The Spoils of Sin (24 page)

‘You cannot simply
leave
them here,' she tried. ‘That is barbarous.'

‘I have done more than many men would do. They are clean and healthy. They will grow large and good-natured. I dare say you might indeed find one or two families soft enough to pay money for such a dog. Take them, with my blessing.' He glared down at Hugo. ‘And tell this fellow he is no longer welcome at my place.'

He unloaded his cargo with considerably more gentleness than his words might suggest. Pups trotted inquisitively up and down the street, with Hugo following them in stark amazement. Fanny put her favourite down, watching its progress like a fond mother.

‘It's a little bitch,' she told Carola. ‘So pretty!'

‘There is no space for another dog,' said Carola firmly.

‘The yard is perfectly big enough for a second kennel,' Fanny argued. ‘It is big enough for another six, in fact.'

‘That'll be for when she has pups of her own, I suppose? Sired by her own father, like as not.'

‘Let me take them about town, to test the response,' said Fanny resignedly. ‘I am teasing you, Carrie. A new dog would be a mistake, I know.'

True to her word, Fanny bundled the pups into the back yard, and selecting one at random, took it to a part of town where there were still open spaces with trees. The homes here were large and well-built, their owners confident of prosperity ahead. Boldly, she rapped on the front door of the first house she came to. It was opened by a boy of fourteen or thereabouts, whose eyes widened at the sight of the dog. ‘He is for sale,' said Fanny. ‘Ten dollars.'

The boy reached out, as Fanny herself had done, magnetised by the appeal of the youngster. ‘I will give you four,' he said.

‘Seven.'

‘Five.'

‘It's a deal. Should you not first consult with your elders, though? Will they permit you to acquire a dog without discussion?'

The boy had taken a banknote from his breeches and was holding it out to her. ‘I am my own master,' he said sternly. ‘And the dog will be an asset. What age is he?'

‘Six weeks. He will need milk to drink, and firm training. His parents are both of considerable size.' She felt a pang of concern for the little dog, at the same time as marvelling at the ease of his disposal. ‘There are four more,' she added. ‘Would you know of anyone else who might like one?'

‘Males or females?'

Fanny had prepared for the question. ‘Three males and a female.'

‘I believe you might try yonder.' He pointed to a large house on rising land to the east. ‘Their guard dog is growing old and they are seeking a successor.'

‘Many thanks, young sir,' said Fanny, thinking she might meet this lad again in the course of her business, before another year or so had passed.

The second pup sold almost as quickly, but the remaining three lingered in the yard for two more days, before both the males were purchased by a horse dealer who already possessed a strange-looking beast he said had come from China. Fully grown, it was not much bigger than the pups, and Fanny felt obliged to warn once more that they would become immense in time. The man seemed unconcerned.

‘Chemeketa has grown more than I realised,' Fanny told Carola. ‘There are whole areas full of new houses, that I have never seen before. They stand on land that was mere grass half a year since.'

‘No difficulty, then, in finding a home for Miss Grey,' said Carola. They had carelessly named the little bitch puppy, hardly knowing they did so. Left alone, she whined and yapped in the yard, until they sent Hugo out to entertain her. The resulting game was a delight to observe.

‘Most likely not,' said Fanny peaceably. ‘But I do not intend to go out again today. Time enough for it another day.'

Carola folded her arms and looked at Fanny severely from under her brows. ‘The dog must go,' she said. ‘Delay will only make it harder.'

Fanny bit back the protest that came to mind – that Carola might well find herself in a similar position in a few months time, and would she then be so heartless, when it came to finding a new home for her own baby? It was folly, she knew, to compare a human child to a dog, but the affection she already felt for Miss Grey had taken a secure root in her heart and the prospect of separation hurt her.

The pup's fate was quickly sealed, however, when a woman came briskly to the door the next morning and asked whether they had any more dogs for sale. ‘My friend's boy has taken one, and now my own sons are clamouring for a similar pet.'

It was the boy who had taken the first pup she was meaning. ‘There is just one remaining,' she said reluctantly. ‘A bitch. We call her Miss Grey,' she added foolishly.

‘May I see?'

Assuming the respectable housewife would be averse to stepping into a house of ill repute, Fanny left her standing on the veranda while she fetched the puppy. The faithless little creature showed every sign of adoration for the woman, the moment she laid eyes on her. Fanny put her down, and she rushed squirmingly to the newcomer, pawing at the hem of her frock, and squeaking excitedly. The woman bent down and lifted her up to her face.

‘Well, then, aren't you a sweet thing!'

Hugo now came strolling up to inspect the visitor. ‘This is the sire,' said Fanny. ‘And the dam is almost as large, I believe.'

‘I have seen him,' the woman nodded. ‘A good-natured giant.' She patted the great head, keeping the pup secure under one arm. ‘Might I adopt your little daughter, then?' she asked him.

It was with very mixed emotions that Fanny left Miss Grey go. The pain of separation dominated the relief that the woman was so soft-hearted. Until then she had only known her sister Lizzie to use such blandishments out loud to a dog. Hugo too seemed bereft, even after the short acquaintance with his offspring. He followed Fanny around, with lowered head, getting in her way.

And then the whole thing happened all over again.

The second time, Hugo's accuser was a lot less forgiving. The owner of the bitch tracked Fanny and her dog down, as the previous one had done, and came banging on the door one afternoon. At his side was a tall bony wife, and a ragged-looking daughter. His speech was mangled with expletives and incoherence, but the sense soon became apparent. His dog was employed to ward off intruders, kept on a chain outside. When it unexpectedly delivered six whelps, it managed to keep them hidden for almost two weeks in the back of a kennel.

‘I was for bashing in they 'eads with a rock, but tidn my way,' he spluttered. As far as Fanny could see, it was exactly his way of dealing with any nuisance, but she supposed that his womenfolk might have raised objections, as with the previous caller.

‘'Tis for ye to pay compersation for the loss,' he persisted. ‘They 'as to be fed.'

‘I regret the inconvenience,' said Fanny, instinctively adopting a superior tone. ‘But I believe you will find it a simple matter to sell the pups when they're weaned.'

‘Sell? How, pray?' It was the woman, speaking up for the first time. ‘Ye think we've the time to traipse around town like gypsies, looking for customers?'

Mention of gypsies gave Fanny pause. She scarcely recognised the word, and certainly had no direct experience of any such people. She could find no appropriate reply.

‘If we were back in Flathead country, we could trade them with the Indians. They make a fine stew from a young pup.' The woman looked her in the eye, hoping for a reaction.

‘Indeed,' said Fanny, making sure she showed no signs of disgust or alarm.

‘As 'tis, we'm out o' pocket,' pressed the man.

Fanny bade them wait, and quickly went into the house and extracted five dollars from their cash store. ‘Here,' she said. ‘This will pay for a good deal of bones and meal for the pups. I'm sorry for your trouble, but I believe it is the general custom to keep your dog secure when she is on heat. Our Hugo is not the only one you have to fear.' With difficulty she refrained from enquiring as to the eventual fate of the pups. The answer could only be upsetting.

The little family withdrew, grumblingly. When Carola heard the story, she gave Fanny a sceptical frown. ‘It's my belief they're visiting everyone they can find in possession of a male dog, and demanding payment from them all. What's to prove it was Hugo who sired those pups? Indeed – how do we know there are any pups at all?'

Fanny had to give this some thought. ‘Because those people lack the wits for such a deception. It takes a clever mind like yours to think up such a thing.'

Carola laughed, more than content with the compliment. ‘Hugo will acquire a reputation as a menace,' she warned. ‘Yet I see no way we can confine him. It would not be kind.'

‘It is assuredly the responsibility of the owners of the bitches to keep them close when they are on heat. The risk is all theirs, in the nature of things.'

‘You cannot carry the comparison too far.'

‘Which comparison?'

‘You are thinking of young men wandering abroad and spreading their seed,' Carola accused. ‘Just as dogs do. And, I suppose, all kinds of other animals.'

Fanny's gaze rested on Carola's abdomen, an image of a turbulent litter of unborn puppies filling her imagination. ‘The comparison does not hold,' she acknowledged. ‘In the matter of humans, there are times when the females are the wanderers.'

Carola sighed. ‘And reaping the results of going against nature, perhaps.'

They had very seldom spoken of Reuben Collins and his part in the conception of the child. The fact of his relationship to Fanny acted as an inhibitor to frankness on the subject. Carola had implied that she had been doing him a kindness, but also that her own inclinations were involved. She had liked him, pitied him and now seemed to wish to protect him. Not once did either of them raise the suggestion that he might, after all, make a possible husband for Carola. There would be no more visits to the homestead, except by Fanny alone. And the difficulty of travelling in solitude was such that the prospect was highly remote. She wrote brief letters to her family, sending them with a carrier who might take a week or more to reach the address. Replies were brief, but amiable. The crops were adequate, despite the lack of rain. Grandma was slowly failing. Nam had grown over an inch since winter.

And beyond and through and around everything they talked of, there was the gold. The word was used ten times as often as any other by the population of Chemeketa and every other settlement in Oregon. Stories that could not be credited flew from mouth to ear with every encounter. Palaces were being erected with the proceeds. Ships full of Irish and Scots were arriving. Adventurers were crossing the narrow piece of land between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, where it was tropical and disease-ridden, hiring all manner of vessel to bring them northwards to California. And always there were preachers and doom-mongers, uttering threats and warnings against this greedy pursuit of treasure.

‘They have some right in what they say,' remarked a man of middle years who was in no apparent rush to take Fanny upstairs. ‘I was raised to believe in an honest wage for honest work, earning a living by your own hands. This crazy scramble for easy wealth can come to no good, so far as I can see.'

Fanny smiled accommodatingly, and asked him what his line of work might be.

‘Trapper for a time, and then when the settlers began to arrive, five or six years since, I made myself handy as a fencer. Good fences are just about the most important place to start, when it comes to settling. No matter whether it be the square mile of land or an acre of backyard – the fence is the thing.' He laughed. ‘You'd not credit how ignorant men can be as to the best way to set up a good fence. A coyote can jump a fair few feet, not to mention the critters that dig away to burrow beneath it, and the bears that just push it aside with a single blow.'

Fanny could understand why he saw no need to rush off in the search for gold. He had made himself indispensable, and was doing well enough as it was. But he was yet to find himself a wife or even a permanent home, and she wondered what he would do when his muscles slackened from age, and he lost the necessary strength for fencing.

He was an easy man to satisfy, in the event. Quick, uncomplicated and grateful. He saw no need to speak of it afterwards, but merely buttoned his clothing and sighed with something that resembled regret. Fanny supposed that his opportunities for relief and the touch of female skin were limited, and wondered that he did not linger over it a trifle longer. She had no objection to his remaining with her for a few more minutes, but he seemed intent on leaving. She had heard another male voice downstairs, and it would seem that her considerate customer was making way for a newcomer.

The face of the man in the boudoir's main room was instantly familiar, and yet completely out of place. ‘Mr Fields!' Fanny cried in amazement. Her immediate thought was that her sister's husband had come for the usual reasons and the flicker of glee this elicited was worse than shameful. Then she looked more closely at his odd-coloured face, revealing his mixed parentage. A beak-like nose, lank black hair and close-set eyes made him far from handsome. Now he was standing awkwardly, holding a greasy hat in his hands.

‘He brings news from your family,' said Carola, who was sitting by the piano, very pale, with a hand to her throat.

‘What?' cried Fanny, rapidly visualising each of her relatives in turn, and trying to guess what might have befallen one of them. Or had the entire homestead burned down, killing them all at once? ‘Tell me! Quickly!'

‘Your brother,' said Mr Fields. ‘He had a dreadful accident, and is…' He looked at Carola, as if for assistance. Fanny frowned. Had he already told her the whole story, then?

‘Dead! Reuben is dead,' said the pregnant girl.