The Wives of Henry Oades (33 page)

“Not before the baby comes,” said Margaret.

Nancy seemed relieved. “He won’t go to prison.”

“He’ll be home before we know it,” said Margaret, adding something to the hope pot.

Hello, Little Bastard

T
HE FRONT ROOM
was now off limits at night. Nancy and Margaret would be sitting ducks silhouetted against that big picture window, said Titus. A one-eyed drunk could pick them right off. His old grandmother could.

“And I suppose you think you’re helping,” Nancy had said. “Scaring us half to death.”

He’d gone away in a wounded huff. “Just doing as I’m told, missus.”

Titus had taken Henry’s request to keep a close watch much too seriously, bunking in the buggy shed for the last week, right beneath Margaret’s window. He snored like a bear, Margaret said. During the day he lurked about, trying the locks, peeping in the front windows. Nancy could not so much as adjust a stocking in peace. The other day he caught her dipping into Henry’s brandy. She’d jumped seeing him, spilling what little she’d poured. He was worse than the bogeymen he’d been assigned to guard against.

N
ANCY OR
M
ARGARET
made soup twice weekly, enough to last Henry and his widower cellmate three days. Tonight’s first batch came to a boil while Nancy wasn’t looking and the eggs had curdled. She’d had to throw it out and start over. “If I ruin this pot,” she said to Margaret, “he’s going to have to settle for biscuits and jam.”

Margaret said nothing, her thoughts obviously elsewhere. She sat at the table darning Henry’s socks, a woolen pile growing at her elbow.

It was late, past nine. When they spoke, it was softly, out of consideration for John, whose door was closed. He’d been avoiding the family lately, coming in at odd hours, making cold plates for himself. At least Margaret had stopped demeaning herself by begging him to sit down with them, but her hurt still showed, and John seemed not to notice. Boys were like that. Girls at least possessed a guilt bone. A girl might cause a mother heartache, but she typically had the good grace to feel and express shame. Nancy almost wished she was having a second one.

Margaret put down the darning mushroom. “That’s enough for one night.”

A sound came from John’s room, a yawn or a moan. Margaret’s face clouded. She stared at his door as if expecting him to come out. “You look done in, Nancy,” she said. “Go on up. I’ll mind the soup.”

Nancy sighed, rubbing her belly. She missed Henry so, especially at night. The bed was enormous without him in it. “Do you want to sleep in my room tonight, Margaret? It’s not fair that I hog a bed when you’re tripled up.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” said Margaret. “We’re perfectly cozy.”

“Are you sure?” said Nancy. “It’s such a nice big bed, bigger than yours.”

“The girls and I are fine, Nancy. Go on now, have your rest. I’ll see to the lamps.”

“All right then,” said Nancy, disappointed. “I guess I’ll turn in.” Her back ached from standing at the stove too long. She felt older than Abraham’s Sarah with this baby. “Don’t forget that Mr. Grimes is coming in the morning.”

Halfway up the back stairs Nancy heard the scrape of a chair, and Margaret’s whisper. “John? Son? Are you awake, love?” Nancy lingered for a moment. If John replied, she didn’t hear it.

T
HE TRIAL
was to begin in nine days, Mr. Grimes unnecessarily reminded them. He arrived on time, getting rid of Margaret immediately, saying it was
imperative
to the case that he speak with Nancy alone. Margaret went away scowling. Nancy sat Mr. Grimes in the front room, and took a chair across from him. “How is my husband? Did he request anything special?”

Mr. Grimes reached behind a breast pocket and passed a single folded sheet. Nancy unfolded the note, glancing first at the closing, warm tears rising.

I love you now & always, darling wife.

Mr. Grimes shifted in Henry’s chair. “I’ve been working day and night on your behalf. Yours and Mr. Oades.”

Nancy nodded. “We’re grateful, of course, sir.”

“Been down to Los Angeles, up to Sacramento. I consulted with two judges, knew them in school, brilliant men. Probably the best legal minds in the state.”

Nancy slipped Henry’s note inside her pocket and gave Mr. Grimes her full attention. He looked tired for so early in the day.

“Here it is in a nutshell,” he said. “We can have the first marriage annulled, the stipulation being that the action must be brought about by one of the parties of the second marriage.”

“Yourself or Mr. Oades,” he said, when Nancy didn’t respond.

“I understood that much,” she said. “But I always thought an annulment meant that a married couple had never…” Nancy looked down, blushing. “…had remained chaste.”

“An annulment can be obtained for various reasons, Mrs. Oades.”

“Then why are you just now thinking of it?” said Nancy. “You might have saved our family endless grief.”

“It’s tricky,” he said. “Unfortunately, the children of the first marriage lose legitimacy.”

The anger brought her to her feet. “How dare you raise my hopes this way. How dare you come into our home and make such an indecent proposal! Just wait until my husband hears about it.”

“I’ve approached him already,” he said, wearily.

“And?”

“Mr. Oades says as long as the law allows him two wives his conscience is clear.”

“As is my conscience, sir,” said Nancy. “As is Margaret Oades’s conscience.”

“That is all well and fine, madam. I was attempting to spare Mr. Oades the indignity of another trial. It promises to be more unpleasant than the last. And that’s putting it mildly. He could go to prison for a very long time.”

“You mustn’t let that happen,” said Nancy.

“I’ll try my very best not to,” he said. “As for the children of the first marriage, I don’t see how they are any less stigmatized by the present situation.”

Nancy remained standing, her blood churning. “And whose fault is that, may I ask?”

He shrugged, shaking his head.

“I asked you a question, sir. Who would you say is to blame for our predicament? The Queen of England? The Maori Indians?” Nancy could not contain the shrill fury. “Ourselves? Is that what you think? Should we have barred the door? Should we have sent Mrs. Oades and her children, my husband’s children, away? They didn’t have a red cent to their name, you know. How were they supposed to survive? What would
you
have done in my decent husband’s shoes? I ask you, sir. I demand to know just what you—” A shadow slid by her peripheral vision. Titus at the window. She screeched, “Shoo!” flying at the window, flapping her arms. “Shoo, you! Get back to work, you lazy succotash!”

Titus went running, taking the porch steps in a single bound.

“Our hand,” Nancy said, embarrassed by her outburst. “He’s been a problem lately.”

Mr. Grimes calmly went on, as if he came across shrieking crazies on a regular basis. “To answer your question, I’d have the first marriage annulled, were I in Mr. Oades’s unfortunate shoes.”

“You’d brand your own legitimate children illegitimate, would you?” Nancy put her fists to her hips and bent, speaking to an imaginary child. “Hello, little bastard. You say you’d like to make a good marriage? You’re seeking employment at a reputable firm? I’m so sorry, dearest. It’s simply out of the question. You might as well run along now.”

The lawyer stood, hat in hand.

Nancy was breathing hard. “May I ask how many children you have, Mr. Grimes?”

“I’ve not been thus far blessed,” he said.

“I thought as much, sir. No decent parent would ask another to permanently scar their children.” The trembling sense of victory lasted less than a second. He settled the coldest look upon her and started for the door.

He would quit now, thanks to her mouthy ingratitude. Henry would have no advocate, and it would be her fault entirely. “Please, Mr. Grimes.” He turned. “May I offer you something before you go? Forgive me. My manners are atrocious. We have coffee, wonderful Arabian coffee from the Emporium in San Francisco. How does that strike you?”

“I don’t have the time,” he said. “If you’d like to scribble a quick note to your husband, I’ll deliver it this afternoon.”

Nancy went to the desk, taking out the good stationery and dipping the pen. She wrote hurriedly, having nothing to say to Henry just then, wanting only to please Mr. Grimes.

We are all fine. I will send John with soup and socks today. You are in my thoughts and prayers.

Yrs truly, Nancy O.

    She blotted and folded the note, handing it to him. “Please don’t hold my ravings against my husband.”

“The law impels me, madam. Not hysteria.”

“It’s just that I’m afraid for Mr. Oades,” she said. “My nerves, you know. It’s hard to think straight these days for the worry. I say things I don’t mean.”

He touched her arm, his stony expression softening. “I understand.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Grimes.”

“I must ask you to reconsider annulment,” he said.

“I couldn’t put Mrs. Oades through it,” she said. “Surely you see how it is. Her children are her world. They’ve all suffered so much already.”

He shook his head. “The trial could go on a week, maybe longer,” he said. “Be prepared.”

“It’s not a hardship,” she said, escorting him into the hallway, opening the front door to a moist gray chill. “John Oades will drive me in.”

He frowned. “I must advise you to stay away, Mrs. Oades.”

“Why?”

“Rightly or wrongly, people have their minds made up,” he said. “It’s in Mr. Oades’s best interest that you not attend. I’m afraid I must insist.” He started down the walkway, turning at the gate and giving a prim bow. Nancy waved, fresh fear for Henry welling.

Josephine came around the side of the house, dogs in tow. She was speaking, practicing one of her dramatic scenes. Margaret often asked her to recite, but Josephine seemed to prefer an animal audience. Nancy nodded a greeting. Josephine did the same and turned, going back where she’d come from, the dogs following.

Inside, Margaret emerged from the shadows. She’d been standing in the dining room the entire time. “I heard every word,” she said. “Thank you, Nancy.”

Nancy sank to Henry’s still warm chair, picturing him wasting away in prison, dying there years from now. The baby moved, putting pressure on low organs. If she’d calculated correctly, he’d come in three months, in June. “What are we going to do, Margaret? What in God’s name are we going to do?”

The Party Most
Principally Injured

M
ARGARET SAW THE BLOOD
when she went out for the eggs, dark drops of it in the grass. The craven murderers had used the chopping stump, leaving a sticky pool there. She followed the trail of gore around the side of the house and up the bloody front steps. The decapitated dog—Ham, John’s and Henry’s favorite—had been flung onto the front porch, blood and sinew splattering. The head, black eyes wide, gray tongue lolling, lay to the left of the door that was opening. Martha started out, cheerful, oblivious, humming a morning tune.

“Go back inside,” Margaret shouted.

Martha stood mute at the threshold, wet shock in her eyes. Her mum so very rarely raised her voice. In the next moment she saw Ham’s head and began to howl. Margaret stepped over the head and took Martha by the wrist, bringing her into the front room. She knelt, holding her convulsing child, whispering the first lie that came to mind.

“It was a mountain lion.” Natural predators were nowhere near as terrifying as the unnatural. “It happened quite quickly. Poor Ham barely felt a thing.”

Martha sobbed, “Did it have sharp teeth?”

“Yes,” said Margaret, stroking Martha. “I imagine it did. But you needn’t worry. The lion shan’t come round again. Titus shot him dead.”

Martha lifted her stricken face. “May I see it, Mum?”

“See what, darling?”

“The lion.”

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s already been disposed of.”

It all made sad sense to Martha after a while, as the truth would not to Henry. Margaret had never known him to be without a dog for very long. He treated them all like special chums, carrying on one-sided conversations without the least bit of embarrassment. Henry hadn’t changed, certainly not in the way he regarded animals. He held his cows in equally high esteem. He was the same man, really. As gentle as ever.

M
ARGARET WAS GOING AT THE
blood on the door when Mr. Grimes drove up. She had bits of offal on her work apron and hands from having gathered Ham. His carcass and matted head lay on old newspaper at her feet, waiting to be buried. Mr. Grimes came onto the porch, seeing immediately the stinking mound. He pulled a handkerchief from a breast pocket and put it to his nostrils.

“Was that a dog?” he asked, not pausing for her response. He apologized for arriving unannounced he said behind the handkerchief, though he was pleased to find Margaret.

“It’s imperative to the case that we speak alone, Mrs. Oades.”

“Your exact words to Mrs. Oades yesterday,” she said.

“So they are,” he said irritably. “Allow me a minute, will you? I’m pressed for time.” He turned and started down the walkway. Margaret followed, scanning the pasture for Titus. She wanted Ham’s body gone before John or Nancy discovered him. The mice had set Nancy back for weeks. A viciously slain dog might cause her to lose what little equilibrium remained.

Mr. Grimes led her around to the far side of his handsome carriage, as if to shield them from sight.

“There’s no need for secrecy,” she said.

He folded his handkerchief neatly and slipped it behind a lapel. “It’s the odor.”

Margaret scratched dried blood from the back of her hand. “We might have gone inside.”

“What befell the poor dog?”

“He was butchered during the night,” she said.

“By whom?”

A ludicrous question from an educated man. “No calling card was left,” she said.

He ignored the sarcasm, changing the subject in the next breath. “Here it is in a nutshell. As the party most principally injured by the second marriage, you are in an excellent position to bring suit against Mr. Oades and his second wife. I strongly urge you to proceed at once.”

Margaret recognized his little game. He was playing her against Nancy, seeing who would topple first. One way or the other he was determined to win Henry’s freedom. It did not matter who was in the way or what became of them. “I cannot,” she said.

He lowered his voice. “Bigamy is a hangable offense in California.”

“Do you mean to frighten me, sir? You said nothing about hanging yesterday.”

“I feared young Mrs. Oades might come apart if I did,” he said. “She’s a fragile lady. Unlike you, madam.”

“I bleed when pricked,” said Margaret. Her eyes watered to the brink of blindness. The stench was all around. It was warmer today than yesterday, and very still. “We have been acquitted twice now, Mr. Grimes. What has changed that would find him guilty?”

“It is up to the jury this time,” he said. “One cannot predict the vagaries there. I will tell you the general mood is ugly. You’d be hard pressed to find a single sympathetic individual.”

“Do
you
think us guilty?”

“I’m a monogamist,” he said, “if that’s what you’re asking. But that is neither here nor there.”

“It is very much indeed
here.
You should be standing solidly behind us. How will it look to the judge and jury if you’re not?”

“Believe me,” he said. “I’ve gone round after round with Mr. Oades on the subject. I’ve offered to retire myself over philosophical differences, but he wouldn’t accept.”

“As he wouldn’t accept an annulment,” said Margaret.

“That is correct.”

“From neither Mrs. Oades nor myself.”

“True.”

Margaret wanted Henry returned of course. She did not for a moment wish him in prison, even though she breathed easier when he was not about; she lived more freely. It was a selfish fact.

“It is wrong of you to go behind his back this way,” she said.

Mr. Grimes pulled a pair of fawn-colored driving gloves from his pocket. “Madam, I’m acting in his best interest. You’re in a position to do the same.”

“Even if I were willing, he wouldn’t have it,” said Margaret. “He’d disown me.”

“At least he’d have that luxury.”

“I could bring a dozen suits against him, it wouldn’t change a—”

“It would reduce the number of wives to one.”

“You don’t know him very well,” said Margaret. “He would continue to reside with Mrs. Oades, regardless. Nothing would—”

Mr. Grimes interrupted. “Oh, I doubt that very much. I don’t envision young Mrs. Oades consenting to an immoral arrangement.”

“There’s a baby on the way,” she said.

“I am aware.”

I just couldn’t put Mrs. Oades through it
, Nancy had said.
Her children are her world.
Margaret had experienced an involuntary rush of kinship, eavesdropping. “A successful petition on my part would label her children illegitimate,” she said.

He shrugged. “Unfortunately.”

“Henry wouldn’t have it!”

“He’d have no say.”

“I cannot go against him,” said Margaret. “Nor can I go against Mrs. Oades.”

Mr. Grimes shook his head, climbing up onto the driver’s seat. “You ladies make speeches, you clamor day and night for the vote, for this and that right, and I’m all for it. I sincerely am. But when it comes time to make a hard decision, a man’s decision, you turn to mush. You’ll never make progress because of it.”

He collected the reins. “At least do me the favor of keeping young Mrs. Oades away from the trial. She’ll only inflame the jury. People loathe her. You’re the rightful wife as they see it.”

“Who are
people
to say?”

“Keep her home, please,” he said, exasperated. “For Mr. Oades’s sake.”

“I shall take it up with Mrs. Oades,” Margaret said, seeing Titus striding past the barn.

Mr. Grimes clucked, shaking the reins. “Holy Moses, madam! Have you no jurisdiction over anyone at all?”

Margaret looked up at him, a hand to her forehead, shielding her face from the sun. “Only myself, sir, and my children. My two younger ones, anyway.” Mr. Grimes apparently did not care a fig that John had slipped beyond her reach.

S
HE FOUND
T
ITUS
in the milk room, sitting on a stool, straining milk through a layer of gauze. His right arm was bandaged elbow to wrist, wrapped in a filthy rag, for which he’d be cited if the inspectors came around again. Henry demanded the utmost cleanliness in the milk room.

“What did you do to yourself?” she asked.

Titus turned a baleful profile. “It’s nothing.”

For sanitary purposes the straining should have been done hours before, right after the milk was drawn, but she kept her peace. His right trouser leg had been torn or chewed, as if an animal had been on him.

“The dog was killed last night,” she said to his back.

He didn’t bother to turn around. “Which one?”

“Ham. He’s on the front porch. I’d like him disposed of straightaway.”

“Just as soon as I’m done here,” he muttered. “I’ve only got two hands.”

“Out of curiosity,” said Margaret. “Where were you last evening?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s it to you, missus?”

“Did you hear anything then, see anything untoward?”

“No ma’am.” He squirmed, letting out a low moan.

“Are you in pain? Would you like me to see to your arm?”

“I said it’s nothing.”

“Were you bitten? Is that what happened?”

He came to his feet with a minacious look in his bloodshot eyes. Margaret took several steps back. “I was in town last night,” he said. “Nobody ’preciates the way I keep an eye around here, so I stayed. I got into it with somebody, took a jab in the arm.” He unwound the rag on his arm and offered up the wound for inspection. It was a ragged gash, as wide as it was long, with specks of black in the blood. Any number of things might have put it there. “See?” he said, redressing himself. “A rusty old bowie knife did it. Not no damn dog.”

“I did not mean to imply—”

He kicked over the stool. “Sure you did! First you don’t like the way I’m keeping watch, next you think I killed your old dog.”

“I did not mean—”

“I’ll tell you who done it,” he said.

“Please do, sir.”

“Clarence Hawks, that’s who. Ain’t he sweet on your boy’s sweetheart?”

Anger sparked, thinking of Dora McGinnis. “My boy has no sweetheart.”

Titus smirked and righted the stool. “Hawks was in town last night, drunk as a skunk. He didn’t come out and say so directly, but he said enough. Had blood on his boots, too. He done it. I’d stake my last dollar.” Titus tugged on the ear missing a lobe, looking at her in sullen silence for half a moment. “I can see you don’t believe me, and that’s fine by me.”

Margaret didn’t know what to believe. The deed was done. The dog needed to be off the porch and in the ground. “I have no reason not to believe you, Mr. Crump. If you’re finished here, would you mind tending to Ham, please.”

Titus kicked over the pail of strained milk and stalked out the door. “Bury your own damn dog.”

Margaret started toward the house. John came running up behind, breathing hard. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Mum. What in Christ’s name happened to Ham?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping to have him buried before you—”

“The Maori were less brutal with the dogs!”

“I know, sweetheart,” she said, petting his arm. “Go back to work now; try not to think about it. I’ll see to poor Ham.”

“He was my dog,” said John, blinking back tears. “I’ll see to him myself.”

“I’ll help then.”

“No need.”

She insisted, carrying the head in a bucket, the shovel in her free hand. John walked ahead, the stiff putrescent body in his arms. He chose a spot behind the coach shed and began digging.

“We’ve seen so little of you lately, John,” she said. She’d noticed immediately the small blue bruise on his neck, and despaired that Dora had put it there recently. “Where have you been keeping yourself, son?”

“About,” said John. He paused in his digging to wave the shovel across Ham’s body and drive off the swarm of black flies.

“Will you join us for supper this evening?”

“If I can,” he said.

Margaret sighed with sadness, and went in to check on Nancy.

Nancy was dressed but for shoes and stockings. “I can’t find them anywhere.” She sat at the edge of the unmade bed, looking about the darkened room in a dazed sort of way, rubbing her belly. Margaret opened the heavy curtains, dust flying. She searched out shoes and stockings and brought them to Nancy. Nancy slowly finished dressing. Her voice was thin, anxious.