Olivia, Mourning (43 page)

“Do you know where they are?”

“I suppose still in Erie. That’s where they were last time I seen ’em. Sharing two rooms near the port. Back then they used to work a few hours in the morning, cleaning for folks, and then spend the rest of the day smoking up their wages.”

“They smoked that many cigarettes?”

Jettie smiled. “Opium, Honey, opium. One year I went lookin’ for ’em, planning on staying a while, but turned out they had quite a few gentlemen callers.”

“You don’t mean they were working as prostitutes!”

“No. They were too damned stupid to charge money. It was sailors off the boats, bringing them more of the poppy juice they loved to smoke, in exchange for a visit.”

“Oh.” Olivia blinked, not knowing what to say.

Jettie’s expression went blank and she spoke as if to herself. “Those sailors, they had a name for my big sisters. I passed some of ’em, on my way out. They had a young one with them, hardly but a boy, and they were tellin’ him what a swell time he was going to have with the pair of lobster kettles at the top a them stairs.”

It was a hard January. Every morning Olivia high-stepped to the barn through a fresh crust of snow and was increasingly grateful that she wasn’t in Uncle Scruggs’ awful cabin. She spent long hours in the kitchen, the table pulled close to the stove, writing in her journal about Mourning and Jeremy and Jettie.

One morning she became lost in a frenzy of scribbling. She wrote it all down: how she’d met her new neighbors, how nosy Iola was, the way she stared at Olivia with her snake eyes, and everything about what happened in the barn. Every horrible minute. After she finished she closed the journal and sat staring into space, opening and closing her cramped hand. She’d written nothing about her night with Mourning, but had left out no sickening detail of what Filmore had done to her. It was there, on paper. That was the last entry she made in that journal. She had no stomach for writing after that.

One freezing noontime in February, Olivia was sweeping up the kitchen when Jettie stomped in, bringing a gust of cold with her.

“You are not going to believe who I saw just now, riding right up the middle of Main Street.”

“If I’m not going to believe it, I guess you’d better not bother telling me,” Olivia said, in no mood for gossip.

“Well, you sure do want me to tell you – it was your friend what you’ve been so worried about. Mr. Mourning Free.”

“Mourning? Mourning’s here? Are you sure it was him?”

“I wouldn’t be telling you so if I warn’t. I tried to catch him up and have a word, but he was on horseback. Not that broken-down old nag he used to have. Pretty gray mare with speckles of white.”

When Jettie first said his name Olivia had frozen, broom midair, as shocked as if a rock had thudded into her chest. Then she felt paralyzed by a muddle of feelings: surprise, relief, joy, curiosity. But the emotion that seemed to be winning out was one she had not at all anticipated: fear. Fear strong enough to make her feel sick. All this time she’d thought she’d give anything for the chance to talk to Mourning. But now … what would she say? He would glance at her swollen belly and assume it was his and what would she say? I think it is?
Think
. She’d have to tell him who else it might belong to. Say the words, relive the story they told.

It hadn’t been hard to tell Jettie. It had poured out, on its own. And now she’d written it in her journal. But she couldn’t bear to say it again. Nor could she bear to burn that picture into Mourning’s mind – her tied to that bed, legs forced wide apart. She began to feel shaky, stunned to realize how much easier it would be to simply rejoice in knowing he was alive. And never see him again.

She also feared seeing that old distrust on his face, him again asking her to swear she’d never claim he’d forced it on her.

And then there was Jettie. The minute she saw Olivia and Mourning together, Jettie would know. Olivia didn’t doubt that. She had no idea how Jettie felt about coloreds, but imagined her doughy face forged into a slab of iron. Nigger-loving slut. Get out of my house. It was a face that inhabited Olivia’s nightmares of what might happen if she gave birth to a black baby.

Olivia pulled out a chair and sat.

“Well, don’t you look like you seen a ghost,” Jettie said. “What’s the matter? I thought you’d be thrilled half to pieces.”

“I am. I just got a little out of breath pushing that broom is all. Of course, I’m glad to know he’s all right. Really glad. I wish I could ask you to go get him, bring him back here, find out where he’s been, but . . .” Olivia looked down at her belly. “He doesn’t know anything about what happened.”

“No, course he don’t. But if you want I could go search him out, without letting on about you being here. I could pretend I’m just being friendly-like, asking where he’s been.”

“If you think there’s any chance of Mourning Free telling some nosy white lady what he had for breakfast, you don’t know him very well. He’s as stubborn and keep-to-himself as they come.”

“Well, I got to get back to the shop. You give a good think on whether you want me to go looking for him.”

The next day Jettie went shopping at Killion’s General and asked some people there if they’d seen Mourning. She came back and reported to Olivia. “When I seen him he must’ve already been on his way out of town. Seems the only reason he come here was to get some kind of paper from Mr. Carmichael.”

“His Free Man of Color paper,” Olivia said.

“Yes, that’s right. That’s what they called it. Mr. Carmichael offered him to stay the night in his office like he used to, but Mourning said he had to be riding on. I don’t think he said a word to another soul. Just rode straight to Mr. Carmichael’s office, asked for his paper, and left town as fast as he could.”

“Did he tell Mr. Carmichael where he was going?”

“No. Not where he’d been and not where he was headed for.”

Olivia let out a deep sigh. “Well at least I know those devils didn’t kill him.”

Spring came early that year. By the beginning of March the snow had melted and first buds were beginning to appear on the skeletal trees. Olivia could no longer see her breath and decided enough with sponge baths – it was time for a proper tub. She was in the kitchen, luxuriating in the hot water, when her contractions started. By the time she realized what the strange convulsions were, she barely managed to struggle to her feet. Luckily it was evening and Jettie was in the house. Olivia called for her as she stepped out of the water and reached for the towel.

“Now?” Jettie said. “It can’t be now. It’s not supposed to be for another three weeks.”

“Well something is happening.” Olivia dropped the towel and stood naked, grasping the counter with both hands as another contraction gripped her.

“I’ll go fetch Doc Gaylin,” Jettie said.

“Doc Gaylin!” Olivia felt the contraction release her and straightened up to grab Jettie’s arm. “No. No, no, no. I haven’t spent all these months in prison so you can go and ruin everything now. Help me get some clothes on and then go get a buggy. You’re going to drive me back to that Doctor Murdock in Weaverton.”

“Weaverton! We can’t go driving all that way at night and you in labor. It’s too far. There’s no time. Anyway, it’s too late to get a buggy, the livery’s closed.”

“So knock on Mr. Ferguson’s door. You know he’ll come out if it means putting a nickel in his pocket.”

Olivia bent over as another contraction began.

“Oh listen to you. You’re talking crazy. We don’t got time for all that. Suppose we get all the way over there and that doctor ain’t even home? We were supposed to go to a hotel next week, stay someplace where they got a doctor and wait for the baby. We can’t make a drive like that now, at night, with the baby already coming.”

“Get moving, Jettie. Stop wasting time arguing with me. I am
not
having this baby in Five Rocks.”

“Stubborn mule just like your father. Where’s your chemise?” She clumsily fought with the thin muslin garment. “Oh hell, I got it all inside out.”

“I don’t care if it’s upside down. Never mind, give it to me. I’ll get myself dressed. You go get that buggy. Now.”

Jettie looked like she might faint, but finally rushed out the back door. Freezing, with her chemise wadded up in one hand, Olivia waddled naked into the parlor where she sank down on a chair and reached for her moccasins. After waiting for another contraction to pass, she rose and made her cautious way up the stairs.

When it had first grown cold she’d asked Jettie to bring her a few sets of long johns from the store and now she pulled on pants and shirt. She pulled a dress on over them and then shrugged into the warmest sweater she owned. She took the pillowcase from her pillow and shoved $20 in gold coins, a hair brush, two towels, a second set of long johns, and a pile of clean rags into it. After throwing a pillow and two blankets to the bottom of the stairs, she clutched the pillowcase in one hand and the handrail in the other and began her descent. Halfway down she had to stop and sit on one of the steps while she waited out another contraction.

Then she sat on the bottom step, draped in her black cloak. She leaned back, smoothed the front of her dress, and spread her palms over her belly, feeling the movement. A deep calm had come over her. She knew a great deal of pain awaited her, but she was no longer frightened.

“How bad can it be?” she asked out loud, speaking to the child as she gently stroked her stomach. “I’ll get through it, same as every woman does. So will you, don’t worry. We’re both going to be just fine. And no matter what happens, I don’t care who your father is, I’m going to look out for you. I promise. None of this mess is any of your fault. You’re just a sweet innocent baby and your mamma’s going to look out for you. Long as I’m breathing, you’ll never be alone in this world. Cross my heart.”

The End

Olivia’s story continues in Book 2 of the Olivia Series,
The Way the World Is
, which is available at www.amazon.com

In today’s book market word-of-mouth and customer recommendations are crucial to success. If you enjoyed
Olivia, Mourning
, please consider taking the time to post even a brief review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.

Other Books by Yael Politis

• The Lonely Tree
  
• The Way the World Is
  (Book 2 of the Olivia Series)
  
• Whatever Happened to Mourning Free?
  (Book 3 of the Olivia Series)
  To be published toward the end of 2014
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  is released, sign up to
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[email protected]

After the devastating trauma she suffered in
Olivia, Mourning
and finally knowing the reality with which she must contend, Olivia strives to rebuild herself – emotionally, socially, and financially.

She starts a new life in Detroit, the young and exciting city on a river where she has come to feel at home. New friends help the healing process, while she continues her search for the two people she loves, who have disappeared from her life. She finds solace in helping fugitive slaves escape over the river to Canada, believing, as one of her new friends says, “In this time and place it is the most worthy thing a person can do.”

See reviews and an excerpt at: yaelpolitis.wordpress.com/the-way-the-world-is/

Review Extracts

“Fans of
Olivia, Mourning
will find this sequel no less engrossing, with its gritty protagonist . . . a powerful saga that makes for thoroughly engrossing, compelling historical fiction at its best.”

D. Donovan, Senior eBook Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

“Olivia is a great character, her good soul a great tool to reflect on the times of 1842 in terms of racial, gender and religious equality. So much is said within those words, so many of Olivia’s remarks are truthful and powerful.”

Christoph Fischer, Author, Amazon Top 500 Reviewer

“... a beautifully written, haunting and unforgettable story . . . the ending is at once heartbreaking and yet reassuring and uplifting . . . a story that is believable and impossible to forget.”

Carol Kean, Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

“Politis has become one of my favourite authors. She first hooked me with her amazing story . . . The Lonely Tree. For this new series, she has returned to her Michigan roots and turned out a wonderfully atmospheric ongoing story of a remarkable woman, battling prejudice, bigotry, fear and discrimination in 19th century America. I eagerly await Book Three.”

Catherine Cavendish, Author, Blogger

“... I would recommend the series for anyone who enjoys historical fiction brimming with interesting relationships, drama, and human adventure. Excellent!”

Larry Fogel, Amazon Customer