Free Romancing Olive by Holly Bush Page B

began to climb into the wagon.
    Olive checked her purse and straightened her dress once seated.  The boy sat quietly beside her and she let herself enjoy the ride to town. The sun was shining and the world looked new. She touched her bag again to check on the letter she had written to Theda. She smiled to herself as she imagined Theda reading the contents. Her dearest friend would be shocked at the state she had found Mary and John in, but Olive feared the woman would faint dead away when Olive revealed she was living with Jacob Butler and that she had driven a wagon to a town an hour away. What a different perception a week had brought her.
    Olive herself, days ago, would not have believed what she had seen and done. She was nearly a different person than the woman who came on the train that short time ago. And Olive knew in her heart of hearts that she would never, ever be that woman again. She had wept at her brother’s grave, wept for her brother’s children and put aside all she knew to be right and proper to care for those children. Olive glanced down at the stern, worried face of her nephew. Her throat tightened and she knew that she would do all in her power to see this little carbon of her brother past whatever demons haunted him. And Olive felt more alive, more focused than she had ever before in her life. To hide on Church Street seemed foreign to Olive. Because that’s what she had done these past thirty-five years. Hide from life and it’s problems and therefore condemning herself to never feel triumph. No, she would never allow herself to hide again.
    Olive held John’s hand as they began down the street past the sheriff’s office.
    “Miss Wilkins?” she heard from behind.
    “Oh, good morning, Sheriff Bentley,” Olive said as she turned.
    “Morning, ma’am. John,” the sheriff said. “May I speak to you in my office?”
    “Certainly,” she said and followed him into the small, cool building. John stopped to stare at large wooden case with a glass front, holding guns of all sizes. The sheriff took her by the elbow and led her near the jail cells.
    “Miss Wilkins. Jeb Davis was making some ugly noise about these children and you in the saloon last night,” the sheriff whispered.
    “Jeb Davis? I don’t believe I’m acquainted with a Jeb Davis,” Olive replied.
    “He’s Sophie’s Pa,” the sheriff explained.
    “What could Sophie’s father possibly have to say in regard to me? I’ve yet to meet him. As a matter of fact, I was just telling Mary, we’d best soon make a social call on the Davis’,” Olive said.
    “You don’t want to do that, Miss Wilkins,” the sheriff said and shook his head.
    Olive paused. “What kind of things was he saying?”
    “Things not fit for a lady’s ears. But with his last daughter running off with a traveling salesmen, he’s going to be looking to get Mary back to the farm to do the stepping and fetching. Keep your eyes open, ma’am,” the sheriff said.
    “I’ll do that, sheriff, but I hardly see what rights Mr. Davis feels he has with these children. He did after all ask me to take them in. I still have his letter,” Olive replied.
    Olive led John up the steps to the doctor’s office as the sheriff had instructed her as she was leaving his office. These accounts of Sophie’s family from the sheriff and Mary made her wonder how James had married into such a family. Surely a decision such as the guardianship of orphaned children would have never made lightly. But in his profession, the sheriff must regard even liquor talk with a skeptical eye. As for Mary’s account of her grandparents, Olive was convinced recent traumas had certainly colored her vision somewhat.  The sheriff had implored her again to stay clear of the Davis farm. He had also asked her to save him a dance at the church social. Olive had rolled her eyes. Save him a dance, she thought and snorted as she opened the door on the landing.
    “May I help you?” a wizened man in a