The Wives of Henry Oades Read Online Free PDF

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