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for yourself. That’s the way the world is. She found herself taking more comfort in Mr. Carmichael’s plain hard statement of fact than in all the damp condolences that had been heaped upon her by sobbing women.
    She raised her chin and forced a blank expression on her face before starting up Main Street in search of Big Bad, the broken-down workhorse no longer worth his feed that Mourning had bought a few years ago. When he moved from place to place he packed all his worldly possessions into two small leather bags and threw them over the back of Big Bad’s saddle.
    Olivia spotted the horse tethered in front of the Feed & Grain. “Hullo there, old boy,” she said, offering him the apple and stroking his neck while he chomped. “Poor old thing. If that back of yours gets any more swayed, your belly’s going to start scraping the ground.” The horse turned its brown eyes on her and moved its head up and down, as if agreeing. “Guess your daddy must be in there.” She patted his warm neck good-bye.
    When I have my own farm , she thought, I’m going to get a nice old horse like Big Bad. Well, not that old, but calm and friendly like him. I’ll ride him everywhere – into town, over to visit the neighbors – and not sidesaddle either. Anyone has a problem with that, it’s just too bad. But they’ll be glad to see me coming, because I’m going to learn how to bake pies and cakes and always take one along when I go to visit. And I’ll have a big golden dog who’ll go everywhere with me, running along beside the horse, snapping at butterflies. That’s how it will be in the beginning anyway, before I have a family. Then I’ll have too many children to fit in a buggy; I’ll have to get a big farm wagon and put extra seats in the back. When the dog gets tired of running, he’ll bark and jump up there with them.
    She entered the Feed & Grain and found it empty of customers. Mr. Bellinir was bent over the counter, writing in a ledger. Olivia greeted him and asked if he knew where she could find Mourning Free.
    “Out back.” He jerked his thumb.
    Mourning was working alone in the cavernous storeroom. His back was to the wide doorway, so he didn’t see her standing there and she watched him for a few minutes.
    This man could be my salvation , she thought. Now all I have to do is make him realize that I could be his.
    He plucked a sack of feed from the heap in the center of the room and heaved it onto the top of a neat pile, making it taller than he was. He paused to shake his arms, then counted the sacks in the stack and turned to write on a piece of paper that lay on a wobbly wooden table.
    Olivia waited for him to finish before saying, “Hullo Mourning.”
    He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Day to you, Livia,” in an off-handed way. Then he stiffened and turned to face her, looking at his toes while he mumbled, “I sorry . . . ’bout your father.”
    She nodded. “Thank you for saying so. Mrs. Hardaway asked me to come get you. She needs you to mend some pot handles and the door of the oven.”
    “Early tomorrow okay?”
    “Sure,” she said. She moved closer to him, stopping three feet away, and lowered her voice. “But I . . . I wanted to talk to you about something else. In private.”
    He stared at her and said nothing.
    “It’s about a business dealing.”
    His face broke into a grin. “Who you be doin’ business with, that old rag doll or your teddy bear?”
    “I mean it,” Olivia said. “I’m serious. It’s a chance for both of us to change our whole lives.”
    His expression went blank again.
    “But it’s sort of secret. I need to talk to you about it in private.”
    “You must be in a confusion. Ain’t nowhere near April Fools’ Day.” He turned away and picked up another sack of feed.
    “All right, if that’s the way you want to be. I’m not fooling around, but suit yourself. Pay me no mind. If you don’t want to have your own farm, your own land, I can’t force you