every night when the lantern was extinguished, slithered out from between the floorboards. “You watch out when you get in bed, Olivia,” Avis would say.
“He’ll grab you by the ankle, pull you under there with him.” Even now that she
was grown-up, she had to resist the impulse to take a running leap to her bed.
She peeked over the side of the wagon and saw Mourning sprawled on his
mattress, already dead to the world. She leaned farther out and squinted at him,
feeling like a thief for stealing his privacy, but unable to resist the opportunity to
study his face, shiny in the moonlight. He looked so peaceful.
“Hullo neighbors,” a man’s voice called out.
Startled and heart thumping, Olivia almost fell over the side of the wagon as
she scrambled for the Hawken. Clutching it, she peered into the dark.
“Hullo,” the voice said again.
She could see the outline of a man, standing in the middle of the road, about
twenty paces away. He had both hands raised shoulder-high, one of them holding
a rifle by its butt, with the barrel pointing at the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hullo,” Olivia answered. She glanced at Mourning, expecting him to spark
back to life, but he emitted a soft snore.
“My name’s Jeremy Kincaid. I live not far from here. I’m going to come a
little closer,” he said.
He took a few steps and she could see that he was tall and thin and wore baggy gray pants. A few more steps showed him to be unshaven and scruffy,
with a floppy hat shoved back on the crown of his head.
He halted and she said, “I’m Olivia. Olivia Killion. Pleasure to meet you. If
you live near here, I guess we’re going to be neighbors.”
“Oh? Where are you headed?” Jeremy asked.
“A farm west of Fae’s Landing. It used to belong to my uncle, but it’s been abandoned for quite a few years.”
“The Scruggs place?”
“Yes.” She brightened. “Did you know my Uncle Lorenzo?”
“No, he’s from way before my time, but I know the cabin. Trappers and
hunters use it to grab a kip. Leave it right manky, sorry to tell you. It’s about seven-eight miles from my place. So it does look like we will be neighbors.”
The cloud that had been veiling the moon drifted away and silvery light
washed over Jeremy Kincaid’s features. Though somewhat pale and not
particularly striking, it was a pleasant enough face, nicely proportioned. He had
what Olivia thought of as a snooty-type nose, long and flaring at the end into a
soft wide V, the nostrils forming a pair of butterfly wings. Bits of what she thought could only be plant matter clung to his hat and shoulders, as if he had been rolling in the undergrowth. Olivia smiled and set her rifle down, resisting
the impulse to smooth her hair.
“Does your husband plan to farm?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m not married. But I’ve got a hired man who’s going to farm my land
for me.”
She pulled on her work shoes, slid over the mattress to the ladder on the side
of the wagon, and climbed down. “That’s him right there.” She nodded at
