Free Olivia, Mourning by Yael Politis Page A

stone fireplace and chimney –”
    “Olivia, can we talk about this at home?”
    “I like remembering the way he –”
    “I know, I know. It was a magical paradise, wild strawberries as big as your fist, corn higher than a house, trees taller than the birds fly, and trout that leapt out of the river into his frying pan. The forest was so green it hurt his eyes to look at it. Oh, I forgot, Lydia Ann had to go out every morning and bang on a cooking pot to chase the deer away from her laundry tub. Just enough curious bears, sly wolves, and cunning-but-noble Indians to keep life interesting. Can we please go home now?”
    “Wouldn’t you like to go see that land some time?”
    “Why would I want to do that? Everyone knows there’s no good farmland out there in Michigan. And all he built was a little one-room cabin. Chopped down trees and piled the logs up on each other, bark and all. And it’s been out there rotting for twenty years.”
    “Thirteen.”
    “There’s probably nothing left standing.”
    Olivia turned to face her brother. He was wearing the thick winter coat that made him look like a little boy, his arms sticking out to the sides. He removed his foggy spectacles to wipe them on his sleeve, but fumbled and dropped them in the snow. She bit her bottom lip as he bent to retrieve them.
    “You’re going to spend your life working in that store, aren’t you?” she asked with a sigh.
    “Seems so.”
    Sweet Tobey. He would never fail to disappoint. She looked up at the stars coming out, feeling small and alone under the endless sky.
    “Okay, let’s go.” She slipped her arm through her brother’s and they walked in silence for a while.
    “Are you coming to work in the store tomorrow?” he asked.
    “No, I don’t think so. Mourning Free is coming over to fix some things for Mrs. Hardaway and I want to be there. I have to show him exactly what needs to be done.”

Chapter Seven
    The next morning Olivia sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee, while Mourning banged on the oven door. She silently admired the way he worked, his movements quick and sure. The only thing he might not be good at was shooting a gun, but Uncle Scruggs had made sure Olivia knew how to do that. She had only taken aim at empty milk tins, but unfailingly blasted them from fifty paces. Sometimes even a hundred. She had also gone hunting with her uncle. Though she had never actually shot at an animal, she had helped follow a blood trail and so felt sure she’d be able to put meat on the table. And did it really matter if she couldn’t? Mourning must know how to fish and she could keep chickens in the yard .
    Mrs. Hardaway had gone out the back door with her shopping basket, leaving Olivia and Mourning alone in the house. Olivia said to Mourning’s back, “You know there are over a hundred negroes out there in Detroit, Michigan. I can show you where it says so, right in a book. And there’s a town called Backwoods, not so far from Fae’s Landing, with a whole lot too.” The last statement was a stretch of the truth. The book did mention the existence of a negro community in Backwoods, but didn’t say of how many.
    Mourning ignored her and grunted, clanging his tools.
    “You should have heard Uncle Scruggs talk about that how beautiful it is out there. And Fae’s Landing is only about forty miles from Detroit, where they have markets and railroads and boats on the river. So it would be easy to sell whatever you grow.” She paused and waited for him to respond, but he continued banging on the oven door.
    She took a breath and continued. “You know, people who want to get ahead in life have to move with the times. And the ones who get farthest ahead are the ones who stay a step ahead of the rest. Now’s the time to go. With that Erie Canal open ten steamboats are docking in Detroit every day, full of people looking to buy land. Pretty soon there won’t be any left. It says right here,” she said, pointing at the almanac