She picked up her tapestry bag, pulled the bedroom door shut, and tiptoed
down the stairs and out the front door. It was still early and she went for one last
walk down by the river, where faint rays of sun glinted gold off the placid water.
The air was still chilly, but had lost its sting. She felt calm and slightly puzzled
by the ease with which she was walking away from her life. She felt no sadness,
regret, or sense of impending loss. Nothing but eager for a new beginning.
Apparently Mabel Mears was scarier than the Indians, bears, and wolves in Fae’s
Landing.
Olivia skipped a few stones over the surface of the river and turned to walk
back toward the post office. A stage passed through Five Rocks twice a week.
Anyone who wanted to go to Erie stood on the wooden sidewalk near the
Brewster house at six-thirty in the morning, though it was likely to be closer to
seven before the coach finally arrived.
Mourning was not traveling with her. Mr. Bellinir from the Feed & Grain
drove to the port once a month to pick up supplies and Mourning had arranged to
ride with him, together with his and Olivia’s belongings.
The stage soon pulled up. Olivia paid the driver, bundled herself into the
backwards-facing seat opposite a young couple, and exchanged brief hulloes
with them before carefully arranging the rifle, laying her head against the side of
the coach, and pretending to be sleepy. As they clop-clopped out of town and over the covered bridge Olivia’s peace of mind abandoned her. At last on her way, she grew damp with sweat. What if Mourning didn’t show up? What if she
couldn’t find her way to the steamboat office? What if she was robbed?
She finally managed to doze off and by the end of the six-hour journey had
regained her resolve. What was the worst that could happen? She would spend a
few nights in a public house, waiting for Mourning. If he didn’t come, she would just have to take the stage back home and think of a new idea . It was a discouraging thought, but no cause for panic. She alighted in Erie and stood on
the sidewalk, blinking and beating the dust from her clothes. How did one
transport oneself from one place to another in a huge city?
“No one meeting you, Miss?” the driver asked.
She shrugged and shook her head, embarrassed to be all by herself, an object
of pity.
“Stage office is right across the street.” He bobbed his nose in that direction.
“They got a hotel, not too expensive, two streets over that way. Or you can hire a
wagon back there, behind the livery,” he said, jerking his thumb over his
shoulder. He finished removing the harness from the team of horses and led them
off before she managed to open her mouth to thank him and ask how to get to the
steamship company.
“Excuse me.” She stopped the next man she encountered on the street. He
was rough looking, but removed his worn hat and hugged it to his chest while she asked for directions.
“It ain’t far, Miss. Two streets down and one over. Can’t miss it. You going to
Detroit, there’s a boat leaving in a few hours – the Windsong.”
She thanked him, smiling. Better to spend another night on the boat than in a
