“That’s her, down there by the pier.” He nodded out the window.
The boat looked enormous, with three towering black chimneys and a forest
of wooden masts. It had an upstairs and a downstairs and she could see people
standing on both levels. The paddle wheels looked taller than any building she’d
ever seen. Stevedores were busy loading luggage, crates, and even animals onto
it. A large black stallion shook its head and refused to walk the plank down into
the hold until a dockworker drew a big red bandanna out of his pocket and tied it
over the horse’s eyes. Olivia gazed at the scene, wondering how she had
managed not to notice any of it before, while she was waiting for Mourning.
I have to pay better attention, she thought. This is the beginning of my newlife. My real life. I have to stop worrying about nonsense and remember
everything.
“She’s a good vessel. A lake boat.” The man showed off his knowledge.
“Can’t go through the locks of the Canal with that paddle, so she runs from Buffalo to Detroit. You get yourself a cabin, but your boy will be fine on the deck. This time of year it’s not so cold.”
“How long does it take to get to Detroit?” she asked, though she thought she
knew the answer.
“Good two, two and a half days. Longer if they have to repair machinery or
stop more than once to take on coal. They usually let you off in Cleveland for a
few hours. You’ll take your meals in the dining room, of course, but you best buy your boy some sandwiches before you go aboard. There’s always someone
selling sandwiches and coffee to the deck passengers, but they charge more than
you’ll pay here and the coffee’s more peas than beans.”
“Thank you.” Olivia tried to turn away, but the man was determined to be
friendly and held out a hand as he said his name.
“Mabel Mears,” she responded and offered a weak handshake. “Nice making
your acquaintance.” She nodded to the stranger before turning to her “boy.”
“Come outside,” she said, in what even she could hear was a bossy, annoying
tone of voice.
“Yes, Miz Mabel, right away.” Mourning gave her a look that could wither
weeds and shuffled out to the sidewalk.
“So should I get cabins for both of us?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
Part of the business agreement they had reached was that he would eventually
repay her for his passage, so that decision was up to him.
“They ’llow coloreds to stay in cabins?” he asked uncertainly, no longer
sullen.
“I don’t know. I can ask. All they can do is say no. If they do allow it, do you
want to spend the money?”
“I don’t see you in no hurry to be freezin’ your backside on the deck of that
boat,” he said. “It gotta be cold at night, middle of all that water.”
“Well, Mourning, aren’t you used to things like that?” she said and he glared
at her as though she were all the white folks in the world. “Well, aren’t you?” she
said helplessly. “Don’t you go giving me that look. It’s not my fault you grew up
