Olivia silently scolded Old Seborn. So what if Avis is the oldest son? What about Tobey and me? There’s no law says a man can’t leave
anything to his younger son and daughter. Did Avis spend the last two yearstaking care of you? I’d like to see him try giving you a bath, the way you batted
your arms around, like I was trying to kill you. I’m the one with the bruises.
Parents are supposed to take care of their children. All their children. Don’texpect me to feel guilty for looking out for myself. If I don’t, who will? Not you,
that’s for sure.
She stopped for a moment and listened to the silence, the only sounds her
labored breathing and the muffled clop of horse’s hooves. She felt herself
growing clammy inside the thick coat, more from anxiety than the exertion of the walk. She’d never had a conversation with Mr. Carmichael and felt suddenly
shy. What was she going to say to the lawyer? Why had she come so early? He
probably wasn’t even in his office yet . But when she looked up she saw curls of smoke rising above the tin roof. She hoped he was alone, no busybody in there
to go blabbing about her coming to see him. She stared at the trails of footprints
– two leading toward the office and one away from it – and hoped they had been made by Mr. Carmichael and a client arriving and the client leaving.
She paused before stepping up onto the wooden sidewalk, afraid of tripping.
The drifts were so high she couldn’t tell where the boardwalk dropped off, so she
lifted her coat and skirt and kicked at the snow until she could see the edge. In
the process she managed to get a boot full of snow, which quickly melted and soaked her already frozen foot.
A pang of self-pity stabbed through her and she thought, why do I have to do
this alone? Why am I always alone?
For a moment she imagined the forlorn figure she must present – draped in
black, stark against the glare of the snow, with the rust-colored splash of Tobey’s
wide-brimmed felt hat on her head. She remembered the heavy oil paintings that
hung in the public library over in Hillsong and could imagine a similar one of her, its neatly lettered caption reading “Orphan in Snow.” She clenched her jaw
tight and stepped onto the walk, determined that no one was going to go around
feeling sorry for her. If she couldn’t get that land, she’d just have to get a job.
Seventeen was old enough. She ran her favorite refrain through her mind –
There’s no reason why things have to remain the way they are.
She unwound her scarf and removed the floppy felt hat, feeling defensive
about her choice of headgear. Well so what, she thought. A man’s hat might be inappropriate for a young lady, but who wants to traipse around in a woolen bonnet when it might snow? You can’t go five paces before it gets all stinky and
itchy, like wearing a dead possum on your head. And a poke bonnet? Bosh.
Horses don’t like having blinders on them. Why should women? Some men used
those stupid bonnets as an excuse for saying women ought not to be allowed
outside alone, lest they get run down in the road. Almost as bad as the way the
Chinese purposely crippled those poor women Miss Evans had taught them
about, hobbling around on their bound feet.
She tried to clear her mind and compose her thoughts. She wanted the
lawyer’s advice, not disapproval or pity. She folded her scarf, removed a glove
