Olivia, Mourning (29 page)

“Oh,” Olivia said and fled into the cabin, her cheeks burning.

The next day Iola came up the trail, calling, “Yoo-hoo, Happy Almost Fourth of July,” reminding Olivia and Mourning of the upcoming holiday they had completely forgotten.

She was all smiles and good cheer, bearing more eggs and butter, exclaiming how glad she was to see Olivia. She kept patting Olivia’s arm and calling her “dear child.” That was all the proof Olivia needed – as long as her monthly visitor arrived on time this month, she and Mourning would never be found out. If nosy old Iola didn’t sense anything different about her, not a soul on earth would. There was something possessive about the way Iola kept laying her hands on Olivia, but Olivia didn’t pay it much mind.

“I got a great big favor to ask of you,” Iola said. “I’d be real grateful if you could see your way to come by our place tomorrow and help me put out fruit to dry for the winter. I’ll have it all washed, but the cutting and stoning goes by a whole lot quicker when you got company. We can have us a nice long chat.”

Olivia could think of no good excuse for refusing. Anyway, Iola was quick to promise her a sack of dried fruit for her trouble. After Iola left Olivia went out to the farm where Mourning was working. He took off his hat, wiped his brow on his sleeve, and put it back on.

“She asked me to go over there tomorrow, help her cut up fruit to dry. I don’t know how I’ll stand her all day, but I guess it’d be good for me to learn how to do that. I’ll get something cooking for you before I leave.”

“You don’t gotta worry ’bout that,” he said, his voice and eyes soft. “I can feed myself. You gonna be wore out, walking over there and back in this heat.” He slapped a mosquito on his neck. “Don’t be feelin’ like you gotta hurry.”

They had become careful of one another, but unfailingly kind. Olivia wished he could find his way back to ornery teasing. She constantly longed to touch him and believed he felt the same. She didn’t see how they could go on staying there together. And she didn’t see how she could bear not to have him near her.

“Maybe day after tomorrow we should plan on going to Backwoods. Find out about that new law,” she said.

“Maybe we should.”

The next day Olivia rose before sunrise, baked a loaf of bread, rinsed and hung the laundry she had left soaking overnight, swept out the cabin, and put a pot on to simmer for Mourning’s dinner.

She was wearing a pair of his trousers, but sighed, remembering what Tobey had said about trying harder to fit in with society. She pulled a dress over her head, cursing the stupid things women had to wear, filled a skin with water, and tied her summer bonnet under her chin. It was straw with a red ribbon and she peeked in the mirror, liking the way she looked in it. When she was ready to leave Mourning was out in the farm swinging his hoe. She gave a loud whistle and waved good-bye. He took off his hat and waved it back.

She stood looking at him for a long moment, wondering why she felt so sad – as if she were starting on a long journey and might never see him again.

Olivia gathered her skirts and plunged into the cool woods. The blow of a deer was followed by the crash of hooves, but she caught only a glimpse of its white tail. She had never seen light as beautiful as the morning sun filtering through the canopy and turning the leaves a hundred shades of green. How had that greedy John Jacob Astor dared to call Michigan a useless swamp?

She had never been to the Stubblefields, but – as Iola had promised – the trail was clear and she wasn’t worried about getting lost. She was, however, tired out by the time she emerged into their clearing. Iola had obviously been watching for her and rushed out. Filmore stood by the barn and Olivia waved to him. He took off his hat, but then slapped it back on his head and kicked at the dirt, head down. Olivia smiled at his shyness.

“Did you buy a horse?” Olivia asked Iola, nodding at the lovely black creature with white stockings that was tied to the hitching post.

“No, no, Filmore borrowed Beauty, just for today.” Iola wiped her hands on her apron and put an arm around Olivia’s shoulder. “Come in, child, come in. It’s so good of you to offer your help.”

“Why is Filmore moving all that stuff outside?” Olivia asked, staring at the pile of farm implements in front of the barn.

Iola gently nudged Olivia toward their home, as if she were a small child. “Sometimes a person has got to make room for more important things,” she said as she led Olivia inside.

Their cabin was no bigger than Olivia’s, but had a high roof with a sleeping loft under it, leaving more space on the ground floor. Filmore was a skilled carpenter and spent his winters building furniture. He had made a table and four splint-bottomed chairs, a rocking chair, a wardrobe, a bureau, and two stools. Olivia marveled that someone so big and clumsy looking could do such beautiful work.

“Here, dear, let me take that.” Iola relieved Olivia of the water skin and sat her down in the rocking chair. Olivia had expected the cabin to be a shambles of fruit in various stages of preparation, but it was spotlessly clean.

“I thought you’d be ready to start,” Olivia said.

“In my kitchen? Nah. Not enough room in here to swing a cat. Everything’s ready for us out in the barn. But first you’ve got to have a nice cup of tea after that long walk.”

“Thanks, Iola, but I’d as soon have water.” Olivia was glad to hear they’d be working out in the barn. The Stubblefields’ cabin didn’t have a cellar under it and smelled even worse than Olivia’s.

Iola went to the barrel and dipped a cup for her. “There’s your water. But I insist you have a cup of tea. It’s my newest blend. This one has special strengthening powers and the good Lord knows, out here we need all the strength we can get. I don’t want to hear any argument. You had a long walk and you got to learn to take proper care of yourself.”

There was a pot brewing and Iola poured out a cup.

“It’s bitter.” Olivia made a face and pushed it away, wondering if anyone ever managed to say No to Iola.

“Don’t you bother about the taste. You know I only mind what’s good for you. Here, I’ll put a lump of maple sugar in it. That will ease it down.”

Iola studied Olivia while she drank and Olivia was reminded of the seagull on the rail of the steamship from Erie. Same tiny eyes, no light in them. Iola didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get to work and insisted that Olivia have a second cup of tea, together with a piece of her apple pie.

“So whose horse is that?” Olivia asked.

“Beauty? She belongs to Emery Meyers. Filmore borrows her once in a while when he needs to get around in a hurry.”

There was something strange about the way Iola said that, but Olivia couldn’t think what it was.

“That must be a harder walk than I thought,” Olivia said, feeling dizzy. She put her hand to her forehead and Iola nudged the teacup closer to her.

“Drink it all up,” she said. “It’ll make things a lot easier on you.”

Olivia’s brow creased, but she let Iola’s strange remark slip by and obediently drained the cup.

“Well, I guess it’s time we got to it,” Iola said.

Olivia rose and put her hand to her forehead. “I’m feeling so lightheaded. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how I’m going to make it out to the barn, let alone help you with your work.”

Iola took her elbow. “Don’t you worry none. That’s just the tea taking its effect. Soon everything will be all over and you’ll feel right as rain.” She led Olivia outside.

Filmore was nowhere to be seen. Iola gave the barn door a shove and it rattled open on its iron rail. Olivia didn’t see any fruit or drying racks. The barn was empty, except for a bed pushed up against one of the walls. Iola guided her to it.

“What’s a bed doing out here?” Olivia asked, feeling groggy.

“You’re looking a little pale, dear. You best have you a nice lie down.”

Iola sat her on the bed, where Olivia soon collapsed and passed out.

When Olivia regained consciousness her first impulse was to curl up on her side and hug her knees. But she couldn’t. She was flat on her back, her arms over her head. Her shoulders and neck ached, and something was cutting into her wrists. Grogginess gave way to terror that she was paralyzed or trapped under a fallen tree, and her eyes snapped open. She was under a roof. The surface beneath her was soft. Then she turned her head and saw Iola, sitting on a hard-back chair, haloed in the rays of sunlight that slanted through the open barn door. A cloud of dust motes danced around the black Bible she was holding. Still in a daze, Olivia opened her mouth to speak Iola’s name, but some instinct silenced her.

Carefully, not wanting to draw Iola’s attention, Olivia moved each limb an inch or two. No, she wasn’t paralyzed. She was capable of moving her arms and legs, but they were restrained. She forced her chin to her chest and saw that she was barefoot. Ropes bound her ankles to the foot of the bed. Why on earth would Mrs. Stubblefield tie her to a bed in the barn?

Olivia willed her muscles to relax and her mind to think. She remembered nothing but feeling woozy. Could she have become delirious? Perhaps they’d had to restrain her for her own safety. Or maybe she had some illness that was so contagious she had to be quarantined. No, that didn’t make sense. This bed had already been in the barn before she got there. She did remember that. Iola had practically shoved her down onto it. Fruit. They were supposed to be drying fruit, but there hadn’t been any. The barn had been empty, except for this bed and a pile of hay. Maybe Iola thought she’d seen the symptoms of an awful disease in Olivia and tricked her into coming over. But Olivia had been feeling fine. No fever. The only thing wrong with her was whatever had been in that God-awful tea. Now she remembered that as well – Iola all but pouring two cups of it down her throat.

Olivia turned her head to look at Iola again, just as the older woman lowered her Bible. Their eyes met and Olivia shuddered. There it was – that flat stare, like a bird. Or a snake. Eyes like dull stones.

“Good. You’re awake,” Iola said. She rose, closed the Bible, and placed it on the seat of the chair. Then she removed her round spectacles and neatly folded them next to the book. “Slept longer than I expected,” she said and came to stand at Olivia’s side.

Olivia stared up at her. What had this maniac put in her tea? “Iola,” she said, trying to remain calm, to keep hysteria from her voice. “What happened? Why am I tied up like this?”

Filmore stepped into the doorway and stood there chewing the tip of his long beard. Olivia tried to sit up, but could lift her head only a few inches.

“Shh … be still, dear.” Iola put a motherly hand on Olivia’s arm. “You won’t mind so much, once it’s past helping.” A second chair stood near the bed and Iola pulled it close. She sat down and began stroking Olivia’s forehead. “Best to get it over with quick as possible.”

“What are you talking about?” Olivia’s voice grew shrill with panic. “You let me go right now.”

“Shush.” Iola patted her shoulder. Then she turned to her husband and issued a sharp command. “You get on with it.”

Filmore hung his head and retreated a step. “Iola…” He gave his wife a pleading look.

“We’ve had enough words. You know your duty. The Lord’s ways are mysterious, but the signs he’s given us are clear enough.” Then she spoke more softly and gave him an encouraging nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll get her ready.” She rose from the chair.

“What is the matter with you? Untie me!” Olivia shouted. “Have you gone crazy?”

Iola ignored her. Olivia turned her face toward the roof and let out a long, piercing scream.

Shaking her head as if Olivia had disappointed her, Iola sighed. Then she put one hand on Olivia’s shoulder, raised the other high, and brought it down in a resounding slap across the face. The blow reverberated along Olivia’s body and she thought she might pass out. When Olivia opened her mouth to scream again, Iola’s hand rose threateningly.

“You know there ain’t no one going to hear you. All your hollering’s gonna do is make this a whole lot harder on all of us than it needs to be.” Iola fished a rolled-up sock out of her pocket and held it up. “If you can’t keep yourself still, this will. You want me to shove it down your throat, you keep carrying on.”

Olivia shut her eyes and sensed Iola moving toward the foot of the bed. “Untie her right ankle,” Iola ordered Filmore. Then she spoke to Olivia. “And don’t you get any smart ideas about kicking anyone, Little Missy, or I’ll see that you’re good and sorry.”

Iola gripped Olivia’s thigh with both hands while her husband untied the rope. “Keep good hold of her ankle. You,” she said to Olivia, “you bend your knee. Unless you want me to bend it for you.”

A length of lumber had been nailed upright to each side of the bed. Iola held Olivia’s leg, knee obediently bent, against one of them while Filmore wound a rope around it. Then he slipped a small noose around her ankle.

“Wait, don’t forget this.” Iola took a rag from her pocket and handed it to him. He wrapped the cloth around Olivia’s ankle before binding it tightly to the wood.

Olivia had realized what they must be intending to do to her and looked from Filmore to Iola in disbelief. She struggled to raise herself up, the ropes burning her skin, but couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.

She began to cry. “Iola, please, why are you doing this to me?”

Iola ignored Olivia’s sobs while they finished tying her legs, forced apart. The skirt of Olivia’s dress had ridden up and fallen bunched between her legs, so it still covered her.

Iola returned to the head of the bed and put her hand on Olivia’s forehead. “You hush that crying,” she said. “The first time is the worst, so it’s best for us all if we get it over with double quick.”

Iola nodded sternly at her husband, who stood motionless at the foot of the bed. Then she grabbed the fabric of Olivia’s skirt, yanked it up, and gasped.

“Shame. Shame on you. Traipsing around with no drawers. And calling yourself a Christian woman.” Iola pursed her lips and shook her head, staring at Olivia’s nakedness.

Olivia shrieked, in shock at being suddenly exposed, unthinkably violated. “You! You’re the devil.”

She thrashed from side to side, her heart pounding. Her humiliation – Filmore standing there gaping at her – was complete. Then she stopped moving and stared at him. He was biting hard into his bottom lip, his eyes darting from side to side.

He doesn’t want to do this
, Olivia thought.
It’s Iola making him
.

He hesitantly placed a sweaty palm against the bare skin of her calf. When she jerked away in revulsion, he pulled his hand back, as if from a flame.

“What’s the matter with you? You can’t do this,” Olivia shouted. “Let me go. You let me go.”

“The pain will pass.” Iola stood next to her. “It’s nothing. Pay it no mind. No mind at all. But salvation is eternal. There’s no use in you fighting it. It’s His will. He brought you here to us. You’ll see the right of it, come time.”

“Iola …” Filmore took a step back.

“I told you to get on with it.” Iola lowered her voice and that was more frightening than shouting would have been. Filmore scraped his way back to the foot of the bed, climbed onto it, and knelt between Olivia’s legs.

Weak and dizzy, Olivia couldn’t believe this was happening. Then Filmore put his hands on her knees. His touch was sickeningly real and she knew this was no nightmare from which she would awake.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” She jerked her knees from side to side, the little she could.

Filmore shrank back. Iola set her mouth in a hard line and gave Olivia another resounding slap across the face. Everything went black again, this time with exploding bursts of color. Olivia lay still before she began weeping. She wanted to die. Iola had knocked the fight out of her with that second blow.

“I told you, no point making this harder than it already is. I don’t want to put that sock in your mouth for you to choke on, but I will,” Iola said. She raised her hand and struck Olivia a third time, though not as hard. Then she leaned over, her onion breath an inch from Olivia’s face, and put her hands on Olivia’s shoulders, all of her weight crushing the young girl to the bed. “You’ll do as you’re told. You hear me? You’ll do as you’re told. You’re here and that’s the way things are. You can make it easy, or you can make it hard. Ain’t nothing going to happen to you don’t happen to every woman.”

“How can you do this?” Olivia whispered. “You’re supposed to be a Christian. What would Jesus say?”

Filmore mumbled something and the terrified look Olivia saw pass over his face gave her hope. He at least still seemed to possess a sense of shame. But Iola drew a flask of whiskey from her deep pocket and handed it to her husband.

“Drink that, if you must,” she said. “And you.” She turned on Olivia. “Shame, shame on you. You’re a fine one to call on our Lord Jesus. Prancing about half-naked, living with that nigger boy and wearing his clothes, behaving like a harlot. You’re lucky to have found your way to us. It was Jesus led you here, on your path to redemption, to fulfill his will.”

Filmore put his head back and took a long swig of whiskey before Iola jerked the flask from his hand. “Just get it done and over with,” she said. “Remember, it’s God’s will you’re doing.”

Olivia thought she could see him struggling, seeking the courage to defy his wife. But she watched in horror as the last remnants of his humanity drained away. She could see his mind cross over a line. There was no longer any Olivia, that nice young woman he knew, his neighbor. There was no person at all. She had been reduced to a helpless female body, totally at his mercy. He raised his eyebrows and slowly ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

Iola picked up her Bible, sat on the chair at Olivia’s side, and began reading aloud – verses about being fruitful and multiplying. Helpless, Olivia tried to will herself to lose consciousness. When Filmore laid his hands on her, she spoke quietly. “You know this is a sin. You know it.” He was motionless, staring between her legs.

Iola’s voice droned on and Olivia began to feel faint. “Mamma,” she mumbled. “I want my mamma.”

“Iola, go on outside,” Filmore said, his voice slurred.

“We agreed that I would be here.” She held the Bible out in front of her, but her eyes were on Olivia. Now they shone with a sickening glint.

“I can’t do this with you sittin’ here watchin’.”

“Of course you can.”

He hesitated, but lay down on Olivia and began rubbing himself against her nakedness. His ratty beard chafed against her neck and then she felt his thick, moist lips rub across her face. She gagged from the stink of him. He grew heavier and heavier, until she couldn’t breathe. Then he lifted himself up and got to his knees, pushing her legs apart to stare at her exposed genitals. Leaning back, he took a deep breath. When he reached forward to squeeze one of Olivia’s breasts his wife reprimanded him. “There’s no call for that.” Olivia thought she saw a glimmer of hatred for his wife pass over his face before he looked down and began fumbling with the buttons of his trousers.

“Please, don’t, please,” she cried, looking in horror at his engorged penis. “Mamma. Mamma. I want my mamma.”

The physical pain of him tearing into her body was excruciating, but it was the emotional torment of the violation that made her scream. She willed her mind take her elsewhere, but she was trapped in that barn, writhing beneath his unwashed body. He pushed himself farther in and felt enormous, as if he would rip her apart. The whiskey took its effect and he tilted his head back and howled like a dog, before he began moving with rapid thrusts.

“Stop.” Olivia tried to shout, but her voice was a whimper. “Stop. Get off of me. Mamma.”

He let out a loud gasp and collapsed on her. She turned her face away from the stench of him and felt close to suffocation before he rose, pulled up his trousers, and staggered to the barn door.

Eyes gleaming, Iola stood and set her Bible down. “See, I told you it would be over before you knew it.” She patted Olivia’s arm again and then pulled her skirt down between her knees, primly arranging it. “It’s what all women have to endure.”

Olivia turned her face toward the wall. The world had fallen to pieces and she had shattered along with it. Bewildered and physically destroyed, she desperately wondered what she had done to deserve this.

“I’m going to untie you now,” Iola said as she began loosening the ropes around Olivia’s knees. “But you remember that Filmore is right outside. There’s a barrel of water over there in the corner and a chamber pot under the bed. I’ll be back shortly with your dinner.”