Money and Good Things: Book 5 of the Olivia Series

By Yael Politis

It is 1857. Olivia, Nick, their two little girls, and Charlie still live in the old boarding house. It has been nine years since Mourning left. Nine years since the last time Olivia has seen him – though he has always managed to arrange with Michelle to have Charlie spend a few weeks with him each summer.
But today Olivia is anxiously awaiting Mourning’s arrival. Yesterday he sent a message with Michelle – he needs to talk with Olivia. Why now? What will he say? Does he intend to take Charlie for good?
On this already emotionally-charged day, a cryptic telegram from Missouri arrives. It will take Olivia, Mourning, and Nick on a different kind of journey together.

266 Amazon ratings – 4.7 average This is what some of them said:

“This is a beautiful ending to a wonderful series. Although I amm sad to see it end (It feels like saying goodbye to old friends) it is a perfect ending. I highly recommend the entire series.” – Amazon Customer

Again Ms Politis nailed it. Mourning Free and Olivia working together some way or another to make the story once again hard to set aside. Add Nick, Jake, Michelle, the children, the business, and the book was over before this reader was ready. Again great storyline, great characters, absolutely great book. Would I be bored with more? Absolutely not!” – Amazon Customer

“I have devoured all five books in this series and have thoroughly enjoyed all of them. Thank you Yael Politis for the gift of your extraordinary talent. It is quite remarkable. Each of the five books is long and satisfying. I absolutely love this authors writing style, her imagination and the research which made each book so authentic. I would have loved to have read another five books in the same series. Strongly recommended!” – Book Addict

“I learned several things from this book. The entirety of the Chicago Lakeshore area was raised several feet to add in sewage equipment and prevent disease issues, stemming from poor drainage in the area. I found that fascinating. There were also references to some types of river travel of which I was unaware, information about the digging of the canals connecting various rivers for transport by the shallow boats and tugs. Much more interesting history in this issue. Again I found these most intriguing books and highly recommend them!” – Judi D. Thomas-Sheerer

“Story never gets boring, always something or someone new happening. Very believable story and is a major page turner. Read the entire series and glad I did!” – Kindle Customer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yael Politis
• Release date: Jan 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215012451

Yael Politis

I grew up in Dearborn, Michigan, in the house on the cover of Book 3 of the Olivia series, not far from the location of Olivia's farm.While studying at the Universities of Michigan and Wisconsin, I spent two summers in Israel and ended up coming back to make my life here. Since then I've spent a lot of time traveling between the Middle East and the Midwest, loving both my homes.While living on Kibbutz Ein Tsurim I learned the story of the Etzion Bloc during Israel’s War of Independence – from people who had lived through it. It was many years before I dared to try to put it down on paper. At that time, fantasies aside, I considered writing nothing more than a hobby.I did, however, post the first chapters of The Lonely Tree on a writers' workshop run by the London Arts Council. There it received a Book of the Year award and Holland Park Press of London asked to see the complete manuscript. Not long afterwards I received an email from them. “We want to publish your book.” Hey, you never know when a fantasy is going to come true.For years I had been researching the backdrop for Olivia's story and based many of the details in the Olivia Series on letters and journals passed down through my family, over seven generations of lives lived in the American Midwest. I also received a great deal of information and insight from my sister Martha, who lived with her husband in a modern log home, hunted her own land, cut her own firewood, and was as independent and stubborn as Olivia. Then self-publishing happened. The prospect of being able to publish that story independently was a great motivator, and I finally completed and published the five books of the Olivia series.

Book preview

Money and Good Things

Book 5 of the Olivia Series

Yael Politis

Money and Good Things

Book 5 of the Olivia Series

Copyright 2024 Yael Politis

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Cover art by Heidi Merrick

Cover design by Tatiana Vila

This book may not be reproduced, copied, or

distributed for commercial purposes.

January, 2024

Table of Contents

Beginning

Author’s Note about this Series

Libraries

Books by This Author

Contact

About the Author

End

Olivia

Monday, May 18, 1857

OK Accommodations – Detroit, Michigan

Olivia Killion Nickel had a spacious, well-lit workroom out back, in the offices of America House, their publishing company. Even so, she insisted on keeping her old worktable where it had always been, in their bedroom, pushed up against the wall under the front window. It was nothing but an old door lying across two sawhorses and now mainly served as a place to toss her clothing while undressing. But it was here that she had first begun writing and illustrating books and she refused to let Nick (her husband, Harlson Nickel) dispatch it to the barn. A coat rack would never be the same.

She had risen before five that morning, bristling with nervous energy. She went for a long walk, pulled a bucket full of weeds from the vegetable garden, prepared breakfast for Charlie and her daughters and sent them off to school. Then she consumed enough coffee to make her even more jumpy, while frying bacon and eggs for Nick. She fibbed to him – claiming to have already eaten – and did her best to hide her anxiety from him. Who are you kidding? she thought. He’s no dumbbell. He knows perfectly well who’s coming today. But he said nothing before going out to his office.

She sighed and followed him out the back door to America House, where she retrieved the as yet unedited proof of the Andrew Jackson biography. She brought it back to her bedroom, shoved the clothing on her table aside, and sat staring at the pages. But with Nick safely out in his office, there was no one to pretend for. So she surrendered and stared out the window, frowning as she strained to distinguish every sound coming from the road. All of Detroit seemed to be riding past her boarding house that morning, but none of those clopping horses’ hooves turned up her drive.

Honestly, Michelle, she thought, why on earth didn’t you have enough brains to ask Mourning what time we should expect him? Could a message be more useless than, He’s gonna come out here sometime tomorrow? Nine whole years. I haven’t laid eyes on him for nine whole years. Mourning Free. He’s going to come up the drive any minute. Mourning Free. Poor Nicky, awaiting the arrival of Charlie’s colored father – the phantom he considers his indomitable rival.

It was Michelle – Olivia’s close friend and the junior director of America House – who always drove Olivia and Mourning's son, Charlie, to the Black Second Baptist Church in Detroit. It was there that Mourning came to pick him up. A few days or weeks later, she also drove back downtown to bring Charlie home. But yesterday, along with Charlie and two proofs from the printer, Michelle had also returned with a startling message from Mourning. He was staying in Detroit for a few more days and wished to come out to the boarding house and speak with Olivia.

It was a beautiful spring morning, not a cloud, but Olivia gazed out the window remembering slush and snow. She'd always hated the cold, but back when Mourning had lived in this house, winter had seemed an especially dreary season. From January to April, Mourning had seldom risked climbing through the window she left unlatched, for fear of telltale footprints in the snow or soggy mud. Nine years ago. It seemed longer. A different lifetime. A different world. She sighed, remembering how she had longed for his tap on the glass. Does he ever think of me? I wonder how he looks now, nine years older. She’d never dared to ask Michelle that question. Lord, I hope he’s not in some kind of trouble. I wonder how I’ll look to him. She resisted the impulse to rise and study herself in the mirror. She knew her waist had grown thicker after the birth of each of her daughters, but had steadfastly refused to even consider one of the new corsets, with their steel boning and metal eyelets in the back. However, she had never joined in with the abolitionists to protest that peculiar fashion. She shook her head and made a face when they declared that the constrictive undergarment had been designed to engender a slave mentality in females. She simply thought they were damned uncomfortable. Besides, Nick had never expressed a longing for his wife to have a narrow waist. The opposite. He sided with those who claimed that being encased in a tightly laced cage all day would likely compromise the fertility of women, if not worse. It might cause their internal organs to stray to unnatural locations. Now Olivia almost wished she had one. What is it that people are always saying? You only get one chance to make a first impression. Lord, I don’t want him taking one look at me and thinking, I am so lucky I left when I did.

Almost exactly nine years ago, sometime in the middle of May 1848, Mourning Free had gone slinking off, without so much as a goodbye. Simply disappeared. Then Nick had appeared out of nowhere, bringing a completely different kind of love into her life – including their two daughters. Since then Olivia had been too busy to for daydreaming, except when she went out deer hunting, alone in the silent woods. Then Mourning Free had crept back into her thoughts. That smile of his was rare, but once you’d seen a flash of it, you longed to watch it spread across his face again. Olivia would have done anything to make Mourning happy – but in the world they lived in, that had never been in her power. He must be happy now, she thought. Now that he’s a doctor. Who would have thought? Educated, helping people. Why did I never do more than just teach him to read? What was the matter with me, to think that would ever be enough?

She always pushed those thoughts away, reminding herself how much she loved Nick and what a wonderful life she had with him. Which was true. It was also true that there was no point in moping about Mourning Free. Mourning could never have been with her the way Nick was. He might walk down the street with her, but always lagging slightly behind, and God forbid a finger should brush up against her. And it's not just because of the way the world is. Mourning is nothing like Nick. It isn’t in his nature. Not even a black wife would be able to get Mourning to talk with her, the way Nick does with me. Still, Mourning…She smiled, remembering the scrawny, shirtless, nine-year-old boy who'd come trudging out of the river to disturb the tea party she was having with her doll. Then he’d grown into a handsome young man who finally agreed to be her business partner, to come out to Michigan and help her claim her uncle’s old farm. Her best memories were of him out by the fire, playing his harmonica. And, later, of him whittling toys for Charlie. Her smile grew wider, remembering the way he’d mockingly called her Miz ’Livia whenever he thought she was getting too bossy.

Wiping away a stubborn tear, Olivia sighed and turned the pages of the proof of the Andrew Jackson book. It was her favorite of their Presidential series for young adults. Smiling again, she remembered how she and Nick had argued over it.

Don’t you think you may have been a tad too scrupulous about showing both sides of the man? Nick had been holding the manuscript, pacing about the kitchen while she was washing the dishes. Do we really need to shine a light on his terrible temper? The duels he fought, the soldiers he had executed? His wholesale slaughter of Indians? Not to mention the questions raised about the legality of his marriage. Do you really think that’s suitable reading for impressionable young minds? He'd let the proof fall to the table with a thud and waited for her to respond.

You’re the one's always bragging about publishing the unvarnished truth. She’d turned, hands clenched in loose fists, and flicked her fingers open, giving him a tiny shower of dishwater. He dramatically wiped the drops away, before his face rearranged itself into the expression that always softened her up. She stepped forward and put her arms around him. What was it you said the other day? ‘The truth is still the truth, no matter how much we might dislike it. Or how inconvenient it might be.’

He placed his palms on her cheeks, his face close to hers. Ah, but is it wise – or necessary – to tell all of the truth?

Well, of course it is. Olivia gently removed his hands, kissed the end of his nose, and stepped back. Anyway, it makes for better literature. Complicated characters are way more interesting than cardboard cut-outs. Andy Jackson may have been capable of clobbering a rival with a two by four, but he was also General Andrew Jackson, without whom the United States would have stopped at the banks of the Mississippi. Now that’s a story to get you thinking about people. About life. About the way the world works.

Yes, it is. Nick sighed. Maybe it’s too bad we didn’t stop at the Mississippi. At least then Americans wouldn’t be slaughtering each other down there on the Kansas-Missouri border.

Olivia ignored her husband’s last remark and spoke in her imitation of a southern drawl. Besides, everyone who ever knew the man said he was the most charming and courteous southern gentleman. She paused to flutter her eyelashes before reverting to her regular voice. As long as he wasn’t shooting you or bashing your head in.

Do you know how many people in Washington hated him?

Good for him. Those nobs are nothing but a bunch of stuck-up numbskulls who never have and never will give a dead rat about folks like us.

And you believe Andy Jackson did?

He knew what it was like to have nothing, didn’t he? To be no one and have no one. The man had a heart. Look at the way he cared for his wife. That’s a great love story. And the way he took in that little Indian boy, raised him like his own. I know, I know. His troops were probably the ones who killed the boy’s parents. She waved a hand. Contradictions. The man was full of contradictions. But he got things done, didn’t he? His troops would have followed him anywhere. Those fools in Washington – you know why they hated him so much? Because they knew that not a one of them could have defeated him, not on a battlefield and not at the ballot box. Not in their prayers and dreams.

At that Nick had raised both palms and turned aside. "All right, all right, I surrender. I see Jeremy finally managed to convince you about the virtues of the great Andy Jackson. But the first print run is only going to be a hundred copies. Total. For Detroit and Chicago and back east."

You’re the boss of that. She smiled. But why do you waste so much energy worrying about money? Business keeps getting better and better, she said, and then added hesitantly, Doesn’t it?

That has been true, he said, but began shaking his head. I just can’t seem to convince you that it isn’t going to last much longer.

Thing about that is – I don’t recall a single other person fretting about the big financial crisis you say is coming. She spoke the words, but her voice lacked certainty. When it came to worldly matters, she’d learned to trust her husband’s judgment. She had no patience for reading newspapers – which she thought were mostly filled with lies – and Nick almost always turned out to be annoyingly right.

He smiled and again shook his head. You mean none of the bankers you meet with bring it up? None of the suppliers and printers you negotiate with? He moved closer and behind her, to rest his chin on her shoulder. Oh, that’s right. You never talk to any of those kinds of people. Still, I’m most surprised Mrs. Porter hasn’t mentioned it.

She shrugged him off her shoulder. Nobody likes a smart-aleck.

He sighed again. Business has stayed great because the frontier keeps moving west. New immigrants keep pouring in, buying wagons and filling them up with supplies. The economy keeps expanding, and that gives people with money the confidence to invest it. In things like railroads and telegraph lines. The Missouri Compromise made everyone believe they could count on stability. New territories would keep opening up and everyone would go on making money.

So? She shrugged.

Do you remember what the Missouri Compromise was about?

Remind me.

He sighed again, as if she were hopeless. You only wrote a book about it last year.

You know I don’t pay much attention to that kind of stuff – once I get the right facts down on paper, they fly right out my ears. Anyway, nobody wants to read novels with a lot of politics in them. It’s the story that matters. What happens to the people.

Well, we’re talking about our lives, not novels, so please pardon me for boring you with details. The Missouri Compromise said you can’t let a new free state enter the Union without admitting a new slave state at the same time. And slavery wouldn’t be allowed north of a certain line.

Okay, now I remember. But what on earth does that have to do with selling books and Christmas cards and calendars?

It was good for selling everything. People felt safe because they believed they knew what was going to happen. Everything had been all worked out. Then Congress went and passed a new law. From now on, whenever a territory wants to become a state – like the Kansas territory does now – the people living there get to hold an election to decide whether it will be free or slave. And that’s causing a big ruckus down there, meaning that railroad stocks are going to drop.

So why’d they go and pass that stupid law?

He let out an exasperated poof of air. They had to. Remember that Dred Scott case? Not the first trial, not the one you wrote a book about. He paused and shook his head. Never mind. Forget all that. You won’t pay any attention anyway. The point is, as part of the second Dred Scott case the Supreme Court also ended up deciding that the federal government doesn’t have the right to prohibit slavery. Because of states’ rights. That’s why Kansas needs to have an election. That’s what’s causing the chaos.

She looked around pointedly, at the obvious lack of chaos.

It’s not affecting us yet, he said. But down on the Missouri-Kansas border, men are killing each other.

I did see that in a headline. Just couldn’t understand why on earth.

Abolitionists in Massachusetts have been organizing groups of emigrants to settle in Kansas – so they’ll vote to keep it free. And then pro-slavery men from Missouri also cross over the border, just to vote. Occasionally those two groups start taking shots at each another.

So now the railroad people are getting scared to build railroads?

More like the banks that loaned loads of money to them are getting scared.

Oh.

He worked the pump handle and offered the glass of water to Olivia, before taking it back to drink. That should be the worst of our worries. That fight down there isn’t going to end any time soon.

You think there’s going to be a big war.

Don’t see any way past it. Not unless some kind of miracle happens. I’d really like to get this house paid off before that happens. I never should have let you talk me into taking out a new mortgage on it.

If I thought the banks were going to collapse, I’d take out three more mortgages.

Thinking you wouldn’t have to pay them back? Nick set the empty glass on the counter and shook his head. Forget about that. It doesn’t work that way. Trust me, the bankers always get their money.

For a moment she stared at him with narrowed eyes. Hey. Last week weren’t you blaming California for the crisis about to crash down around us? No more gold.

That too. He opened the back door and headed toward his office.

Olivia went back to staring out the window, listening for horses. What’s Mourning need to talk to me about? Good great Lord, don’t pretend to be such a fool. You know perfectly well what he wants. It’s time for him to take Charlie to live with him. That’s what he’s going to say. And how can I say no? What right do I have? Anyone with half a brain knows Charlie would be better off with his father, with other black people, someplace he’ll feel like he belongs. Fits in. True, he’s always seemed happy enough here, but he’s almost grown. Even the haters can smile at a cute little colored boy. But a grown black man?

She rose and began pacing, but abruptly stopped when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bureau, no longer able to ignore that nagging question. How different do I look after nine years and two babies? Why didn’t I dress properly? What on earth was I trying to prove? I should change into that dress Nick’s mother sent me. It’s such a beautiful cobalt blue. Like a barn swallow. No, it’s way too fancy. Anyway, I’d probably just get these old rags off and there he’d come riding up the drive, and me flailing around, all tangled up in those stupid skirts. Every year they keep making them wider and wider. Pretty soon women won’t be able to pass through any doorways at all, let alone get into a buggy. And those stupid wide sleeves with another fake sleeve underneath. Why does it all have to be so complicated? Do the idiots who design them think we all have dressers, like Queen Victoria? Maybe I should go sit out on the porch. But what would Mourning think, me sitting and waiting for him like that? More to the point, what would my husband think? Do I even want to be alone when I greet Mourning? What am I going to say? Hello Mourning, it’s nice to see you again. How pathetic.

The door opened behind her and she started.

It’s only me, Nick said.

I’ve been having another look at the Jackson book. Just got up to think.

Shhh, he said and approached her. I didn’t expect you’d be getting any work done.

He kissed her forehead and glanced down at her worn trousers and work shirt. Not long after their wedding, Olivia had reverted to her old stubborn ways – dressing properly only when she had to go into town. She loved the freedom of her worn-out old clothing. Three or four times a day – when she couldn’t stand to stare at a sketch or manuscript for one more minute – she would take a break, going out to work in her vegetable garden or walk in the woods behind the barn.

You’re allowed to put a dress on, Nick said and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. We are expecting company.

Why? Do you think it’s disrespectful of me?

No. Of course not. I have no doubt he remembers how you despise fuss and feathers. And he isn’t company, is he? For you and Charlie, he’s family. So I suppose that makes him my family, too.

Olivia feared she might start crying. She’d never dreamed a man could be as good to a woman as Nick was to her. Could say things like that. Have such a big heart. And how do I repay him? By continuing to harbor inappropriate thoughts about another man.

Nick pulled her close and took a deep breath. I know this is … well, certainly not just another day. Not for me, either, I assure you. But let’s do our best to pretend it is. It can’t be an easy thing for Mourning – coming out here. The better you are at behaving as if he’s like any other old friend, no matter how dear a friend, the more at ease he will feel.

She puckered her mouth for a moment. Of course, you’re right. She reached to muss his sandy hair. Except, how am I to know how I usually behave with an old friend, seeing as I have none? She tried to sound flippant. What are the girls up to?

Gone fishing.

Little Lulu, too? Olivia fretted over their younger daughter, who wasn’t much past four years old. Her name was Louisa, but when she first began talking she’d called her big sister Lucy Lulu. So Louisa had eventually become Little Lulu, and Lucy was called Big Lulu by most everyone.

Don’t worry. Charlie’s looking after them. Haven’t you noticed? While you weren’t paying attention, he got all grown-up.

That did almost make her cry. Why can’t he stay young forever? Since when is fifteen grown-up? She managed to keep her voice steady.

I think Charlie was born grown-up. In any case, he’s grown-up enough to keep his little sister from falling into the river.

Olivia’s eyes opened a bit wider. It was the first time Nick had referred to Charlie and one of their girls as brother and sister.

And Big Lulu. He continued. "She may only be eight years old, but that one could swim across the