else. Thanks to her, we got ever thing anyone ever thought a wantin’ right there
in that wagon. Farming don’t work out, she can open herself a general store.
Directions the only thing we need, and if you be givin’ us them, we can go straight to Miz Killion’s land.”
Olivia’s eyes darted to Mourning on the second “Miz Killion,” but she
detected no rancor in his voice. He was doing as they had agreed – playing the
part of hired man.
Jeremy gave them detailed directions for reaching the cabin. “That’s the
easiest way to get there with a wagon,” he said, “even though it means crossing
water twice.”
Olivia took a few steps to where she could study Jeremy’s features in the
firelight, but couldn’t guess how old he was. She did notice the glints of orange-
red in his hair and how straight and white his teeth were.
“You be a trapper?” Mourning asked. The fire had come back to life and
Mourning found the coffee pot and filled it with water.
“No.”
“Farmer?”
“No, never have liked digging in the dirt.” Jeremy rose and motioned with his
hand. “Never mind the coffee. I should leave you to your night’s sleep.” He put
his hat back on and reached for his water skin. “I’ll stop by in a few days time,
see how you’re settling in. You have other neighbors a few miles southeast of you – Filmore and Iola Stubblefield. Good, church-going folk. Farmers. I’m sure
they’ll be glad to help you out in whatever way they can.”
“Any colored folk ’round here?” Mourning asked.
Jeremy shook his head. “Quite a few in Detroit. More across the river in
Windsor. But there aren’t any colored families in Fae’s Landing. Aren’t all that
many white ones. It’s not much of a town.” He slipped the straps of the water pouch and possibles bag over his shoulders and picked up his rifle.
“Why is it called Fae’s Landing?” Olivia asked, knowing it was a stupid thing
to ask in the middle of the night, but reluctant to let him go.
Jeremy set the butt of his rifle on the ground and leaned on it. “It’s named for
a little baby called Fae. Her mamma birthed her right there on the raft they use to
ferry folks ’cross the river. Then a few months later Baby Fae died of the pox and the town they were building – where that raft is tied up – got named after her.” He picked up his rifle. “You have a good night. Mind yourself.”
“We’ll be glad to have you come visit,” Olivia said.
“I’ll do that.”
“We’ll be looking to rent out the oxen, if you’re interested.”
“Got no use for them, but I appreciate the offer.” He took a few more steps,
turned to wave a hand, and disappeared into the dark.
Mourning waited a moment before letting out a loud snort. “All you hadda do
was aks, Livia, I’da tied him to the wagon wheel for you,” he said.
She felt her face turn red. “I suppose I’m not allowed to be friendly. Or try to
find out anything about this place we’re going to.”
“You want I should call him back so you can aks what the Sunday sermon
