The Wives of Henry Oades

“We therefore commit Martha’s body to the deep…”

The mourners were forced aside to allow the crew room. Her body fell with a flat splash into the choppy sea, floating only a moment inside the weighted shroud.

“Looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ, at whose second coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the sea shall give up her dead…”

All sails were full. She was already gone, behind them. Somewhere off the stern, in the Mediterranean Sea, east of Malta, out of sight of land. Margaret imagined meeting Mrs. Randolph’s relations one day, or George from London, and having only these few unlovely facts to offer.

A week later, approaching Aden, Margaret pulled her own aching tooth with a string. She’d extract every tooth in her head, she told Henry, before she’d betray Mrs. Randolph by seeking out Dr. Pritchard.

“What does one have to do with the other?” said Henry. “Besides, you hardly knew the poor woman.”

Margaret tried, but she couldn’t make him understand an affection forged in a single morning. The small transactions between women, particularly mothers, cannot adequately be explained to a man. Some, like hers with Mrs. Randolph, will bind women for life.

CHRISTMAS CAME. Carols were sung. A plum pudding was served. They were nearly halfway quit of this wretched, murderous bark.

Wellington February, 1891

SOMETHING HAD GNAWED a shilling-size hole straight through the trunk. Margaret stepped back and gave the contents tentative pokes with the umbrella. Nothing stirred. The vermin was gone. She leaned in again and unfolded the teal-blue arrival frock, a ridiculously expensive thing with exquisite glass buttons. Her family slept on, oblivious to the shouts and clomping boots above, the lovely symphony of men preparing to anchor. At her back, Henry shifted fitfully, thrashing his sheet to the floor. He’d been seasick two days running now. She retrieved the sheet and covered him, feeling his warm forehead, stroking his shoulder. “Today’s the day, dear heart.”

He murmured something unintelligible and turned on his side.

“I’ll wake you when it’s time,” she said, returning to the business of their wardrobe, brimming with energy and health. She felt exhilaratingly liberated, like a servant just released from indenture. Let the sailors request her assistance with the heavy mooring lines. She’d have a go at it.

She roused the children before they were ready and dressed them as she would two posts, putting them in the twin costumes sewn up for the occasion, black-and-white-checked ensembles with sweet sailor collars. “Perfect,” she said. “Now make believe you’ve just been introduced to the governor.”

John made a lackluster bow and sat back down on the edge of his berth. Josephine curtsied and did the same. Margaret clapped her hands sharply. “On your feet. Today’s the day. What did Tom Sawyer say to his mates? Shake out that maintogalans’l! Sheets and braces! Now, my hearties!” She bent and kissed them, turning her cheek to their cool foreheads. “Time for breakfast, my darlings.”

“What about poor dad?” said John.

“He’ll come round once on land, son. You’ll see.”

Up top the warm wind lifted Margaret’s hat from her head. Perspiration streamed from her temples, her underarms, pasting her fine new overcorset to her flesh.

“My word,” she said, coming abreast of the first officer. “Such unusual weather.”

“Not at all, madam,” he said. “’Tis summer here, you know.”

She hadn’t known. Nor had Henry. He was dressed when they returned, decked out in the handsome wool purchased with the governor’s welcoming party in mind. Even now he was unhealthily florid, panting.

“You’ll roast alive,” said Margaret.

“I’ve nothing else,” he said, gesturing toward the corner. The cabin boys had already come for the trunk.

She brushed a bit of lint from his sleeve. “Well, never mind then. We’ve arrived. That’s all that matters, isn’t it? Tonight we’ll enjoy supper in our own cozy flat. Won’t that be lovely at long last? I might start a pot of cow-heel soup if we’re settled early enough and there’s a decent butcher on hand. How does that strike you?”

He touched her cheek. “You’re the best girl.”

THE LADY OPHELIA was anchored some distance from the wharf. A queue to board her tenders wound around one deck and down a flight. The line moved at an encouragingly swift pace and then abruptly stalled.

Margaret gazed landward. After eight weeks aboard, the Arctic steppes would have been a welcoming sight. Still, she hadn’t expected such an idyllic storybook place. They were moored in a perfect bowl. Small houses dotted the rocky shore. Farther back stood lush blue-green hills.

A man spoke behind her. “The head of the fish. It’s hardly a fair description, is it?”

Margaret turned, smiling at the bespectacled officer. “Sir?” She knew him by sight, not by name. He’d been particularly kind to the children on board, winning them over with small treats from his pocket.

“North Island is shaped rather like a fish,” he said, “or so the Maori legend goes. Wellington is its head, the sweetest part.”

“Maori, sir?”

“The indigenous peoples, madam. Did you not attend the captain’s lecture Friday last? He went into some detail on the subject.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Margaret. She’d had no interest in anything the captain had to say. “I couldn’t leave the children.” The officer tipped his cap and wished her good day, good luck.

To the west a double rainbow arced, a thrilling spectacle, the best of all omens. “Lovely,” she murmured, more to herself. Henry had been right. It is good to get to know other things and places. Beside her, Henry bowed over the rail, as if about to pray or die.

“Why not take off your coat?” He shook his head, not opening his eyes. She gave him a pet. “Just think of the luxury coming. I’ve been dreaming of a real bath for weeks now.” The queue started up again. He pulled himself from the rail and shepherded his family forward.

Boarding was a tricky proposition, given the swell in the harbor. The secured tender came and went sideways, banging against the ship’s hull. The tender’s skipper stood waiting inside the narrow open boat. Fashionable ladies stepped down cautiously, clumsily, into his large grimy hands. Margaret stood single-file behind John and Josephine, who were behind the corpulent vicar and his wife, and about to go on. In the next moment, Henry made a strangled noise and vomited between ship and tender, into the water and down his brass-buttoned front.

The children cried out in unison. “Dad!” The mangy skipper snatched them up, John first, and then Josephine, sitting them down hard on the tender’s wooden bench. He beckoned to Margaret, growling that he didn’t have all day. Margaret pulled Henry free of the soiled coat. They boarded the tender, she shakily, bulky coat and satchel on one arm.

Onshore the soft ground swayed. Her legs wobbled, felt about to give way. People swarmed, meeting in raucous reunion, kissing and hugging. Margaret and Henry scanned the wharf in all directions, looking for the governor’s welcoming committee. They stood for half an hour, smiling at various clutches of well-dressed men. No one approached except a yellow-eyed mongrel with an oozing gash in place of an ear. Josephine stood in the dog’s path, howling. Margaret put herself between child and beast and stamped her feet. The dog fled. Josephine blubbered on. Henry collapsed onto a cask. “Where could they be?”

“Never mind,” said Margaret. She adjusted the brim of his good hat, shielding his face from the beating sun. “Stay with the children. I’ll find a hack.” She bent and whispered to John and Josephine. “Keep an eye on your dad.” They gave dull nods, John boring a finger into a red ear, Josephine snuffling up, her nose running like an urchin’s. It was just as well that they were on their own. The governor’s pomp would have done her family in completely.

She headed toward the road, asking the first woman she encountered, a plump lady in an everyday dress, about to drive off in an open rig. “Oh, I don’t imagine you’ll find a hack this time of day,” the woman said. “They’ll still be in church, or gambling their babies’ milk money away. One of the two.”

Margaret thanked her and turned to resume her search.

The woman called after her. “I can take you where you’re going.”

The unexpected kindness brought Martha Randolph to mind. “We’ll gladly pay.”

The woman laughed. “Did you bring anything for bunions?”

“Sorry, madam. No.”

“You’ll owe me then,” said the woman, introducing herself. Mrs. Anamim Bell.

“A lovely name,” said Margaret. “Biblical.”

“It’s a horrid name,” said Mrs. Bell. “You’ll call me Mim or I won’t take you.”

“Mim, then. Thank you, Mim. Thank you very much indeed. And you’ll call me Margaret. Or Meg if you prefer.” Her earlier energy had leaked away. She was tired now, wishing only to be settled. And here came her bedraggled family. “My husband, Henry Oades. My children, John and Josephine. We call her Pheeny.”

“The poor lambs,” said Mrs. Bell. “Step up now. You’ll send for your things. I know a reliable man. Though you won’t get him to work on the Sabbath.”

So be it, thought Margaret. They’d make do one night, sleep in their underclothes. All she asked for was a stable floor and a stationary bed. She sat up front, next to Mrs. Bell. Henry dozed behind them, an arm curled about the limp children.

“You’re nearly dead, aren’t you,” said Mrs. Bell. “Poor girl.”

Margaret smiled, beginning to drowse. She pictured a nice big bed with crisp dry linens, her husband sleeping beside her for the first time in months. Supper first, though. “Can you recommend a butcher, Mrs. Bell?”

“Can you recommend a butcher, Mim.”

“Of course. Sorry. Mim.”

“The most handy is a blackguard from whom I wouldn’t buy a bone for my dog.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Jones is the best of the lot. His gristle at least comes with a morsel of flesh. You’ll want to keep watch on his fat thumb, though. His wife’s as well. They cheat for sport here.”

Mim began to list the town’s shops, describing the goods within each, naming the slippery-fingered sneak-thieves to be avoided. “You’ll find everything you need, but it’s not like home.”

“I don’t imagine,” said Margaret, fighting to stay awake. The woman’s drone would put an insomnious owl to sleep.

After a while, Mim asked, “What’s your man to do here?”

“He’s been asked to take over the new accounting system at Her Majesty’s distillery.”

Mim nodded. “Quite the cap feather for one so young.”

Henry cleared his throat. Margaret turned around. He smiled, waggling bushy eyebrows, vindicated. Margaret smiled too, rolling her eyes.

They came over a wooden bridge, passing a broad orchard. “What’s grown here?”

“Pip fruit, mainly,” said Mim, “Apples and grapes. And tedium.”

THEY ARRIVED in late afternoon, tying up the horse in front of a dull brown building with small windows. A cheese shop and a sneak-thief bookbinder occupied the ground floor. “His paste doesn’t last a week,” said Mim. The flats were located above the shops, eight homes in all. Mim offered a hand with the children and satchels, bustling about, not waiting for an answer. Margaret started up the building’s stone steps behind John, thinking mainly about relieving herself.

Theirs was number four, two steep stories up. John opened the front door. “It reeks,” he said, looking around.

He was right. The air was stale and musty. A chamber pot sat in full view, in it a desiccated mess. Margaret scraped the pot along the gritty floor with her foot, moving it behind the coarse curtain separating the sleeping alcove. She summoned the children, saying don’t look, feeling their foreheads for fever as they squatted, opening her reticule then, dealing out a toilet square each. An aunt had presented her with a generous supply before sailing, saying you never know what you’ll find. Margaret took a square for herself and loosened her drawers, hovering over the putrid pot. Henry the camel feigned no urgent need, shy of Mim Bell, no doubt.

Henry led the tour. The main room contained a green divan, an empty curio cabinet, and three straight-back chairs, one with elegant tapered legs. There were no books, no paintings, no vases for flowers. The stove was greasy, the tub beside it filthy with private hairs and insect husks. There was no oil for the lamps. The kitchen curtains were dreadful, dirty and tattered, and they were one bed short. Margaret hung her head after a brief inspection, defeated. Henry came to her, springy, as if with a second wind. It was how they were, how they’d always been. When one tottered, the other rallied.

“We’ll hire a girl,” he said. “There’s no need to lift a finger.”

His beard was crusted with salt; his fetid breath turned her stomach and weakened her knees. “I’m a bit dizzy,” she said.

Mim produced a hankie and began flogging the worn divan. “Sit now, why don’t you?”

“Just for a moment perhaps,” said Margaret, grateful. “I seem made of rubber.”

“Mr. Bell and I arrived five years ago Saturday,” said Mim. “I remember the wretched day all too well. It’s the queerest feeling being on land again, the bobbing and weaving, the addled thinking. It’ll be with you awhile, I’m afraid. You’ll go to take the bread from the oven and find the raw loaf still sitting in the bowl.”

“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

ON WEDNESDAY 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 MAORI 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.

“FORGIVE ME, HENRY,” 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.