my way to the United States Hotel and the tavern right near it and that’s about all
I got need of. But I can tell you where the main streets are at. The one you see
right there, running along the river, that’s Atwater. Next street up is Jefferson Avenue. They probably got them kind of stores you’re looking for on them.”
“It looks like a real city,” she said, disappointed to find Detroit so civilized.
She had never seen so many brick buildings and even spotted a red and white striped barber’s pole.
“Oh yeah, Michigan got settled real quick, once they opened up that Erie
Canal. Half of New York and New England came pouring out here. Not to
mention all them folks what don’t even speak English. Couldn’t put enough
boats in the water. I hear they even got a new university some ways west of here.
And farther past that they’re building a state prison. Now there’s a sure sign that
civilization has arrived.”
Chapter Twelve
Mourning wasn’t gone nearly as long as she’d expected. She was looking idly
over the rail and there he was, halfway up the gangplank, waving his hat and hollering.
“Come on down here,” he called.
“Okay, I’m coming. Just a minute.”
Feeling disoriented and afraid, she hurriedly checked that the fastenings were
clamped tight on her baskets and Mourning’s tool case. The man in the black jacket was standing near the gangplank and she asked him to keep an eye on their things.
“Come on, come on.” Mourning proudly led her ashore. A wagon and a team
of oxen, one black and one an orange-brown color, stood near the gangplank.
“Meet Dixby and Dougan.”
Olivia smiled. Mourning had named the animals after Five Rocks’
Congregational and Episcopalian ministers, whom he’d always said were the
most miserly of the people he worked for.
“Which one is this?” She patted the black one on his warm broad nose and
received a friendly nod of his head.
“That be Dixby.”
“Well, hullo Dixby,” she said. As she walked around to survey the wagon, she
let her hand run over Dougan’s orange flank, so he wouldn’t feel neglected.
“How’d you get them so fast?”
“I go in the first grain store I pass and right there be this desperate fellow, downright beggin’ the owner to take ’em off his hands. Both the wagon and the
team. But that storeowner, he don’t want ’em. Say he just bought a team and wagon off someone else goin’ back east.”
“Maybe there’s something wrong with them,” she said as she walked around
again.
“No, they ain’t no nothing wrong. I checked ’em over. Them animals healthy
and the wagon be in fine shape. Brakes even got skid shoes,” he said. The
irritation in his voice made her feel bad for not having shown more appreciation.
She gave him a smile, pranced around the wagon, and climbed up onto it. “Oh
Mourning, it’s wonderful. Just look at this nice red cushion on the seat. It’s perfect. Where’d all that stuff come from?” In the wagon bed behind her were sacks of feed and seed, some iron tools, a large washtub, and some pots and pans.
“The feed and washtub come with the wagon. Rest I bought with part a the
