* * *
There is an air of excitement in the small house on Cherry Street, and Olive fans the winds even further, bustling from one room to the next with Sophia on her hip, trying to think of everything they'll need for their short trip.
"Extra changes of clothes and diapers, two bottles, your blanket…" Olive stops routing through the bag she has already packed to look at Sophia. "Do you wear shoes?"
Sophia lets out a soft giggle.
"I'll take that as a no, seeing as how I can't seem to find a pair, anyway." Olive bounces the baby on her hip, readjusting her weight. "What we really need is a stroller. No matter." Olive sets the baby on the floor. "If your mother adjusted, I can adjust."
There is a small secretary in the corner of the living room. Keeping an eye on the baby rolling across the floor, Olive wanders toward it. She slides open the top. Inside are a few stacks of papers. Bills, correspondence, letters from a friend in Chicago. I'll have to find some way to handle that, Olive thinks. Can't have any surprise visits. The drawers beneath yield monthly statements from a bank account. There are sporadic large deposits that look to be spent almost right away in all the best clothing stores. Olive thinks of Tom and Harry, and other blokes Dolly tried to rob, just to fill her closets with more lace.
Olive glances at Sophia, wrestling with a plastic doll now. Where would the baby be if Olive hadn't witnessed Dolly's murder? Hungry and still in her crib.
"Well that will never, ever happen to you—I swear it, Sophia. Charlie will be here soon, and once he sees you he will take care of you. He'll take care of us both."
Still searching the drawers, Olive finds no proof of any other income. No widow's fund, a monthly pension, money from the family—nothing. Maybe Dolly didn't resort to robbery just to fill her closets with lace. She was desperate to make a stable life for her and her child. Unfortunately, 'stable' isn't often found at the pointy end of a knife.
Charlie will still have to work the mines, at least until he can find another job. But now he can come home to a hot meal every night; Olive will make sure of that. She opens the last drawer, wondering if Dolly keeps many recipes in the house.
Instead, she finds a baby book. "Oh, look Sophia…" Olive opens the hard cover encased in protective paper. On the first page is the birth certificate. "So you are four months, almost five." There is no father's name listed.
"Dorothy Miller," says Olive. The mother's last name is common enough.
Sophia has squirmed her way into the kitchen. "Oops," Olive drops the book, running to retrieve the baby. "Where are you off to?"
A knock at the door rings through the house. Olive freezes, the baby tucked tight in her arms. A few seconds of silence pass, and the knock comes again. Perhaps sensing Olive’s, tension, Sophia cries out.
"Shh, shh, shh," Olive grits her teeth, trying to calm Sophia.
It's too late, whoever is outside has heard.
A woman's voice calls, "Dorothy—you in there?"
Olive inches closer to the door, pressing her ear against it. The woman outside is mumbling. "Saw her off again last night, please tell me that child isn't still alone…"
The door handle jiggles and Olive's hand shoots toward the knob, squeezing.
"Dorothy?" the woman says, more cautious.
Taking a deep breath, Olive unlatches the lock and swings open the door before she can convince herself otherwise.
"Hi!" Olive says brightly, balancing Sophia on her hip.
"Oh." The woman steps back, eyes wide, clearly not expecting the younger woman at the door.
Olive is suddenly thankful she was at least able to bathe this morning. Her pale, clean skin and damp, curly hair hopefully gives no sign of her street origins.
"Well, where is Dorothy?" The woman is older, her lips turned down in tentative disapproval.
A quick glance at the unfinished baby book on the floor behind the door, and Olive manages to roll her eyes, feigning annoyance. "Dolly went out—again—last night. Hasn't been home yet." Olive shifts Sophie to her other hip and sticks out her hand. "I'm Olivia, her cousin, sent from Virginia by my mother to help Dolly out."
Olive hopes using Dolly's more informal name next to a classier version of her own will help elevate her in the neighbor's eyes. It seems to have helped. The woman shakes her hand allowing a small smile to come to her face.
"Oh, well, goodness knows she could use someone to keep her on the straight and narrow."
"Well, you and I both know if she were on the straight and narrow Sophia wouldn’t be here with us now," Olive says, giving a nervous laugh.
The neighbor joins in the laugh. "Anyway, I'm Martha—live just across the street. I came here to let Dorothy know we'll be moving out the day after next."
"Oh?" asks Olive.
"Fred got a raise and their transferring him up north." Martha pulls her coat closed around her waist. "As if it weren't cold enough here, for him…"
Olive nods her head in agreement.
"So I've been trying to catch Dolly to let her know. I'm the only one that looks out for her, you know. So it'll be good to know she has some help staying with her."
"She doesn't know anyone else on the street?" Olive asks.
"Couldn't even say as they know what she looks like," Martha teases. "Keeps to herself, and they let her. Labeled as a charlatan and all."
"She hasn't had any family visiting—or friends?" Olive asks.
Martha narrows her eyes at the odd question.
"I mean, we had this falling out with my mom's brother and his wife—"
Martha puts her hands in the air, stopping Olive short. "Nope, don't need to know the gossip. About to be far enough from here as it is. Since Dorothy moved in over the summer I haven't seen anyone over. Though I know she has plenty of gentlemen callers—see her out in town with them. I think she has enough sense to keep them away from the neighborhood, and from Sophia."
Sophia whines.
"Well," Olive chuckles nervously. "Looks like it's time to eat again. You know how it is…"
Martha shakes her head. "Never did have kids myself. Always said I had plenty of them, sneaking over from Mrs. Moe’s and stealing from my cherry tree."
Olive's mouth drops open. She recalls a woman who looked an awful lot like Martha that chased her down the street once. Olive managed to escape with a whole bucket of cherries, with Charlie's help.
"Just let Dorothy know I wish her the best of luck," Martha says. "And take care of this one." She nudges Sophia under her chin with the crook of her finger.
"I will," says Olive. "I promise."
The Dreamer Page 9