Free Livvie's Song by Sharlene MacLaren Page A

course, his all-business boss took no note of his inner gladness and just began pointing things out to him. “This first door is your washroom. It isn’t much, as you can see, but at least it has a tub, sink, and commode. I know it’s old, but I did the best I could to clean it up after old Mr. Fletcher left. You’ll soon learn the hot water takes a while to get up here, and it won’t last that long if you plan to fill the tub more than halfway.”
    “I’ll be sure not to. Thanks.”
    She craned her neck and fixed her emerald eyes on his beard. “Please, feel free to use up all the hot water tonight, if that’s what it takes. You may also borrow my barber shears.”
    He lowered his chin and gazed at her, a teasing smile on his lips. “Well, that’s downright generous of you, ma’am, but I have no need of them.”
    Rather than comment, she shook her head and heaved a sigh that sounded like it went clear to her toes. Why this bent to frazzle her intentionally? He supposed it had something to do with the way that spark ignited her hazel eyes—green one day, blue the next. The way those slender shoulders tightened. The way she pursed her pretty mouth, which, in turn, made her dimples deepen irresistibly. He would shave his beard at some point, had always planned to. Admittedly, the thing did resemble a dense timberland, and it bothered even him. But why shave it now when, by putting it off, he could enjoy Olivia Beckman’s fiery spirit a little longer?
    “Here’s your kitchen, such as it is,” she said, gesturing to their left. “The stove doesn’t work that well, but, since you’ll be eating your meals downstairs, you shouldn’t need to use it often. Everything else is in working condition but old, as you can see.”
    Next, she swiveled to the right and opened another door, which led to a small bedroom consisting of a three quarter bed with a stained, lumpy mattress and a stack of folded bedding atop it. If he lay down and stretched out, his feet would surely extend over the end by at least six inches, but that had been the case since he’d reached adolescence. As in the storage room, a single lightbulb with a chain hung from the ceiling.
    “The sheets and blankets have been laundered,” Olivia said in her no-nonsense voice. “If you want to turn that mattress over, it might look a little better on the other side, but I make no promises.” She nodded at the armoire in the corner, its doors hanging open, and the straight-back spindle chair, the only other pieces of furniture in the room. On the floor in front of the armoire was a braided rug that looked like it’d seen better days.
    The wall beside the armoire featured a rectangular mirror and some curved hooks, where he figured he could drape his coat and hang some belts and maybe a shirt or two. He’d have to pick up some hangers at a five-and-dime, as there was none to be found in the armoire. Of course, he’d also need to return to the Salvation Army store for some more clothes to put on those hangers.
    “You’ll have to buy your own lamp and clock, as the ones that used to be in here belonged to Mr. Fletcher. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the whole place is sparsely furnished and could use a little work.” Olivia turned and gestured to the rest of the living area. “Of course, there’s your living room. Mr. Fletcher had a Victor Victrola, and I’m glad he took it with him. His hearing was going, so he always played it louder than a train rumbles up the tracks.”
    Will thought of his harmonica, which he often brought out to play before going to bed. He’d have to ask her sometime if it kept her awake. Anything to stay in her good graces.
    “And, speaking of trains,” she continued, “you’ll hear lots of them coming and going, what with the station being at the end of Market Street. I expect you’ll get used to it, though, just as everybody else in town has done.”
    “Hm, yes, I’ve heard the trains, and I must say I enjoy the