The Wives of Henry Oades (34 page)

“It’s this place, Margaret. It’s cursed. I swear it is. I’d give anything to leave today.”

Margaret waited until after supper to tell her about Mr. Grimes’s visit, saying only that he thought it best that she not attend the trial.

“He thinks it inadvisable, given your condition. He makes a very good point, you know.”

“I will not leave Henry to face his hateful accusers alone,” said Nancy, examining a torn thumbnail. “He’s done nothing wrong. And neither have we, Margaret.”

“We shall go together then.”

Nancy chewed absentmindedly at a raw cuticle. “I assumed all along we would.”

Margaret had assumed all along they wouldn’t.

The Wives
of Henry Oades

S
TANDING ON
M
RS
. P
OTTER’S
warped front porch, waiting for someone to answer the door, Nancy counted seven mud-dauber nests. She held Gertrude in her arms, wishing she were leaving her baby with almost anyone else in the world. Beside her, Margaret stroked Martha’s hair. “It will be all right, Nancy,” she said.

“I’m much too old for a nanny,” grumbled Josephine, who’d barely said two words coming over. She kicked at a cracked churn. “I’m nearly a grown lady.”

“Consider your father,” whispered Margaret. “We’re doing this for him.”

Josephine had begged to mind the younger ones herself for the duration of the trial. Margaret had refused to allow it, not with dog-killers running around loose. Nancy had been shocked to hear about Ham, but not bereft. She’d hated that scary animal. Martha had been the one to finally tell her. Left to Margaret, she probably never would have found out.

Mrs. Potter opened the front door. Martha gasped and began a low whimper. Nancy didn’t blame her. Mrs. Potter looked as if she’d stepped right out of a gruesome fairy tale. There was a shimmer of movement along her frizzy hairline. Nancy imagined lice, an entire robust colony on the march. Mrs. Potter held out a withered claw of a hand. The nails were thick and yellowed; the fingers turned in on themselves. “I’ll take my fee up front, if you please,” she said.

Nancy had the silver dollar ready. Mrs. Potter pocketed the coin and went for Gertrude. Nancy reflexively clutched her baby. “Maybe I should come in and put her down.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Potter. “She may as well get used to me right off, seeing as the trial could go on for a while.” She took Gertrude from Nancy, hoisting her to a bony shoulder like a sack of sugar. Gertrude squirmed, twisting her little pink face, her baby brow furrowed in bewilderment.

“She’ll be fine,” said Mrs. Potter, bouncing Gertrude too roughly. “They’ll all be jim-dandy.” She beckoned to Josephine and Martha. “Come inside, small fry.”

Margaret’s dejected girls shuffled inside, as if entering the house of detention.

“Don’t mind the smell,” said Mrs. Potter. “I’m making okra relish. The first batch burned beyond redemption. I was just about to start another. If you’re good girls, I’ll let you help.”

So she was going to put the children to work while charging Nancy a king’s ransom. The door with its broken hinge closed. Nancy stepped off the porch with Margaret, feeling like Judas Iscariot.

John had been waiting in the barouche meanwhile, occupying himself with a book. He was always reading, just like his mother. He climbed down to assist them up, treating Nancy like a breakable. How handsome he looked in his new blue serge. Even Margaret was glad now that the suit had been purchased. He’d outgrown the things he’d come in, and his smelly old work clothes wouldn’t do today. Margaret touched his sleeve.

“Up you go, Mum,” he said, not looking at her.

The three arrived late, as they’d planned, wanting to avoid people, mainly the newspaper people. Their scheme worked. Two gentlemen stood on the courthouse steps. One spat in their general direction, but neither came close, or said anything within earshot. The Oadeses passed peaceably, Nancy between Margaret and John, perspiring inside her wool cloak, a cumbersome ugly thing, a big plaid horse blanket of a wrap. It did nothing to hide her big belly.

T
HEY ENTERED TO
the gavel banging. Dora McGinnis sat on the witness chair, wearing the skirt Nancy had let out for her. Mr. Teal, the prosecutor, was bent over her, saying something Nancy could not hear. Dora looked up, spotting John, her lips parting. She put a hand to her heart, and he did the same, his eyes misting over. Margaret didn’t seem to catch the quick gesture, but Nancy did. They were obviously in love.

John offered Nancy his left arm, Margaret his right. They started up the long aisle to hisses and whispers. “Shame! Double shame on you!” Henry turned, looking over his shoulder briefly, obviously unhappy they’d come. Beside him, Mr. Grimes scribbled away, appearing calm enough from here, confident. But then he stood only to lose a case, no more. The fear ran through Nancy’s body like a fever, soaking her.

The judge gestured to three men seated in the row behind Henry, two ushers and a deacon from First Congregational, all dressed somberly, as if for a funeral. The churchmen moved to the back of the courtroom. Nancy sat in a vacated chair, John on one side, Margaret on the other.

Mr. Teal glared their way, heaving an impatient sigh. The judge gave a thrust of his chin, a signal to proceed.

Mr. Teal cleared his throat. “Now let us go back, Miss McGinnis.”

Dora sat like a lady, her gloved hands folded primly in her lap, her hair strained tightly behind, tidy for once. Her complexion was clear, free of visible blemishes. A stranger would call her pretty today. John Oades surely would. He could not take his eyes from her.

Mr. Teal turned his back on Dora, striding toward the jury. “You have the court completely baffled,” he said. Several of the jurymen nodded in agreement. Two others, one most definitely, appeared to be sleeping. Nancy wished they’d come in at the start now. Mr. Teal returned to Dora, shaking his head in theatrical puzzlement. “I don’t think you mean to lie, do you, Miss McGinnis?”

Dora shook her head. “I ain’t lied, sir.”

His hands went to his hips, an unflattering feminine pose. “Every word from your lips refutes your previous testimony. You are either lying now, Miss, or you lied before. Either way, you’ve perjured yourself.”

Dora cast a shy look toward John. “No, sir.”

“
No, sir
,” warbled Mr. Teal, mocking her. The rude man bent at the waist, putting himself face-to-face. “
Yes
, sir! Miss McGinnis. On December eighteenth of last year, right here, in this very same room, you swore on the Holy Bible to tell the truth.”

Dora nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“At the time you testified that the two Mrs. Oadeses were paragons of cruelty, that they engaged in debaucheries behind your back.”

Dora twitched. “I don’t think I said all that.”

Mr. Teal stood back, crossing his arms. “Ah, but you did, Miss McGinnis. You said all that and more. You said that they assigned you a tiny rathole to live in. Those were your own harsh words, young lady, not mine. You also said that the debaucheries took place while you were in the kitchen.” Dora shook her head in mute denial. Mr. Teal threw up his hands. “Now you’d have us believe that the wives of Henry Oades are kind and virtuous, good God-fearing Christian women, that the defendant here is the same, that he accepted both women into his home out of the goodness of his pure polygamous heart.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dora, to a rise of laughter.

“And what brought about this miraculous sea change?” asked Mr. Teal.

Nancy could barely hear Dora’s meek response. “Sir?”

“Are they paying you for your testimony?”

Dora spoke up, “No, sir!”

“No need to be afraid, Dora,” he said. “They can’t hurt you now.”

As if they ever had.

“Nobody’s paying me a penny, sir,” said Dora.

“Then how are we to account for your change in testimony?”

Nancy guessed it had everything to do with John.

Dora stared down. “I learnt some things between then and now.”

“Don’t equivocate,” said Mr. Teal. “What sort of
things
?”

“No chicanery, miss,” said the judge, shaking his gavel. “I’ve already warned you once.”

Dora looked at John, her bottom lip pulsing. John came to the edge of his chair, his fists curling, like a boxer poised for fight. Dora lowered her gaze again.

“Mr. Oades has but one true wife,” she said flatly, as if by rote. “Mrs. Nancy Oades is the one. Mr. Oades only took in old Mrs. Oades because she was destitute, because he did not want to see her go to the poorhouse, because he is an honorable man.” She looked up. “Old Mrs. Oades is a loving mother, you know.”

Nancy glanced sideways. If Margaret was hurt or insulted it didn’t show.

“I see,” said Mr. Teal, turning again to the jury, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “And how did the maid, who no longer resided in the household, become privy to such personal information?”

Dora frowned. “I rather not say, sir.”

“I rather you
did
,” said Judge Billings. “And don’t quibble.”

Dora’s round cheeks flamed red, her scowl intensifying. “I learnt it from my fiancé.” Margaret groaned. “If it’s anybody’s business,” snapped Dora. “And it ain’t.”

Mr. Teal pulled on his chin, leering in a knowing way. “His name, Miss McGinnis?”

Nancy and Margaret simultaneously turned to John. If Margaret hadn’t known before, she did now.

A Queer Life

M
ARGARET WONDERED
what Henry was thinking, if he could even tell that Dora was expecting. Men typically were the last to take notice. Would he rage—it would serve no purpose—or give John and Dora his begrudging blessing? The girl was at least four months along, rosy aglow with it. Whether John was the legitimate father or not, Dora had named him, and he’d quite clearly accepted. The woolgathering lad was happily tossing his life away. Margaret could cry. She could weep a bloody river.

The tedious prosecutor came to a finish at last. “It bears repeating,” he said. “Dora McGinnis is not a credible witness.”

Mr. Grimes declined to cross-examine. Dora stepped down, bowing her head as she passed them. Lovesick John turned and watched her exit the courtroom. Henry looked over his shoulder then, his troubled eyes meeting hers. He had guessed.

Titus Crump was summoned to the stand.

Titus never did return that day, saving Margaret and Nancy the unpleasantness of sacking him. They could no longer afford him. He ate like a horse on top of his pay. The cows would need to go as well eventually, if a buyer could be found. No one was buying Oades milk. That some of the cows had been marked consumptive would bring the value down that much more. Henry would see pennies on the pound for the remaining herd, if he was fortunate enough to see that much.

She and Nancy planned to go to Henry first thing if there was a conviction, whether or not he granted permission. (Prison was the very worst they’d considered aloud. The other, the inconceivable, had not once been given voice.) He’d forbidden them to visit these past weeks, out of concern for their safety. Notes were exchanged, but Nancy had not kept him apprised.

“He can’t do anything from his cell, Margaret,” she’d said. “He’ll only worry himself sick.”

He would not like the idea of their leaving, but what choice was left them? They could not run a failing dairy farm on their own, plain and simple. And they could not live ostracized in town, where butcher, baker, and candlestick maker refused their business. Leaving was their last and only option. Margaret pictured a clean city flat near decent schools.

Nancy had fretted. “He’ll think we’re abandoning him.”

“We’ll be but a ferry ride away,” Margaret had said. “Tell him that.” Nancy had hunted down the ferry schedule then and there, circling the arrivals in ink to show him.

Margaret planned to look for work in San Francisco, which would bring some financial relief. With any luck, she’d find a good post straightaway. She might teach French to American girls, or English to foreigners. It probably wouldn’t pay much, but they’d get by. Nancy was becoming better at stretching a penny. How could Henry oppose them? Particularly now that there were two babies, both child and grandchild, on the way.
Grandchild.
Good God. Her baby was having one of his own. She could scarcely believe it.

“T
HEY
’
RE NOT WHO THEY SEEM
,” said Titus, the earnest, damning witness. “I thought I knew ’em, but I don’t. They’re not like you and me, I’ll say.”

His testimony was a complete turnabout from his last. Mr. Grimes should have stood and said so, but he did not. He again waved off the offer to cross-examine, as if he couldn’t be bothered. The judge brought down the gavel.

“We’ll take a fifteen-minute recess. Latecomers will not be readmitted.”

John was swift to his feet, hat in hand. “I shan’t be long,” he said, blending into the buzzing throng. Margaret followed him with her eyes. She used to think she knew John better than anyone, better than he knew himself. A mother’s head is often chock full of illusion. As is a wife’s. Husband and son were both lost to her now.

Henry was escorted through a side door, led past four jurymen who’d elected to stay behind. One juror nudged a drowsy colleague, gesturing toward Henry with the stem of his pipe. Henry walked tall, putting on a sturdy show for Nancy’s benefit.

“It’s not going well,” said Nancy. Margaret said nothing, thinking the same. Nancy might need to learn to live without him as well.

John returned, breathless, bringing paper cones of lemonade, cold and sweet. Margaret passed a flimsy cone to Nancy. “Where did it come from?”

“Vendors on the steps outside,” said John, sitting beside her, still breathing hard. “All sorts set up. Jugglers, games of chance. It’s like a circus! I wasn’t recognized until after I paid, then the man wanted his drinks back. I laughed straight to his old mug and came away.”

Margaret touched his thigh, feeling a muscle contract beneath her fingers. “John,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes.

He looked away quickly, his face reddening. “Not now, Mum.”

Margaret folded her hands in her lap, ordering away the grief and tears. She didn’t succeed. John wordlessly passed his handkerchief. “I have a bit of a cold,” she whispered, pressing the hankie to her eyes. She kept it even after she’d composed herself. It smelled of him.

M
R
. T
EAL STARTED UP
again, facing the jury. “The law is to be construed according to its spirit and intent.” The jurymen nodded, a dozen sage gibbons bobbing. At least they were all awake now. Margaret twisted John’s handkerchief, unsure where the prosecutor was headed. Henry had been almost childlike in his spirit and intent. He’d tried to do right by everyone.

“Where the reason of a rule ceases, so should the rule itself,” said Mr. Teal. “And again, where the reason is the same, the rule should be the same. He who considers merely the letter goes but skin deep into the meaning!”

A commotion started in the back of the room, a loud demand to “Speak up!” The gavel came down. Mr. Teal cleared his throat, striding closer to the jurors. “Now in this case,” he said, gaining volume, pointing toward Henry. “The evident intention of the law was simply to provide against illegitimacy of the children of the second marriage.” The prosecutor grasped the oak rail corralling the jurors and leaned in. “Believe me, gentlemen, it was certainly never intended to make bigamy lawful!”

Nancy put a hand to her stomach. “Oh, dear.” Henry heard Nancy’s tiny cry and turned around, distressed, as did Mr. Grimes, irritated. The judge tapped his gavel, peering down over his spectacles. “Is the lady ill?”

All glaring attention fell upon Margaret and Nancy. Margaret whispered close. “What is it? Shall we leave?”

“Tell them I’m fine,” Nancy said, her pimpled cheeks on fire, her fevered eyes cast down. “Have them go on, please.” Margaret adjusted Nancy’s cloak, nodding to the judge, signaling that all was well. They’d done no one any good turning up today, least of all Henry.

Mr. Teal resumed, his features tight with contempt. As if they’d intentionally staged the interruption to thwart him. “Let us assume for a moment it is true,” he said, putting a temple of fingertips to his handsome chin. “Supposing that on the date of the second marriage, Henry Oades thought his first wife had passed. Let us say he truly believed himself to be a poor lonely widower, that he only did what any man in his same situation would do, given the opportunity. Say it is so. Let us allow it, for it makes no difference. The
intent
of the law, gentlemen, does not permit Mr. Oades to cohabit with two women. Once learning the facts, he did willfully continue to do just that, which is conclusive proof of guilty
intention
! He’s expressed no remorse while incarcerated, by the way. On the contrary. Let the defense convince you to set Mr. Oades free, and off he’ll go, I guarantee you. He’ll trot straight back to the
bosoms
of his family, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

Margaret winced at the crude remark. Mr. Teal paused, his eyes sliding toward her. For half a moment Margaret thought him moved by the sight of Nancy weeping, and imagined he’d recant. But he simply said, “The state rests.”

Mr. Grimes looked up from his notes, clearly surprised.

Mr. Teal made a stiff bow before the jury. “The law judges by the
quo animo.
The
intent
, gentlemen. It is what separates us from the beasts.”

A restless murmur started up, along with the rudest of all personal rackets, knuckles cracking one by one, sharpened fingernails raking along dry scalps. Henry turned. Margaret lifted her chin, a gesture of encouragement. A brief flicker of light came into his eyes. Mr. Grimes whispered something to him. The gavel came down. The men straightened and faced forward.

“Is the defense ready?”

“We are,” said Lewis Grimes, standing.

“He’ll show the rotters,” muttered John, giving Margaret’s hand a pat, a brush of familial solidarity, causing her heart to seize with love. If they only knew how little it took.

Mr. Grimes wore a somber black broadcloth and immaculate collar that fit him well. His bald dome was quiet, without a sheen. He seemed taller, oddly enough, a good thing, unless the jury suspected lifts as Margaret did, in which case they’d make game of him when they went off to deliberate, and Henry would pay the price of his vanity.

“Your honor. Gentlemen of the jury.” His voice was well modulated, an octave or two below normal, as if he’d rehearsed, aimed for a funereal air. He stood behind the defense table, a pale ringless hand resting lightly upon Henry’s shoulder.

“Mr. Oades’s marriage to Mrs. Margaret Oades was proved valid and lawful. The record reflects it. The record also reflects that his marriage to Mrs. Nancy Oades is no less valid and lawful. The second subdivision of the sixty-first section of the civil code provides that the marriage of a person having a former husband or wife living is void unless such former husband or wife was absent and not known to be living for five consecutive years preceding the subsequent marriage. That is the law in a nutshell, gentlemen. Let the law be changed. I, for one, would be all for it. But as it reads today, no man shall be held guilty of bigamy under the aforementioned circumstances, Mr. Oades’s precise circumstances.”

Mr. Grimes went on to cite the particulars of Margaret’s death by fire in New Zealand, providing the dated death certificate, reading aloud the obituary (“loving wife and mother,” etcetera). Margaret sat stunned at her own funeral, barely recognizing the eulogized woman. No one had the esteem of
all
who knew her. No one possessed uniform gentleness, or bore everything patiently. It embarrassed her to know the treacly rubbish had been published.

“She enjoyed sound health until the end,” said Mr. Grimes, reading without emotion. “She leaves a husband to mourn her death.” He laid the paper down, clasping his hands before himself. “However tempting it may be to do so,” he said calmly, “the law says we are not to convict my client. We must stick to the letter of the law, no matter how intolerable, no matter how egregious it strikes us. It is true, as Mr. Teal contends, that the intention must govern, but the language
is
the evidence of the intention! It is wrongly called interpretation when we alter the words.”

Margaret was astonished to see the old judge nod.

Mr. Grimes in his wisdom paused. A fly droned in the awful silence, on and on.

Judge Billings laid his pipe to rest and removed his spectacles. He rubbed his eyes for an eternity, saying finally, “I agree.” An immediate din rose up in the room, a babel of curses and prayers. The judge gave a lackluster rap of the gavel, facing the jury with a pained expression. “I’m instructing you to acquit.”

Henry turned around again, his tired eyes sparkling with happiness and relief, reminding Margaret of the night he delivered Mary.

The jury left, returning after a few minutes. The judge took a cursory look at the paper handed him and said, “You’re free to go.” No thoughtful homily was offered to Henry, no apology. Without the least bit of fanfare it was over.

Judge and prosecutor stalked off. The jurymen dispersed, grousing among themselves. Mr. Grimes gave Henry a perfunctory handshake, and then he too gathered his papers and left, without a single good word for his client. Henry came to his family, gathering them, herding them close. The sketch artist had made his way to the front of the room. He was watching them intently, drawing hurriedly. They’d be featured on the front page tomorrow, no doubt. No matter, no matter. It was finished.