on it.”
His stared at her, his face stone.
“Don’t you be looking at me like that, Mourning Free. You know you’ve slept
in worse places.”
His face remained blank.
“Anyway,” she continued, “you’re the one ought to be worried about what
folks might do if they found a colored man sleeping in a cabin together with a
white girl.” She thought she saw the line of his jaw relent before he turned toward the door.
“Wait, don’t go,” she said, gulping down a hasty bite. “I do want you to show
me how to do the bark. Just let me finish eating. You haven’t even had any coffee.”
“Best make it fast. Lot to do today.” His voice sounded normal as he wrapped
a rag around the handle of the tin coffee pot and poured himself a cup.
When they went outside, Mourning walked to where the pieces of bark were spread on the buffalo grass.
“This bark gonna be laid ’cross the roof in rows,” he said. “So first you gotta
find all the pieces what be the same length. Don’t matter how wide they be, just
how long. If they a real funny shape, you can fix ’em like this.” He took out his
pocketknife and picked up an uneven piece of bark to demonstrate. He turned it
over, scored a straight line along the top edge, and carefully bent it to break off
the jagged edge. “Just don’t be thinkin’ like a girl, that they all got to be perfect.
They all gonna lap over the other, so don’t matter none if they ain’t nice and straight.”
She nodded and he reached into his pocket for a roll of cloth. Inside it was a
thick needle with a wide eye. He handed it to her.
“They’s a roll of string over there on the stump. You cut off a bunch a pieces,
’bout eight inches long, thread one of them through that needle. Then you put two pieces a bark together, with the long edges overlappin’ by ’bout two inches.
Nuff so you got where to use that needle to poke holes through both pieces.” He
demonstrated, holding two pieces of bark together. “You gonna make two holes
near the top corner and tie off the string, then two more near the bottom corner.
When you got a row wide as the cabin, I be layin’ it over the roof poles, nail it in
place. Then the next one on top of it.”
“That’s the whole roof? That will keep the rain out?”
“You ever see a tree carryin’ an umbrella? May be some water gonna drip in,
but it keep us mostly dry.”
Olivia sat down and began working. Her fingertips were soon covered with
painful red dots and she rose to rummage through her wicker baskets in search of
a thimble.
When she came back out Mourning was harnessing Dougan and Dixby. “You
doin’ fine. I’m a go for more trees,” he said.
After he disappeared she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat on one of the
stumps. She allowed her thoughts to wander to her mother, but they didn’t
remain there long. She found herself more interested in water – how much she
