The Wives of Henry Oades (29 page)

All She Knew
for Certain

T
HERE WAS A GOUGE
in the side of the overturned privy, as if someone had used a crowbar. Nancy sent Josephine to Henry with a note.

A prankster knocked over the privy. I so wish you were home.

Word came back that the privy would be righted before supper, and it was.
It is killing me, this
, he wrote.
I miss you terribly.

And Nancy missed him, more than she could have imagined. She said so in a subsequent note, asking at the same time about Mr. Strickland.
Has agreement been reached?

Henry sent John to tell her in person. “You are to be patient, Father says.”

“I’ve been nothing
but
patient, tell him.”

John turned red, stammering, “Under no circumstances are you to call upon the Stricklands again.”

“Tell my Lord and Master his bossy wish is my command.”

“Yes, ma’am.” John turned to go.

“Wait, John. Just tell him we are anxious to know the details, tell him in a nice way. And tell him I asked after his catarrh. Tell him I hope the honey and warm water solution brought some relief. Remember to say it as I said it, all right? Say it sweetly.”

Nancy received no response that day.

The following Sunday, the privy was stolen and carted clean away. A wagon would have been necessary, some plotting and planning by more than one. Notes were again exchanged. Lumber was scarce because of the earthquake, Henry wrote, as were bricks and mortar. All supplies were at a premium, but there might be some old logs available soon.
Will
that do, my love?

Whatever you think best
, she wrote. She and Margaret and the girls had pretty much resigned themselves to the inconvenience of chamber pots. All things considered, it was not the end of the world.

Mr. Grimes showed up the next morning unexpectedly, asking the same questions, confirming the date of Margaret’s abduction, etcetera, etcetera. Nancy need not worry her pretty head, he said for the umpteenth time. As he was leaving, he told them that the trial date had been moved back. A portion of the courthouse roof had collapsed during the earthquake. It would be December at the earliest, he said apologetically. “If we’re lucky.”

“That’s almost two months from now!” said Nancy.

“I know you want it over and done with, Mrs. Oades,” he said. “So do I.”

Nancy was glad for the extension. Mr. Grimes had mistaken shocked relief for disappointment. She’d begun to think that time was running out for them, that they might be made to suffer the trial after all. At dinner, she and Margaret discussed the wisdom of going to see Mildred Strickland again, speaking in couched terms in front of the children. They had not told them they were leaving. The girls missed their father. His absence, the glaring empty chair at the head of the table confused them. The situation was complicated enough already.

They ate in the kitchen that noon, as they often did now. John had raced through his meal in silence and then asked to be excused. The girls remained, dawdling over rhubarb pie.

“I might pay a call this afternoon,” Nancy said to Margaret. “If you’ll look after Gertrude.”

“Perhaps tomorrow would be better,” said Margaret, standing, beginning to clear the plates. “Henry was mending the fence down by the road only an hour ago. You’d risk rousing his…” she glanced down at Josephine “…interest.”

“You think I don’t know you’re up to something,” said Josephine. “But I do.”

Nancy spent the afternoon in the front room instead, boxing up the surviving bric-a-brac, feeling better once finished, steps closer to their new life.

It rained the next two days, the skies clearing finally on Friday. That same morning John came to the back door with a note from Henry. Mr. Strickland had rescinded his offer due to the damage done by the earthquake.

Try
not to worry, sweetheart. We shall prevail.

Margaret was in the kitchen too, on her knees, rubbing kerosene into the wood. Mildred Strickland coveted Nancy’s wood floor over her own ugly linoleum. How many times had she said so?

“Try not to worry,” muttered Nancy, tearing the note in two.

Margaret sat back on her heels. “Have faith. He means what he says.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “Not you, too, Margaret.” She went upstairs, flinging herself on the bed. She stared at a Texas-shaped stain in the ceiling, smelling Gertrude in her crib, her dirty diaper. A man can’t be married to two women. That was all Nancy knew for certain.

S
IX WEEKS WENT BY
. Nancy slept past noon on the best days, didn’t sleep at all on the worst. On the morning of the trial she was not able to fasten her blue wedding skirt. Margaret came in to help, tugging on both ends of the waistband. They stood before the cracked mirror in the bedroom, Nancy swearing under her breath. “Damn it all.”

Margaret squatted, squinting directly at the problem. As if she might will away Nancy’s thick middle by glaring at it. Moving the button an inch hadn’t done any good. Nancy was simply too fat, and she had no one to blame but herself. She’d been like a sow at her trough these last weeks, living on flapjacks, butter, syrup, and bacon. Margaret and Josephine had kept to schedule, putting on a normal supper at five, coaxing Nancy to join them. Nancy sat down with them a few times, but mostly she’d cooked for herself, always flapjacks, because they required no concentration.

Margaret pressed on Nancy’s corseted ribs, as if to move them inward. “Nice deep breath now.”

Francis had always preferred a trim figure, threatening to padlock the cupboards should Nancy become as stout as Mrs. Jenkins, the pharmacist’s enormous wife. Henry had never voiced his preference one way or the other. Francis was so youthful in memory, especially when compared to Henry. Nancy was actually older than Francis had been when he died, a strange realization. A boy’s ashes reposed inside her top bureau drawer. And she’d thought him such a grown, worldly man.

Margaret gritted what teeth she had left, exposing sore-looking gums. “I’ve nearly got it. Gently does it. Hold your breath.”

Nancy should have noticed the condition of Margaret’s mouth before now and found another dentist. She was no good to anyone anymore. Two days ago she’d let Gertrude’s first birthday pass without as much as a celebratory flapjack. She’d plain forgotten. That was the day the hooligans drove by on a lark, at least a dozen on a straw ride.

“Hello, Mormons! Hot enough for you today? It’s not half as hot as where you’re going!”

There were females among the boys and men. Nancy heard them. They were the ones who should stand trial, not she and Henry. They threw rocks at the house and started Gertrude and Martha yowling their heads off. The whole gay raft of them should be put away for life, the ringleader hanged. Lord forgive her, she was that angry and frightened.

“It’s no use,” said Margaret, letting go with an apologetic wheeze.

Nancy stepped out of the cursed skirt and kicked it aside. “It’s a sign.”

“It’s nothing of the sort,” said Margaret, picking up the skirt. She shook it out and smoothed the pleats. “Perhaps a small brandy would steel your nerves. Shall I go downstairs and fetch it?”

“Will you have one, too?”

“If it would help,” said Margaret.

“Never mind,” said Nancy. “It’s getting late. I’d need way yonder more than a small one, anyway.” She decided on the suit coat, her last option, a hot vise of unforgiving garment.

John drove Nancy into town, escorting her up the courthouse steps, where Henry and Mr. Grimes stood waiting at the entrance, along with three-quarters of the Berkeley populace, it seemed. Henry’s black broadcloth hung on him like a shroud; his cheekbones jutted. Their eyes met briefly before Mr. Grimes came between them, locking on to their forearms, steering them inside, speaking low and close. “Say nothing, Mrs. Oades.” Someone called from behind, a friendly male voice.

“Mrs. Oades, over here, please.”

Nancy turned, coming face-to-face with a horrible sweating man. He pursed his lips as if to kiss her.
Disgusting.
“Ignore them,” said Mr. Grimes. “Pretend they don’t exist.” She was walking much faster now, eyes cast down, marble floor swimming by in a blur.

They entered an anteroom just off the courtroom. Henry came to her the moment Mr. Grimes closed the door, embracing her and whispering husky endearments. “Darling girl, lovely girl.”

“Oh, Henry.” She was a heartsick, perspiring hippopotamus. There was nothing
lovely
about her.

“We haven’t much time,” said Mr. Grimes.

Nancy pulled away from Henry. She felt the room’s warm air seeping inside her clothes, causing them to shrink. The suit coat was unbearably tight now.

“How long should the proceeding take?” asked Henry.

Mr. Grimes riffled through some papers. “I expect to be finished today.”

Nancy pressed a hankie to the back of her neck. “Finished?”

He looked at her impatiently. “Finished. Done. Complete.
Fini.
”

“And then?”

“And then you and your husband will go home, have a merry Christmas, and live happily ever after, as they say.”

Henry took her hand. “Are you well, Nan?”

Nancy forgave him the idiotic question, probing Mr. Grimes. “Are you truly all that confident?”

“Madam, I am ninety-nine and forty-four hundredths confident. Just like the floating soap. Now with all due respect, I must advise you not to fidget as you’ve been doing. Don’t tug on your earring; don’t pull on your clothes. Sit up straight once inside, hold your chin high. You have been unjustly accused and you must act the part. Do you have any further questions?”

Festive sounds could be heard from the courtroom next door, a muffle of excited conversation and laughter. Almost as if a party was getting under way. “I guess not,” she said. A man can’t be married to two women. That’s all she knew.

The three went in, taking their places at the defendant’s table, Henry on one side of Mr. Grimes, Nancy on the other. The spectators were everywhere a body might go, packed in the aisle, perched on the windowsills like turkey vultures waiting. They were dressed nicely for the most part, as if for church or a hanging.

The judge entered and everyone stood. Nancy whispered, “Where’s the jury?”

Mr. Grimes whispered back. “No jury.”

Judge Billings alone held their fate. Why had no one bothered to inform her?

Mr. Hiram Teal, the district attorney, was a clean-shaven ham. He stood like Moses, his eyes fixed on the frescoed ceiling. “Bigamy is a sin against God.”

“Amen,” a woman shouted. The gavel came down. The audaciously calm Mr. Teal did not as much as blink. “There is no sense in belaboring the fact, no point in debating. It is as certain as the sun rises in the east and sets in the glorious west. Bigamy is a grievous sin against God.” Mr. Teal paused to drink water. “Bigamy is also against the law.”

From behind jackals began whispering. Judge Billings glared and they ceased. On Nancy’s left, shiny-domed Mr. Grimes studied handwritten notes, penciling in something now, not paying attention. He was unfortunately homely, a frog-lipped troll of a man next to handsome Mr. Teal, whose honeyed baritone oozed like righteous music.

“In 1854 the Republican party declared polygamy and slavery the twin relics of barbarism. In 1862 Congress outlawed plural marriage. More acts forbidding polygamy were passed in 1882 and 1887.” Mr. Teal ticked off the dates on his fingers, as if the spectators were to commit them to memory.

“In 1890 the Mormon Church advised members to abstain from polygamy. Why then? Why a full twenty-eight years after polygamy was outlawed? Not because they’d come to recognize the degenerate error of their ways at long last, I will assure you. No, it was because statehood would have otherwise been denied them, and because they wished certain properties returned to them. Those were the only two reasons. They had no intention of rebuking Satan, no intention of adhering to the law of the land. They went right on with their sordid debaucheries, just as the defendants here before us have. Mr. Henry Oades is lawfully married to Mrs. Margaret Oades, as it was recently proved in this very same courtroom.” Mr. Teal looked their way for the first time, aiming a cocked thumb and forefinger. “He therefore cannot be married to this lady, Mrs. Nancy Foreland.”

Nancy lifted her chin and stared him dead in the eye. To her surprise he smiled a boyish smile. “The state has no real issue with Mrs. Foreland,” he said. “She is a widow with a child. We have no wish to see her incarcerated, so long as Henry Oades is dealt with swiftly and appropriately.”

Again came whispering from behind, coughing, an audible belch, the scratching of a dozen pencils. Judge Billings brought down his gavel. “Get on with it. Call your first witness.”

Trying to read the judge was like trying to read a slab of granite. He sucked continuously on his pipe, exhaling a clove-scented smoke. Nancy could smell it in her gloves and taste it in her throat.