The Wives of Henry Oades (27 page)

Dickering

H
ENRY OFFERED
to write a letter to Margaret’s cousin and inquire about the button collection. Margaret said bother the letter, she’d only been wondering aloud.

Nancy turned from the sink, oily dishwater dribbling down her sleeve. She heard the squeak of a door hinge upstairs, a muffled thump of footsteps. “What was it you wanted to speak to us about, Henry?”

“It will keep until morning,” he said.

“We’re bone-tired,” said Nancy. “Just say what you have to say. Did something happen at the courthouse? Please tell us the charges were dropped.”

“They were,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “New charges were then laid. Against you and me, Nan.”

Nancy struck out at nothing, lashing the air with the dish towel. “You swore to me, Henry Oades! You swore on the Bible that it wouldn’t, it
couldn’t
, happen. What is the bogus charge this time?”

“The same. Open and notorious cohabitation and adultery.”

Margaret croaked out a noise. “Preposterous.”

“You were there,” said Nancy. “Have you known all day?”

“No indeed,” said Margaret. “I was made to wait in the carriage.”

“I plain refuse to accept this,” said Nancy. “We were legally married, in both the state’s eyes and Almighty God’s!”

“Which we shall prove in no uncertain terms,” said Henry, coming to her.

Nancy flung the dish towel and stormed up the back stairs, catching Josephine and Martha, sneaky little eavesdroppers, on the landing. The girls fled back into their room, pale nighties flapping. Nancy escaped to her bedroom, blind with rage. She tore off her housedress and apron, peering over Gertrude’s crib—asleep, thank God. When Henry came in, Nancy was under the covers, facing the wall. “Nan, sweetheart?” She didn’t respond. He slipped in beside her, saying nothing more. She was seething, breathing like a dog in heat. Hot sleepless hours passed before she calmed, before she remembered how much he loved her. He would see that they had to leave this hateful place. She would make him see.

N
ANCY BLURTED
out her plan the moment he stirred. “I think we should go to San Francisco.”

Henry got out of bed, floorboards creaking beneath his huge feet. He went first to the baby as always, looking down at her in the dark.

“Margaret and I have already discussed the idea some,” Nancy whispered. “We’ll just go and send for the furniture later. Or we’ll sell it all and buy new. That might be best. It fries me no end to turn tail when we’ve done nothing wrong, but what else are we supposed to do, Henry?”

He lit a lamp and took his drawers from the peg, the same pair he’d worn ten days running. Tomorrow would make eleven, for shame, for shame. Dora had produced a clean pair every week without fail. Fastidious Francis would have protested by the eighth day. Henry, though no less particular about his hygiene, hadn’t made the first peep.

“I want nothing more than a return to relative normalcy,” he said.

Nancy sat up in bed, hugging her knees. “Then we agree.”

He buttoned up, pulling on the drawstring. “We cannot simply light out. The farm and animals would have to go first.”

“Fine.” She began mentally packing up the room, leaving the old farmer’s ugly drapes behind. “Fine and dandy! Let them go. Sell the whole kit and caboodle to the highest bidder.”

His dirty wool shirt came next, trousers and suspenders. He sat to pull on his boots. “I’ve had an offer to purchase.”

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”

“It was too soon,” he said. “And there’s still the matter of the impending charges.”

“They won’t come after us. Good riddance to the Mormons, they’ll say. And let them try and find us, anyway. We’ll change our name if necessary. Or go farther. Sacramento, maybe. Why not? Tell me about the offer.”

“Sweetheart, please,” he said. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

She drew up the blanket, shivering with determination. They were going. It was simply a matter of when. “Who made the offer?”

Henry sighed. “Horace Strickland.”

“Mr. Strickland! Really.”

John could be heard downstairs now, rattling around in the kitchen, making coffee for his father and himself. “The offer was far too low to consider,” said Henry.

“Well, you have to dicker,” said Nancy. “My father taught me that much, at least.”

Henry stuffed his gloves inside his coat pocket. “You need to leave these matters to me, Nan. The bounder sees a ripe opportunity to capitalize.”

Left to Henry, they’d still be here next month. “What are you asking?”

“Five thousand, with the animals. Now go back to sleep.”

“Five thousand! My goodness. I had no idea. What did he offer?”

“Two.”

“Maybe I’ll call on Mildred Strickland.”

“Don’t. It will serve no purpose.”

He put on his hat, pushing it cockeyed. “You tossed the night long. Try and get a little rest before Gerty wakes up.”

“We should strike while the iron is hot, Henry.”

He pinched out the flame and came to her in the dark, kissing the bridge of her nose. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. Close your eyes now.”

Nancy had already made up her mind to pay Mildred a visit.

“D
ON’T LET ON
that we’re leaving,” said Margaret, when Nancy told her.

“I’m not a complete nincompoop,” said Nancy.

Nancy set out for the Stricklands on foot because Henry had taken the small rig into town to see the lawyer. She didn’t want to involve John in her plan, have him drive her in the barouche, which Mildred might regard as uppity on so nice a day. She wore a dowdy featherless hat, and carried a basket of red carrots and lettuce from the garden, just the type of humble hostess gift Mildred would appreciate.

The Stricklands didn’t live far, about six miles north. She and Henry had once been invited to play cards with them. Mildred, too, was a widow who’d married an older gentleman, not recently, but the experience was the same. Nancy thought she’d found a friend for life because of the similar situation.

She arrived just after noon, perspiring and footsore, her speech running through her head. She’d written a note, in case Mildred wasn’t receiving. Margaret had thought up most of it.

…
In regards to our property, it would behoove you to act quickly. Other parties have expressed interest.

Nancy covered the wilted lettuce with the carrots and rang the bell. The porch swing had been painted since she last visited. She reminded herself to compliment the nice finish.

Dora McGinnis came to the door with her chin in the air.

“Well, hello, Dora. My, you’re looking well.”

“Are you expected, ma’am?”

Mildred came bustling up behind. She was the fidgety, frenzied type, with sewing needles saved in her sleeve, a pencil caught up in her graying knot. She was expecting again. That would make six, or was it seven now? “Oh, dear, girl,” she said. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

Nancy offered the basket. “I haven’t been ill, Mildred.”

“The domestic arrangement,” she whispered, her eyes sliding toward Dora.

“We’re managing,” said Nancy, looking at Dora.
Make the first smart remark, little missy, and you’ll feel the sting of my hand.

“Refreshments, please,” said Mildred. Dora arched an eyebrow and left.

“She’s working out nicely,” said Mildred, taking the basket, saying the carrots looked too good to eat. “You shouldn’t have, Nancy. Come in out of the heat. Dollars to doughnuts you’re here about the farm. Am I right? What if we hens came to an agreement on our own? Wouldn’t that be something?”

Nancy followed Mildred inside, feeling light and confident. The deal was as good as sealed already. She wouldn’t wait. She’d tell him right away.
There’s not much to say, Henry. We dickered awhile, but that’s how it’s done.

They sat in the cramped front room, where a child’s cot was pushed up against the piano. Dora brought in lemonade and gingerbread that Nancy picked apart but did not eat, fearing saliva or worse had been added.

Mildred moaned after eating a few bites, patting her rounded middle. “It’s not the same, the second husband, is it?”

“Well, no,” said Nancy, thinking the comment strange. There was nothing to compare to first love. “You couldn’t expect it to be.”

Mildred’s expression softened. “Your first husband was young, too, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Nancy. “Francis was only twenty when he passed, God rest his sweet soul.”

“My Dicky had just turned twenty-two,” said Mildred, tears glistening. “Lockjaw.”

“I remember you telling me, Millie,” said Nancy. “It was a terrible tragedy.”

Mildred licked her finger and pressed it to the plate, attracting crumbs. “Do you recollect the time we had you to supper?”

“Of course. Henry and I had only been married a week. We played whist. I don’t think I won a single trick all night.”

Mildred waved a hand. “You played fine. I was just recalling our husbands, how they looked, sitting across from each other, Horace’s bald head blazing away in the mirror. I remember thinking, what have we done to ourselves, you and I? Saddling ourselves with these old men. Older than Methuselah, but that doesn’t stop them, does it?” She patted her middle again. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

“I can’t say that I do,” said Nancy.

Mildred clucked, rolling her eyes. “Never mind, Nancy. I’m bound for the madhouse. But then what wife with half a brain isn’t? Let’s get down to business, shall we? Why are you giving up that wonderful place?”

Nancy said they were moving into town for the children’s sake. “The girls will be starting Miss Stanley’s Academy soon. Driving into town every day would be too much of a hardship.” Margaret had come up with the excuse, though their reason for leaving did not seem to matter to Mildred.

“I’d sell my soul for your spacious front room and kitchen,” she said.

For the next half hour they negotiated back and forth politely. Obviously, they could not reach an agreement on their own, without their husbands’ approval. They did all the preliminary work, though. A signature here and there, and that would be that.

“Will you be taking the furnishings?”

“Could you use them, Millie?”

Mildred practically fainted with delight, offering another fifty dollars. That brought the grand total to thirty-five hundred even, a fortune. Nancy couldn’t wait to tell Henry and Margaret. Mildred brought out sherry to celebrate, pouring into tiny blue glasses, hardly bigger than thimbles. Nancy had had two before she knew it.

“If I may speak frankly,” said Mildred, as Nancy stood to leave.

Nancy pulled on her gloves. “Of course, Millie.”

Mildred spoke carefully. “I continue to regard you as a Christian friend.”

Something unpleasant was coming. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

“I worry about you,” said Mildred.

“Please, don’t. I’m fine.”

“You must do something about that woman, Nancy.”

“Such as?”

“Such as shipping her straight back to her people.”

“Her parents have passed.
We’re
her people now.” It was true. There was no other place for Margaret to go. Why couldn’t people get it through their thick skulls?

“I’m sure there are charitable services where she comes from,” said Mildred. “Some equivalent to the Berkeley Benevolent Society.”

Nancy folded her arms. “I’m sure you’re right. What about the children?”

“What about them?”

Mildred was no better than Mrs. Dooley. “You’d ship them thousands of miles from their father? Never to see him again? That’s your
Christian
proposal?”

“I’m not standing in judgment, Nancy. I’m only looking out for your best interests.”

Nancy headed for the door. There was no point in carrying on.

“If I were in crisis I’d expect you to speak up, out of our old affection.”

“I’m not in crisis, Mildred. Good-bye. Thank you for the refreshments.”

Mildred followed her onto the porch, scanning the darkening sky. “It looks like rain. I could round up one of my boys, have him drive you.”