“For sure he put a whole lot a work into the floor,” he said when his head reappeared in the doorway. “So smooth you could dance on it. Ain’t you comin’
in to see? Right fine cellar too. Can’t hardly see the trapdoor. Need a new ladder
and there’s something making a stink down there, but that ain’t nothin’ to fix.
Got a real stone fireplace and chimney, real fine workmanship. And there be a great big old table. What you waitin’ for, Livia?”
“I had no idea it would be this bad,” she apologized as she wearily climbed
down and followed him inside. “He always talked about the cozy little cabin he
built and how much his wife loved it.”
“It ain’t bad,” Mourning said. “Ain’t bad at all. What you been spectin’,
anyway? Your uncle been a smart man. Invested his time in the things what
matter. Lot easier to put up new walls than dig a cellar you don’t got. Easier to
fix the roof than the floor. This place be just fine. We gonna get a roof on first
thing, ’fore it start rainin’ down on us.”
He paced around, grinning. Olivia felt like sobbing, but did her best to hide it.
“I seen plenty of black ash back there by the trail,” he said. “Even seen some
lyin’ on the ground, dry enough I can peel the bark off today. We stitch that bark
together, it keep the wet off us fine. Won’t take too long, do up both the house and the barn. While I be choppin’, you can fix the chinking, keep all them Michigan snakes out.” He puckered his mouth in his ghost face and wiggled his
fingers. “I show you how to find the right kind a clay and mix it up. Then I show
you how to stitch the bark. We got canvas we can hang over the door for now,
but we gotta go to that saw mill in town and order us a real door. It won’t be no
good, it don’t fit ’zactly right, and I ain’t got tools for that. But the lintel and jambs be fine.” He pounded a fist against one of the jambs.
She dumbly followed him back out to the yard and behind the cabin. From
there she could see that most of the back wall of the barn was missing.
“Oh.”
“What now?” Mourning asked.
“The barn ... that whole wall is gone.”
“Don’t matter none. Make it easy for me to extend it out, fix up a threshing
floor. All I gotta do is find trees to cut what got a good crotch to lay poles over.
Won’t even need a real roof. Buckwheat straw over them poles do good ’nuff.
Keep the sun off.”
He turned to look up at the treetops. “I guess the wind be comin’ from that way.” He pointed back toward the river. “So we put the woodpile back here. That
be your number two job – gather kindling and split firewood. For now just go in
the woods and pick up whatever you find on the ground. I gonna finish with the
roof ’fore I start cuttin’ trees to burn. But then I gonna fix you up a nice chopping block, learn you how to split wood. Gotta put a roof over that wood pile too, keep it dry. They a long, cold winter comin’ and we gonna need lots a
wood, so you gotta start lickety-split, do some every day.”
He strode to the wagon, hoisted the barrel down, and rolled it next to the door.
“That be your number one job.” He pointed at it. “Keep that full a clean water.
You do that and the wood, help me work the team when I gotta pull stumps, and
keep my belly full, we do just fine.”
She shuddered at the prospect of all the physical labor he was describing and
his mention of food added to her distress. How was she supposed to prepare a meal? But his optimism was contagious and she began to see the possibilities.
