to run her fingers through her dark hair, and rapped on the door. Inside a chair
scraped and the door was opened by a young man of Olivia’s age, wearing
threadbare overalls and a bulky blue sweater. He smelled of tobacco and a body
badly in need of washing.
“Billy Adams. Hullo. What are you doing here?” Olivia knocked the snow
from her boots and wiped them on the rag rug before entering.
She cast curious eyes around Mr. Carmichael’s simply furnished office,
having expected it to be grander. Chairs sat behind and in front of a large wooden desk. In the corner stood a bookcase and an iron stove, with two more
chairs in front of it.
“Hullo, Olivia,” Billy said, backing up a few steps. “I come here to use Mr.
Carmichael’s books.” He turned and nodded at the thick volume that lay open on
the desk. “I’m going to be an attorney, just like Mr. Carmichael. I been clerking
for him, and he lets me use his books in exchange.”
“Don’t you need schooling for that?” She tugged at the fingers of her other glove as she moved closer to the warmth of the stove.
“Not if you can pass the examination on your own.” Billy reached for the
straight back chair that stood in front of the desk and pulled it out for Olivia.
“And Mr. Carmichael’s gonna help me get ready for it. He oughta be back pretty
quick. Went to get some paper signed. Guess it was too confidential for me to take.”
Olivia kept her coat on and sat down, while Billy reclaimed his seat behind the desk. She stared as he ran stubby fingers through his greasy blonde curls. He
had never joined in with the other children when they made fun of her mother so
she bore him no ill will, but, even so, resentment rose in her.
I was always the best pupil in class, she thought, and this blockhead, whodidn’t even learn his letters until he was ten, is the one who can become alawyer. It isn’t right. It just isn’t right. I can yap my jaw as good as Billy Adams.
Feet stomped on the sidewalk and the door opened, letting in a fresh gust of
cold air. Mr. Carmichael entered, enfolded in a wide black coat and carrying a cracked leather case.
“A good morning to you, Miss Killion,” he said, one eyebrow raised. His
voice always took Olivia by surprise. It was deep and warm and didn’t seem to
go with his sharp features and awkward gait. Neither did his kind eyes, which now held Olivia in their steady gaze. “How may I be of service to you?”
He was tall and so thin and pale that Olivia thought she could just about see
through him. Whenever he walked past the schoolyard, elbows and knees
protruding in all directions, the children shrieked, “Ichabod Crane, Ichabod
Crane,” and fled in mock terror.
He set his case down, hung his coat on a hook, and removed his top hat,
revealing the dull black curls that framed his receding hairline and long white face.
There was something comforting about his presence and Olivia no longer felt
shy. She glanced at Billy, who closed the book and stood up. He wordlessly
pulled on his coat and disappeared out the door.
“I wanted to ask you something about my father’s will,” Olivia said.
“Certainly.” Mr. Carmichael seated himself behind the desk, moved the book
Billy had been reading aside, and unlocked a drawer. He removed a sheaf of
papers from it and looked up, waiting for Olivia to continue.
