Romancing Olive (8 page)

“Who said something mean, Peg?” Olive asked.

“That boy,” she whispered and scrunched her face into a scowl.

“Bertram?”

John ran to the door and Luke made a face at his sister and followed. Peg’s shoulders dropped and she looked up to Olive obviously battling where her loyalties lay. Her eyes darted and she eventually ran to the door to follow the boys. Olive wondered what Bertram had said to throw Mary into such a fit. But knowing the attitude of Bertram’s mother made Olive cringe at what offense the boy may have offered.

* * *

That evening as Olive continued the story she had begun to read the night before, Mary crept into the house. Olive started to stand, but a look from Mr. Butler sat her back in her chair. She finished reading early, amidst protests of the children, but she found she could not concentrate on the story as she watched Mary curl into a ball in front of the fire. Olive lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and listened to the quiet of the house and her heart beating as she replayed the scene in front of the church in her head. She jumped as she felt the blanket lift and Peg snuggled close to her. The child pushed Olive’s hair away and she felt Peg’s warm breath on her ear.

“That boy called John a bad name,” the little girl said.

Olive turned her head in the dark and whispered, “What did he say, Peg?”

“That boy says John don’t talk on account of he’s a dummy. That John’s an Indian.”

Olive narrowed her eyes. “An Indian?”

“Yeah, that John’s caught something from Mark to make him an Indian.”

Olive whispered softly, “An idiot? Did Bertram call John an idiot?” Olive watched the shadow of Peg’s head nod. “John is not an idiot, Peg. Do you understand?”

Peg nodded again in the dark and lay her head on Olive’s shoulder. When Olive thought the child slept, she heard Peg’s terrified words. “Am I goin’ to catched something from Mark?”

Olive’s eyes closed and she pulled Peg tight against her. “No, Peg. Mark’s problems are not something one catches. He is not an idiot and neither is John.”

Peg yawned softly and relaxed. But Olive could not. Mary fought to defend herself and her brother and Mark. Tears of regret formed in Olive’s eyes as she thought of her foregone conclusions concerning her niece. I condemned her as well. Olive had never faced the kind of viciousness that Mary had and she found herself wishing she had gotten a shot in at the boy as Mr. Butler’s friend held him. What an unOlive like thought. Words were how disagreements were settled in her world. But here, faced with harshness, what words would she have to solve the prejudice and hate spilling out of Bertram’s mouth.

* * *

“Good morning Mary,” Olive said and smiled as the morning sun poured through the windows. Mary looked grim and wiped her face with a rag. “Where is the dress you wore to church yesterday? We need to wash and repair it.”

Mary eyed Olive’s cheerful face and pulled the dress from the pile it lay in. She threw it on the table and looked dubiously to her aunt.

Olive picked up the dress and smoothed it flat. She retrieved her sewing supplies and began to thread a needle.

“I ain’t sayin’ I’m sorry,” Mary said.

“I’m not saying I’m sorry.”

Mary ran her tongue over her teeth and fidgeted as she stood. “Well, I ain’t”

“Mary can you get me the small piece of white fabric laying there? I think it will be enough to fix the hole in the collar,” Olive asked.

Mary handed Olive the cloth. They sat in silence with just the soft snores of Peg and Mark breaking the spell. Olive watched from the corner of her eye as Mary began to speak and stopped. Olive waited patiently and hoped and prayed her niece would confide in her.

“I don’t care what folks say about me, but I won’t let them talk about John or Mark,” Mary said finally.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Olive said and continued her stitch.

“It ain’t right.”

“No, it’s not, Mary,” Olive agreed lifting her head to meet her niece’s stern face.

Mary stroked the edge of her dress, looking into her lap and out the window.

“Mary? Do you know why John won’t speak? I’m going to take him to the doctor’s today and I thought you may be able to give me some information before I do,” Olive said and laid her stitching in her lap. “Or maybe your grandparents already took John to see the doctor?”

“My grandparents? You mean Ma’s Pa and Ma? Fat chance of that happening. They don’t do nothing for nobody if’n it don’t get them something,” Mary said.

“Mary,” Olive said. “That’s disrespectful. I’m sure your mother’s parents love you and John and want the best for you. They wrote to me, didn’t they? I gathered from their letter they just didn’t have the room for you at their home.”

“Yeah, right,” Mary said with a scowl. “Just didn’t want to bother is all it was. They’ll be wanting us back come harvest.”

“Hardly, Mary,” Olive said as she stretched out Mary’s dress and straightened the torn hem. “I’ve been meaning to call on them. It’s only proper and I’ve put it off too long already. Would you like to ride along when I go?”

Mary jumped from her chair in a hurry. “Don’t do it, Olive. Don’t make me go. I won’t go. I’m telling you I won’t. And I won’t let you take John neither.”

If Mary’s expression was to be believed, she was mortally afraid to visit her grandparents. The girl was wide eyed and panicked. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want, Mary. I’ll not make you,” Olive said in a calm voice.

Mary sat down, wide-eyed, staring out the window, her foot tapping of the floor.

“Maybe when I get home from taking John to the doctor’s, we can begin on another dress for you,” Olive said and looked out the window where Mary was staring.  “It’s near time Mr. Butler was up.”

Mary swallowed, stood and hurried to the sink to begin the makings of coffee. Without turning from the stove she asked, “Do you want hot water for tea?”

Olive smiled at the girl’s back and replied, “Yes, Mary, that would be nice. Will you have some with me?”

* * *

Before noon, Olive asked Jacob to hitch the wagon and if he needed anything from town. He gave her a look she knew meant that she was to bring nothing more in the way of supplies.

“I’m going to take John to see the doctor. Peg told me last night that Bertram called John and Mark, idiots. That’s why Mary was fighting,” Olive said. Mr. Butler’s face grew crimson and he swore. “I can’t blame the girl now for her reasoning, although, I did.”

While Jacob hitched the wagon, Olive called to John. He came meekly and Olive smiled at him. “Come on John. I have some things to do in town today and I would like you to help me.” Olive watched as he glanced to Luke and slowly 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 black vest asked.

“Are you Doctor Hunter?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“I’m Olive Wilkins. This is my nephew, John Wilkins. May we speak in private?”

The doctor scratched his head and pointed to an open door. John’s grip dug into Olive’s hand and she smiled to reassure him.

“Doctor Hunter, John has not spoken for some time and I would like to know if you can ascertain the reason?” Olive asked.

White bushy eyebrows rose and the doctor looked down at John and back at Olive. “Well, let’s take a look see,” he replied. Olive lifted John onto a table and the doctor looked kindly to the boy. “Do you think I could look down your throat, son? It won’t hurt. All you have to do is open your mouth. Yes, that’s right, boy.”

The doctor looked down John’s throat and in his ears and felt his neck. Finally, the man opened a drawer and withdrew a well-worn slingshot. He looked up to Olive and shrugged. John’s eyes widened and the doctor laughed.

“This thing is nearly as old as me and that’s mighty old. My Pa made it for me when I was your age. Do you know what it is?” Doctor Hunter asked. John nodded. “Can you tell me what it is?”

John looked away, trance like, as Olive had seen him do before when some one addressed him directly.

“Here, boy, look out the window and tell me if you think you can hit the smithy’s sign if you had the right sized rock,” the doctor said and led John to the open window. He led Olive to the other side of the room as John examined the toy. “Miss Wilkins? Do you know the circumstances surrounding your brother’s wife’s death?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Doctor, I do.”

“Well, I’m just a country doctor, but I’ll tell you I think that boy suffers from a hysteria of sorts. Seeing what he saw happen, being unable to stop it.” The doctor paused. “Living in the house with his mother’s corpse rotting before him. I don’t think John’s problems are physical.”

Olive bowed her head. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to guess. But I do admit, I wondered if John is able to talk but just . . . unwilling.”

“Sometimes folks get through this kind of thing. Sometimes they don’t. You’ll have to wait and see. Keep talking to him, Miss Wilkins. Someday he might surprise you and talk back.”

Olive nodded and they both looked at John as he stared out the window. “Doctor Hunter? I know it’s not my business, and you may be unwilling to answer but do you have any idea why Mark Butler is the way he is.”

“I heard you were living out there,” the doctor responded. Olive started to speak and Doctor Hunter held up his hand to silence her. “Don’t go getting all riled. I’ve seen enough in this lifetime to know it’s not my place to judge.”

“Yes, I am living at Jacob Butler’s farm,” Olive said.

“Well, then I’m guessing you have some questions.” Olive nodded. “Unlike John here, Mark Butler will never get better. His mother died trying to deliver him and truthfully, I’m shocked the boy lived,” the doctor said.

Olive tried to conceal her curiosity, but failed. “What happened?”

“The child was too long in the birth canal, without air and I believe the lack of oxygen and the pressure of the contractions damaged his brain. Permanently.” 

The doctor wiped his hand through his hair, obviously remembering and distressed from it. “I never saw a woman struggle against death so long and so hard to save her child. It was out of my hands and in God’s but she fought for every breath, losing blood by the bucketful to deliver him. Some things you’ll never forget and I won’t ever forget the sound of Margaret’s voice begging me to save her son.”

Olive felt a chill wiggle down her back with the doctor’s words. She watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob. “And Mr. Butler took his wife’s death very hard,” she said.