and she struggled to keep up with the wagon as the team charged into the water,
which was soon almost waist-deep. The smooth bottom turned to squishy mud
studded with sharp rocks that scraped and stubbed her feet.
“Whoa, whoa, now.” When they’d made it up the other bank Mourning pulled
the team short and stroked their heads. “You boys done one fine job. Guess you
earned your breakfast.”
Olivia had heard a splash and – once she regained her balance – turned to
look behind them. The washtub had escaped Mourning’s web of ropes and fallen
off the wagon. Luckily the current had lodged it between some large rocks
slightly downriver and Olivia slogged back into the water to retrieve it before it
was carried it off. Without the wagon to hold on to, she took tiny steps and held
her arms out for balance. The tub had a wooden handle at either end and as she
reached out to grab one of them, she lost her balance. She didn’t fall, however.
Mourning had plunged in behind her and was there to steady her. As they waded
back to shore she was overcome with gratitude for this small kindness.
She was also disturbed by her reaction. I’m so pathetic, she thought. Other people must do things like that for each other all the time, without giving it a thought. That’s what it’s like to have a friend. Not silly schoolgirls giggling and
being nasty to the girls they don’t let into their snotty little group, or housewivesgossiping about other women. Those aren’t friends. A friend looks out for you.
Holds out a hand, without being asked. Poor Mourning picked a great person to
be friends with. I always feel sorry for myself because I never had a friend, but
I’ve never been one either. I don’t think I know how.
Mourning tossed the tub back onto the wagon and, after tending to Dougan
and Dixby, they sat on flat white stones with their feet in the river, wiggling their
toes. Everything about the day was beautiful – the warm sun, the rush of the cool
water, the breeze in the treetops. Olivia shook her wet skirt in the sun and watched the sun glint off the water.
“Listen to all the birds! I love Michigan already.”
Mourning had his eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun. “I got nothing to complain about,” he murmured.
After a while Olivia stood and went behind the wagon to put her stockings
back on.
“Here’s the trail, right here.” She pointed to wisps of waist-high buffalo grass that didn’t conceal the deep ruts in the ground beneath them. “Just like Uncle Scruggs and Mr. Kincaid said.”
She expected Mourning to be eager to be on their way, but he remained
motionless, eyes closed. She sat back down next to him.
After a while he said softly. “I don’t remember ever havin’ no moment like
this one before,” he said. “Not ever. Feelin’ like the master of myself. Doin’ what
I think needs doin’ when I feel like doin’ it.”
Olivia briefly put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. Then she
turned her own face up to the sun and waited quietly. She was in no hurry to plunge back into those woods. Her arms ached from batting insects and branches
away from her face. Soon Mourning pulled himself to a sitting position.
“We best be on our way,” he said.
They followed the trail through the woods until they came to a shallow
stream. Two deer stood in the water, drinking, but snorted and shot off between
