The Wives of Henry Oades (4 page)

“
Five
years,” said Margaret. “I cannot begin to imagine.”

Henry dipped behind the curtain and picked up the chipped chamber pot. “Come along,” he said to the children. “We’ll let Mum have a rest.” The three traipsed out. Mim followed on their heels. “I’m just round the corner,” she said before leaving.

Margaret closed her eyes, stupid with exhaustion. Moments later, on the other side of the wall, there came a clatter of pans, an angry man bellowing, “Get to it!”

A woman screeched, “Not on
your
bloody say-so.” He was a toad, an idler, a no-good. Her mother was right about him. She was a cow, a common draggletail. His brother was right about
her.
Margaret removed the pretty slipper meant to impress the governor and threw it against the wall. The man sneezed a blustery sneeze. Then all went silent. She retrieved the shoe and closed her eyes again.

She had wondered about the neighbors, never having lived where people were above, below, all around. She’d looked forward to it actually, had imagined a warren of like-minded women her own age, all helping one another, exchanging recipes and such. She nodded off, her head heavy as a melon. The next thing she knew a woman was letting herself in, butting the door open with a broad hip, a bulging sack in one arm, a limp tick folded over the other. Margaret came to disoriented, assuming herself at sea. “Hello.”

The woman grinned. “Your boy happened upon a little playmate.”

“He’s a friendly one,” murmured Margaret. She recognized the moldy place now, the stout woman with the overbite. “Where are they, Mim?”

“In the yard. No need to worry. Your mister’s minding them just fine. Lucky you, landing such a prize. Otherwise you’d string him up here and now, wouldn’t you?” Mim proffered the sack. “Give us a hand, will you?”

They laid out the supplies on the kitchen table, their backs to the one dirty window. Mim had brought back a sleeping pallet, lamp oil, tea and supper things. There were cheeses, sausages, toffees for the children, and a bottle of red wine.

“You shouldn’t have,” said Margaret, overwhelmed. “You’re much too generous.” The cracked linoleum rolled beneath her feet. The cupboards shifted with every turn of her head. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?” It shamed her to offer hospitality from such a cesspit. “If you can bear it, that is.”

“Don’t be discouraged,” said Mim, slicing the sausage, laying it out on the clean plate she’d thought to bring. “Elbow grease is all. A good scrubbing, a new curtain or two.”

“I suppose,” said Margaret, looking about. There was nothing to see out the filmy panes but brick. “There’s a horrid smell.”

“Like mutton left cold and forgotten,” said Mim.

“More on the order of entrails,” said Margaret. “An old goat’s viscera.”

“Or an old man’s work drawers,” said Mim.

Margaret laughed. “After a bout with the trots.”

Mim pulled a corkscrew from her pocket. “A wee drop to sweeten the stench?”

“No, thank…yes, thank you. Thank you very much indeed. It couldn’t hurt.”

Mim took a throttlehold on the bottle. “You’re dying to wring his dear neck, aren’t you?”

The children were coming up the stairs, chattering in healthy voices. Margaret thought yellow curtains might be nice, a cheery color to stand in for the light.

Mim wrestled with the corkscrew, perspiration collecting above her lip. “You’d like nothing better than to put a pillow to his darling face and murder him in his sleep for carting you and the little ones halfway round the world.”

Henry came in. Mim’s scorched cheeks blazed brighter with embarrassment. “A figure of speech, Mr. Oades.”

“She’s offered to wring my neck for less,” he said, folding an arm about Margaret, kissing her temple. “Haven’t you?”

“I don’t recall it,” Margaret said, swaying against his side. If only the dingy room would still itself. He spoke close to her ear.

“Imagine us crabbed old sots before the fire, telling our spoiled grandchildren about the days spent here.” He bent over in parody, an ancient on a walking stick. He felt and looked feverish, in need of a bath and sleep. He took a bit of cut sausage and put it to her lips. “Have a taste, Granny. Or haven’t you any teeth to enjoy it?”

She ate the sausage to please him, to allow him to quit the nonsense.

“It’s quite delicious, Grandpapa.”

He kissed her again. “It’s not forever.”

Mim said, “I didn’t speak to my husband for the longest time after we came.”

Margaret looked at Henry. “Do you promise?”

Wellington
March, 1892

Dearest Parents
,

We have moved at long last, loved ones. Henry borrowed a dray from Mr. Sweeny. (“Leased,” I should say. The miserly man charged us for the use of his rickety conveyance & sickly mule. He wasn’t in need of either at the time, I might add.) But no matter, we have arrived. We have traded our cramped flat for a lovely cottage by the water & are glad for having done so. There’s not another soul within sight. Instead of rowing neighbors one hears only the rushing river and the wind blowing through the trees. It is the perfect tucked-away place.

We are swiftly moving into autumn, though our world is still abloom. The former tenants, Dr. Garrett and his wife (returned to England due to old-fashioned homesickness), left healthy roses behind, yellow mainly, & some red. We have gardenias as well, sweet violets, fuchsia & blue hydrangea as big as a baby’s head!

The cottage itself sits upon a gentle rise & is quite suitable, but for an infestation of moths. Henry treated the problem with turpentine, but it has not done much good. He says I must give it time. (I say I must give it every last frock!) Too, we’ve a leak directly over our bed. Henry promised to repair the roof, but has yet to get round to it. I lack the heart to keep after him. We would have remained in town, had he had his way. Now that we’re here he is obligated to rise long before the sun & start out in the dark, on primitive clay roads.

You asked about Henry’s duties. He is the one to calculate the distillery’s every last expense, which is no small feat. It is not merely a matter of keeping count of the pencils & pens & kegs. He must also keep a close eye on the workers. If a man is tardy or loafs, Henry must determine and assign a cost. He likens Mr. Freylock, his supervisor, to the English master at Kings School who left him in charge of the younger boys & then popped in every ten minutes to see that Henry was running things properly. You know the sort. Henry tolerates Mr. Freylock far better than I would.

’Tis the mud season. Henry will often stay in town after a big rain, rather than risk becoming stuck. Then too, he is both bakeryman & dairyman, as no one will make deliveries this far north. He’s made his fair share of sacrifice. I shall learn to live in harmony with the moths & drips. The tranquillity is more than worth it.

Mum, I picture you reading this letter aloud to Dad. You are situated on the green chair, cup at your left, the tea in it gone cold. Dad sits across from you, old Grazer snoring at his feet. Have I drawn an accurate picture? Is Dad grousing: “Flowers & moths & muddy roads! Will she ever come round to mentioning the children?
”

Patience, Father dear. (Is he rolling his eyes to the heavens now?)

By now you have received the photograph. It is not a bad likeness, though the sun was in our eyes. You must forgive my lunatic’s smile. Our precious twins put it there. (Martha in Henry’s arms, Mary in mine.) They are the dearest of baby girls. I cannot wait for you to meet them. They are feeding well & sleeping four hours at a stretch. Do put the photograph in a safe place, by the by, as we shall not be sitting for another. Every mother wants a photograph to send home, & so the photographer gets away with charging a ludicrous fee. “A solid gold frame should be included in the price,” I said. The pompous dandy suggested I take my business elsewhere, knowing full well I wouldn’t, as he has no competitors worth considering in Wellington. At the end, I found myself cajoling him, much to my shame. I not only paid his ridiculous fee, but laid out supper as well! The blackguard enjoyed my kowtowing. He relished every last minute of it.

Were you shocked to see how Josephine has shot up? She so appreciated the embroidered apron her granny sent, but is close to outgrowing it already. Such a joy she is, & such a fine & willing helper! Sunday last she prepared a potted hare that I’d be proud to serve the governor. I’m enclosing the recipe. The more butter you add the better it will taste. It should keep nicely in a cool place for several weeks. Her sewing is coming along as well. Pheeny shall make a splendid wife one day. I’d worry were she ten years older. Dr. Garrett’s handsome daughter married a local lad. It broke Mrs. Garrett’s heart to leave her child so far behind. I had her to tea before they sailed. She had quite the long sob, believing she’d never see her daughter again. I offered to keep an eye on the young woman, but what good does that do Mrs. Garrett, really? It’s an unnatural business, putting impossible distance between parent and child. I, for one, have had my fill of it. I plan to stay put once home. You have my word, & Henry’s word as well.

John is kept in books & so is thriving. He is particularly keen on the stars & planets these days & has recently struck up a correspondence with a member of the Royal Astronomy Society. He’ll no doubt meet boys his own age once enrolled at the new school. In the meantime, our son’s closest chum is a pensioner of eighty-four!

Good news: You’ll remember my mentioning Anamim Bell, the sailmaker’s wife. I am happy to report that she has talked her husband into moving up this way. Mim is grand company. She is cheery & not one bit overdone about it. She vows we shall sit our husbands down & teach them to play euchre. Now if only I might magic you dears over for a hand or two. I miss you both so. As of today, ten months and three weeks remain. Pray the time flies.

Your always loving & devoted daughter,
Margaret

O
N
W
EDNESDAY
Henry returned home with a bottle of wine and a sack of hard candies for the children. Margaret followed him into their bedroom, where he hung his hat and coat, and followed him out again. “What’s the occasion?”

He laughed a nervous laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “You’ll never guess.”

In the front room he bent over the babies in their cradles and made foolish noises. John came in, bombarding Henry. “Dad! I’ve taught the dogs seven new tricks. Come round back and see.” Josephine continued laying out the soup plates. She called to her father, competing for attention.

“Give your father a moment’s peace,” said Margaret. She met his eyes. “What is it, Henry?”

His gaze shifted to the ceiling. “I’ve been promoted.”

“Oh, Henry. What does that mean precisely?”

“It means I’ve a dozen men below me now. It means another ten quid per week.”

“In terms of time,” she said. “Tell me we’re not staying on indefinitely.”

John and Josephine stood silently watching. Henry took his place at the table and motioned the children to take theirs. “It’s an honor, Meg.”

“I’ve no doubt,” said Margaret, striving for calm. She brought out pea soup and a platter of ham and sat. “Let us be family now.” It was what she said every evening. Henry and the children bowed their heads for grace. “Are we staying on, Henry? Just tell us that much.”

“Not indefinitely,” he said, looking up briefly.

“Oh, Henry.” Margaret bowed her head and pressed her fingers to her burning eyes.

The twins were three months old now, a demanding set at times. The move from the flat to the cottage had been fraught with frustrations great and small. Granted, she was tired, overly prone to dark moods these days. Still. They’d been less than a year shy of their return. How could he?

“A M
AORI LAD
was publicly flogged today,” Henry said after grace.

“That’s hardly a subject for the table,” said Margaret. It was like him to negate one problem with another more dramatic.

John’s face was vivid with interest. “What was his crime?”

“Please,” said Margaret. Mary started up, the fussier of the two. Margaret went to her and rocked the cradle with her foot.

“He pinched a keg of rum,” said Henry. “Or so it was charged. He didn’t look the sort. A grand display was made of it. Several dozen Maori were lined up, forced to witness the lashing. As a lesson, I presume. A tribesman from the church was there. The lovely tenor? What’s his name, Meg?”

Mary squawked, waking Martha. “Bring a cross lass to me,” Henry said. Margaret brought Mary, intentionally handing over the more sour-smelling and cranky. He held her in the crook of one arm, smiling down, transformed as always. “Turns out the lad was a royal. The governor says there’s bound to be trouble.”

“That’s enough now,” said Margaret.

“F
ORGIVE ME
, H
ENRY
,” she said next morning. He was dressing in the far corner by wavering lamplight. Her voice gave him a start. “I was purely selfish.”

He came to her just as she sat up, cracking his forehead against hers, swearing. “Christ! Hardheaded woman.”

“Irreverent man! You shall be struck down by lightning.”

Both laughed softly. She stroked his beard, the back of his bristly neck. “I’m quite proud of you.”

He took her face between his hands and kissed her lips. “And I of you, my girl.”

“I’ll post your letter this morning,” he said, standing, pulling his coat from the peg.

“I need to add a few lines,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll wait, then.”

Margaret hugged herself, thinking of home. “What shall I say about our return?”

“I wish I could tell you. I’ll know more next month.”

“Forever?” she asked.

He bent and kissed her again. “Not forever.”

PS: We have only just learned of Henry’s promotion to senior inspector. He has twelve men below him now, two of whom have just arrived. It is an unexpected honor, one that requires an extended stay here. We hope to start for home before next Christmas, but no assurances have been made as of yet. I shall write again soon with the particulars.