Olivia, Mourning (20 page)

Then she went toward the barn, where she saw that Mourning had followed her suggestion and wedged the wagon into the front corner. She stepped closer and studied his cozy nest – he had prepared a thick bed of twigs, placed his mattress over them, wheeled the wagon in place, and draped sheets of canvas over its sides. Still, he was on the ground and who knew how much more rain would fall. She stood silently for a moment, listening. He must be asleep.

She turned to leave, then stopped and said in a hesitant whisper. “I came to say I’m sorry. If you’re getting wet, please come to the cabin. The part under the roof is dry, except for the floor.”

The edge of the canvas flapped. “I be fine in here. Nice and cozy.”

She moved closer and saw the raft of evenly placed roof poles, as wide as the wagon, that his mattress rested upon. The water would have to stand five or six inches deep for him to get wet.

“You knew it was going to rain, didn’t you?”

“Been sayin’ so.”

“I mean tonight. You knew it was going to rain tonight.”

“Thought it might.”

“You could have told me, warned me to get ready for it,” she said softly.

“Guess I coulda.”

Another downpour began and she turned to scurry back to the cabin, but the canvas flap opened wide and Mourning’s voice commanded. “Come on, get in here, ’fore you be catchin’ it.”

She hesitated, but the sheet of rain presented a convincing argument. She wiggled in, her head to his feet, hugging the cloak that she had pulled on, and struggling to keep it and her muslin nightgown pulled down past her knees. He squeezed to the far side, leaving space between them.

“I’ll just wait here a few minutes, until it lets up again,” she said.

“Ain’t no place for you to lie down in there,” he said. “You think you gonna sleep standin’ up by the wall? Here.” He was using a sheet of canvas for a blanket and shook it out to cover both of them. “Just pretend I be a lump of clay and get some sleep.”

Olivia’s head shook slightly as she imagined the look on Mabel Mears’ face, if she could see them now. Well, what did that cow think she would have done? Olivia stayed put. Mourning snored steadily and her mind was blank as she felt herself dragged down into sleep.

A few hours later a full bladder woke Olivia. She’d forgotten where she was and tried to sit up, banging her head against the axle and yelping, but this elicited only a whistling snore from Mourning. Mortified, she carefully rolled onto her elbows and extracted herself from beneath the wagon. It was no longer raining, but the air felt wet, more a mist than a drizzle. The sky was still dark, but she knew she was done sleeping. After she hobbled to the outhouse on her clogs and splashed water over her hands and face, she lit the lantern on the kitchen counter and surveyed her soggy home.

Oh Lord, the mattress
. She’d been so busy bundling up her bedding, she hadn’t given a thought to her lovely new mattress. It was soaked. Dispirited, she slumped down onto one of the stump chairs, elbows on her knees. The long day of drudgery had not yet begun and already she was drained of energy. And where was she supposed to sleep tonight? Making do in an emergency as she had last night was one thing; the idea of tucking in with Mourning again was quite impossible.

For a moment she wondered if there might be any rooms to let in that dismal-looking town. That had, after all, been her original plan – before she knew what it felt like to haul water and chop wood all day. Walk an hour, two hours, alone in the twilight? Then back in the morning, worn out before she’d even started her chores? No thank you.

Tears began to run down her cheeks, though she knew there was nothing to cry about. Had the cabin burned down? Indians attacked them? Mourning fallen ill? No, nothing bad had happened. So what’s wrong, little girl, why are you crying? Olivia imagined a kindly gentleman bending down to comfort her. She cringed when she heard her whiny response. It rained last night. Sob, sob, boo-hoo. A short, sharp laugh escaped her, but the tears continued to flow. Her shoulders shook until her body ached even more. Finally she rose and wiped the backs of her hands across her eyes.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it. Just get on with it
.

She managed to salvage some dry wood from the bottom of the pile and got a fire going in the fireplace. Then she dragged one of the wicker baskets from under the bed and was relieved to find that her clothes were only damp. She pulled out a work dress, laid it near the fire, and glared at it. Who said she had to wear that stupid thing?

“You got any coffee cookin’?” Mourning’s voice startled her from the other side of the flap.

“Oh. Good morning.” She pulled the canvas aside. “I’ll get some on now. There’s a fire going in here. Come in.” She reached for the coffee pot.

He did, but then squinted at her and turned away, obviously uncomfortable. She looked down at her chest and was horrified. Even in the dim light she could see the wet patches of her chemise clinging to the hard little knobs of her nipples. She pulled her cloak around her and flushed red.

“I didn’t think. I just got up and my clothes are all wet,” she stammered.

“Any a them peaches left?”

“No. Are your clothes dry?”

“Surely are.”

“I was thinking, could I maybe borrow a pair of your trousers? Just for today?”

“Sure could. But, my, my, my, Lady Grody gonna have a conniption fit.”

“When Lady Grody comes out here and starts hunting deer, hauling water, and splitting firewood, she can tell me what to wear.”

“I go get you a pair. Shirt to go with ’em too.”

The trousers were wide in the waist by a good five inches and the circles worn into the fabric by Mourning’s knees hung mid-calf on Olivia. She folded the bottoms of the pant legs into thick cuffs and ran a piece of twine through the belt loops. Then she rolled up the sleeves of the flannel shirt. She felt wonderfully unencumbered and her mood changed. Grinning, she did a little dance around the cabin floor and then kicked each leg as high as she could. It was a whole new world of possibilities.
I could climb over a fence
, she thought.
Or up a tree. Ride bareback
. She spun around.

“I heard ’bout women on the trail goin’ over them Great Plains wearin’ men’s clothes.” Mourning’s voice came from the other side of the wall.

“I hope you don’t mind me borrowing them,” she said sheepishly, as she stepped outside and did a little pirouette.

He lifted his right hand to his shoulder, slowly rolled it out, and bent at the waist, as if welcoming a queen into a room. “Nah, I don’t mind. Don’t want you ruinin’ all them ’spensive dresses and thinkin’ you gotta buy more,” he said and turned away

They worked all morning in a spitting drizzle. By mid-afternoon the sky was clear and Olivia asked Mourning to help her carry her mattress out to dry.

“Ain’t no chance it gonna be dry for tonight,” Mourning said as they leaned it against the wall of the cabin.

He took up the scythe and cut an enormous pile of buffalo grass laced with weeds. “You get the thorns out a that mess and pile it on your bed. I get you a sheet of canvas to throw over it. Ain’t no mattress, but it be better than bare wood.”

Olivia smiled in thanks and they both went about their chores. When they stopped for a lunch of venison and beans, Mourning looked up and studied the sky.

“Don’t look like they’s more rain comin’,” he said. “Course that don’t mean nothing. One a them men on the boat said Michigan weather be hard to read on ’ccount of the wind blowin’ in crazy directions off all them lakes.” He stopped to swallow and then asked, “How ’bout tomorrow morning we go into that Fae’s Landing, see ’bout gettin’ a door made.”

“Oh yes.” Olivia’s smile was wide.

She hummed as she gathered up the sodden clothing and bedclothes. This time she lit a fire down by the river, boiled water, and gave the laundry a proper soaking. She tied up more lines and rinsed out the sheets first.

Later she walked past the bedclothes, enjoying the sound of them flapping in the wind. The scent of sun on freshly laundered linen brought her to a stop, stone still. That smell. That sound. The warmth of the sun on her skin. She was a little girl – maybe five or six – sitting in the grass under the clothes line, watching her mother slip wooden pegs into the pocket of her stiff white apron before shaking out a white sheet and folding it into the laundry basket. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her chin. Her mother’s face. She had to see her mother’s face. Hanging up the wash while her little girl played at her feet. But Olivia could not see beyond her mother’s bare feet and the folds of her long brown skirt.

“I been thinkin’, maybe we both have us a bath tonight.” Mourning’s voice brought her back to the present. “Nice hot water. Take the chill off.”

“That sounds good,” she said. “Are we going to go into town even if it’s raining?”

He frowned at the sky. “Dunno. Guess you can have your say ’bout that. I ain’t gonna sit inside tomorrow, no matter if it be rainin’ or not. Make no difference to me if I be workin’ in the rain or drivin’ in the rain.”

“So we’ll go. Even if it’s raining,” she said and went on with her chores.

Late in the afternoon she called to Mourning that if he wanted a bath, he’d best come get it.

“Sure is dark in here now that you’ve got the roof on,” she said and ignored his sarcastic offer to take it off.

She lifted four buckets of steaming water from the hearth, brought in two of cold, and said, “You go first,” as she set the washtub near the fireplace. Before she left him to his privacy, she set a large pot of water to heat on the crane and their only other tin bucket on the hearth, to get started heating for her own bath.

She sat by the fire pit, watching the stars come out and listening to him splash. When he emerged, fragrant with soap and shiny as tar, she noted that he had put his dirty clothes back on.

“You don’t have to keep wearing the same clothes forever, Mourning. I’ll wash them,” she said as she handed him a cup of coffee.

“Don’t matter none. They just be gettin’ dirty all over again.”

“Do you have enough clothes?” she asked. “I mean, if I keep –”

“You mean with you wearin’ my pants just for today?” He finished the question with a grin.

“Well, they are awfully comfortable. I wouldn’t mind borrowing them every day. Maybe we could get you some new ones in town tomorrow. Or even some that would fit me better.”

“Yeah, we can see ’bout that.”

“We’ve got a special dessert,” she said. “I picked some berries today. I don’t know what kind they are, but I ate some this morning and I haven’t died yet.”

“Sound good to me.”

“Come help me empty that tub so I can get cleaned up.”

At first she sat in the tub hugging her knees, but then sank down, arms and legs dangling over the sides. Her mind blank, she watched the flickering shadows the lantern made on the wall. Coyotes howled in the distance and the strains of Mourning’s harmonica joined in. She wished someone would build a fire under her, so she could lie there forever, but the chill eventually drove her out. She put Mourning’s clothes back on and joined him in the coolness of the early evening. Mourning had lit a fire in the pit and she put together a simple supper of venison, bread, and the berries.

“Maybe we should buy another barrel tomorrow,” she said. “We could set it on the wagon and drive down to the river, so I could fill it up down there, instead of carrying all those buckets.”

Mourning thought for a moment. “Could try, I guess. But the mouth a that barrel gonna be awful high, standin’ up there. You gonna have to climb up on the wagon, pour the water in, and get back down. Same thing when you get up there.”

“Oh…”

“But that be good thinking. And a barrel don’t cost much. You could try and see which be easier.” Mourning shrugged.

“So we’re finally going to see the town,” she said as she finished the last of her berries. “Maybe we’ll get to know some people. We could drive over and introduce ourselves to those neighbors too – those Stubblefields Jeremy told us about.”

“Time for that.” He sniffed his nose. “You ain’t gonna be goin’ over there, borrow no cup of flour.”

“They’re farmers. He could give you a lot of helpful advice.”

“Time for that.”

“They might be interested in renting the team. And even if not, it would be nice to have some folks to talk to.”

“Folks ain’t always a big treat. We don’t gotta be goin’ ’round showin’ ourselves off. Here we be – one sweet young white girl and one big scary black man, livin’ on a piece a land what ain’t got but one cabin on it. Anyway, I ain’t never noticed you been such a big talker back in Five Rocks.”

She bristled. “I had friends.”

“Must a been the invisible kind.” He tossed a piece of wood into the fire.

“What would you know about me and any friends I may or may not have had?”

“Nothing, I guess.” His tone had grown gentler

After a long silence broken only by the crackling fire, Olivia asked, “How come you came back to Five Rocks?”

“What you mean?”

“You know – the Carters. Why didn’t you stay with them? Were they mean to you?”

He poked at the fire with a stick and shrugged. “Guess it been plenty crowded in that house. They had a passel of kids of they own.”

“What are you smiling about?” she asked.

“Just rememberin’. Old Goody got so many kids, he hadda build a loft for them to sleep in. Cut out a hole in the floor, right over the stove, so we gonna get some heat up there. They had the most ugliest cat you ever seen and that bag a fur been wanting to sleep up in the loft with us. It finally learned how to climb up the ladder and we thinkin’ it so smart. But then when it wanna get down, it jump through that hole, right straight down onto the hot stove. You never heard such screeching.”

Olivia smiled with him and they sat through another long silence before she asked, “Do you believe in God?”

“Spose so.”

“Do you ever get mad at Him? I mean, for taking your parents away from you, and for letting there be slavery, and for all the other terrible things in the world?”

“Ain’t never thought on it much.”

“I know what the ministers say,” she said. “That God didn’t make slavery. God only made Man, and Man made slavery.”

“Indeed.”

“But why did God have to make people capable of doing such awful things?”

“That what you be spendin’ your time worryin’ on?” He rose to feed a log to the fire.

“Not so much any more. When I was little I used to wonder a lot about things like that. You know, why people have to go through all they do, when they’re just going to die in the end anyway. You might as well up and die now – save yourself all the trouble in between.”

“Folks seem to like bein’ alive. Know I do.”

“But don’t you ever wonder why God made the world?”

He shrugged. “Guess I been luckier than you. I spent my life busy wondering if I’m a have a place to sleep tonight. So when you stop worryin’ on all that stuff?”

“One day I heard someone talking. Remember that raggedy old peddler that used to come through Five Rocks? The one with the cart with those big red wheels? One day there were two men out in the street, having a big argument about whose religion was right, the Catholics or the Presbyterians. That peddler came along and shut them both up. He said no one is right. That it’s impossible for a person to be right. He said that if God does exist, there’s one thing for sure about Him – He never meant for human beings to know the answers to those questions. If they did, then they wouldn’t be people. They’d be God. He said it’s just like your eyes can’t see everything, and your ears can’t hear everything, so your brain can’t understand those things. So it’s no use wondering.”