The Wives of Henry Oades: A Novel

by Johanna Moran

  Nancy laughed. “A miner?”

  “A miner wrests a gemstone as a dentist wrests a tooth, does he not? Yet one won’t find the honest miner strutting about, claiming a physician’s mantle.”

  Nancy didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. Despite the unpleasant purpose of the trip, a normal person would be champing at the bit to leave this decrepit shanty for a day. “Well, suit yourself, Margaret. If you want to be a martyr about it. I can’t tie you up and force you to go.”

  Margaret stood, cradling her jaw in her trembling hand. “Tea?” A sheen of tears stood in her eyes.

  “You should go to the dentist, Mum,” said John. “It’ll only get worse.”

  Margaret dropped her hand and raised it again, silent tears streaming. “All right, Nancy.” Each syllable seemed a painful effort. “Thank you. When do we leave?”

  NANCY AND JOHN set out on Thursday, directions to Dr. McTeague’s dental parlors tucked inside Nancy’s velvet bag. Titus’s mother had recommended the dentist to Titus, who recommended him to Henry.

  Margaret was waiting on the Potters’ porch when they drove up. She wore the same old brown dress, which could use a little lace. Lace flattered the homeliest of ladies. Nancy’s own blue wedding suit had lace everywhere it might go, real duchess lace at the sleeves, neck, and hem. There was even a cunning bow of lace at the waist. She didn’t care about the rule of wearing one’s shabbiest clothes when traveling. If not for this one measly outing it would never be seen. On the ferry, she took extreme care in choosing clean seats. Margaret plopped right down without as much as a glance behind.

  Nancy had been to San Francisco once before. Francis took her to the Cliff House to see the seals on her birthday. Coming back, a floating log became caught up in the propeller, causing the ferry to pitch and roll. It turned out they were never in any real danger, but the passengers didn’t know it at the time. Women were shrieking. Men were shouting, flinging life preservers. No one could have slept through the commotion, as Margaret, blessedly drunk on tooth medicine, was doing now. Nancy sat beside her, watching the human panorama, guessing at ages, at professions and wealth. She bought an orange drink after a while, tart and delicious, tipping the vendor a penny. She was feeling generous, grown-up, and happy. It had been ages since she’d set foot off the farm.

  From the ferry they made their way through knots of chattering Chinese and boarded a cable car to Polk Street. They found the address with no trouble. The doctor’s sign hung outside a bay window, over a post office.

  DR. MCTEAGUE. DENTAL PARLORS. GAS GIVEN.

  The sign should have read Dental Parlor. That’s all it was, a single room, overly warm, smelling of beer and pipesmoke, and faintly, unpleasantly, of gas. From the looks of things—a stack of newspapers, a dirty plate, a mute canary in a cage—the doctor lived in the unsanitary room. The muggy little place had to be teeming with germs. And the doctor himself, good gravy! He looked nothing like a medical man. He was an oaf, a big yellow-haired lummox, with redwoods for limbs. He had a patient in his chair, a young lady, who sat with her head back and her eyes closed, still as a cadaver.

  “Sit yourselves,” he said, gesturing with a silver instrument toward three straight-back chairs. “I’ll only be another five minutes.”

  Margaret turned to Nancy and mouthed the word “Quack.”

  “Let’s leave, then,” whispered Nancy. “We’ll find another dentist.”

  Margaret deliberated for a moment before whispering back, “They’re all the same. This one comes with a recommendation at least.” She sat, holding her jaw, letting out a gasp of pain. Dr. McTeague looked at them, his broad forehead creasing in sympathy. Was that egg in his mustache?

  He called to Nancy, “I’ll have your mother fixed right up.”

  “She’s not my mother,” snapped Nancy. In Margaret’s shoes she would have marched straight out the door. Margaret just shook her head, dismissing the idiotic insult. Nancy began to seethe on Margaret’s behalf, working herself up to a good boil by the time he was finished with his patient. Margaret was in no condition to take him on, but Nancy certainly was.

  “Just where did you receive your training?” she asked, as Margaret was settling back in his operating chair. He scratched his chin, a fine yellow dust falling. The dried yolk might have been clinging to the yellow whiskers for days. Nancy took a position behind his dental engine, where Margaret could see her.

  “I apprenticed with a good man,” he said, peering intently into Margaret’s open mouth. “Abscess,” he murmured. “No saving it. Ether would be best.”

  “No,” said Margaret. “I want my wits about me, thank you.”

  “It won’t hurt,” he said.

  “Thank you, no,” said Margaret.

  Dr. McTeague poked at his instruments, looking dubious, as if he thought Margaret a big fool. Nancy thought her one. She’d take the offered relief without question. He examined a pair of forceps and then put them down again, leaning over Margaret. She stared up at him, her eyes big and bright, like a pig’s before slaughter. He inserted a huge thumb and forefinger inside her mouth. Nancy turned her back, feigning interest in a steel engraving hanging on the wall. She tried for lightness, making an attempt to distract Margaret. “Can you recommend a nice place for dinner afterward?”

  “There’s a diner around the corner,” he said. “They serve a tasty steak, cheap, but on the tough side. Your lady friend here wouldn’t get far. We could do something about that, you know. I could fix her up with some fine teeth. Good as the real thing, better in some cases. It’s just a matter of extracting these last few, then taking an impression.”

  Margaret whimpered, the smallest pitiful sound.

  “I’ve done it hundreds of times,” he said.

  “Something soft would be better,” said Nancy, not turning around. “Oysters, maybe.” Gertrude adored mashed oysters from Smith’s Chop House in town. Nancy wondered if her baby had noticed that her mother was missing today.

  Margaret moaned. “We could stop here,” the dentist said, “and take some gas.”

  Nancy looked over her shoulder. Margaret’s eyes were closed. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, giving Nancy a light-headed feeling. “Do as he says, Margaret. Please.” Margaret shook her head, her features squeezed in emphatic refusal. Nancy turned her cowardly perspiring back again.

  “Maybe you should try the Palace Hotel,” he said, grunting like a common laborer. There was a sickening odor now, a hot alcohol smell emanating from his pores. “You’d get your oysters there. Cost you a pretty penny though.”

  “We don’t mind this once,” said Nancy. “Do we, Margaret?”

  Margaret didn’t respond. Long minutes went by, with his heavy breathing, the scraping and clicking, filling the room. Finally he let out a little yelp. “Here we go, here it comes!”

  Nancy turned around, relieved and smiling. Margaret’s face and arms had gone slack; her eyes were closed, her head cocked to one shoulder. The bloody handkerchief she’d been clutching lay on the floor. For a terrible moment Nancy thought she was dead. “What have you done to her?”

  The dentist dropped Margaret’s bloody tooth into the receptacle at his feet. “She’s only fainted.”

  Nancy patted Margaret’s ashen cheek, calling and cooing to her. “It happens when they don’t take gas,” he said.

  Nancy looked him square in his beer-yellow eyes. “Don’t stand there like a big nincompoop. Bring me a cold wet rag. Make sure it’s clean and give it a good wringing.” She turned back to Margaret, half singing to her. “Wake up, now. Wake up, wake up, wake up. Margaret? Can you hear me?”

  At the Palace Hotel

  NANCY ORDERED another bottle of champagne from the haughty waiter. The day called for it. Margaret needed cheering up. They both did. It had taken Nancy a good ten minutes to bring her around in the dentist’s parlor. What if Margaret emerged from her faint not right in the head? There were fates aplenty worse than death. And be
sides, Nancy was still enjoying herself. That’s the main reason she unhesitatingly summoned the man. She wanted to draw out the afternoon. The room was beautiful, with spectacular crystal chandeliers that grew more dazzling by the minute. She sat back, her shoulders heaving with woozy happiness.

  “I’ve read about this place so many times in the Chronicle. To think I’m actually here in person!”

  A twelve-piece orchestra played a moony waltz. Elegant couples danced extremely close, gliding past their table, looking as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Have you ever in all your born days been anywhere this fancy, Margaret?”

  Margaret managed a wobbly smile. “Never.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how many famous people have dined here,” said Nancy. “Presidents Harrison and McKinley, General Sherman, and the Emperor of Brazil. And let’s see. Oscar Wilde the poet came. And Sarah Bernhardt. I wouldn’t mind having her in my autograph book. She sleeps in a satin-lined coffin. If that doesn’t give a person the willies, I don’t know what does.”

  Tears rose in Margaret’s eyes.

  Nancy leaned in, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “Is it your tooth?”

  Margaret shook her head, pulling the crumpled bloodstained hankie from her sleeve. Nancy brought out her clean spare and passed it across.

  “Memories come when one least expects them,” said Margaret, recovering some. “I was reminded of a lovely lady who once saw Sarah Bernhardt in person, in Paris.”

  “Lucky lady,” said Nancy. “What I’d give to see Paris, France.”

  The waiter appeared, a foreigner of some kind, good-looking and seemingly very aware of it. He swept up the platter of empty oyster shells, asking in his provocative accent if they’d like some more.

  “Please,” said Nancy. He lifted the tray to one broad shoulder and turned to go.

  “Don’t forget the champagne,” she called after him. “I’ll have some explaining to do at home,” she said to Margaret. “Henry probably thought we’d have our meal at a ten-cent diner.” Margaret frowned. “I’m not saying he’s a cheapskate, just watchful, you know. Oh, what am I saying? Of course you know.”

  “I cannot imagine him denying you a thing,” said Margaret.

  Nancy swallowed the last of the warm wine in her glass, blushing. “I’m sure he was the same with you.”

  Margaret shook her head. “He wasn’t. Ours were straitened circumstances.”

  “Well, he was young then, just starting out.”

  “True,” said Margaret, with a prim shrug.

  “I don’t have permission to spend like there’s no tomorrow,” said Nancy.

  “It’s none of my affair,” said Margaret. “Please let’s change the subject.”

  “Don’t be like that, Margaret. Did I say something wrong? I thought we were starting to have a good time for a change.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Nancy slapped the table. “There you go again. You don’t need to be so all-fired polite. There’s no reason to live in fear of me.”

  “I don’t,” said Margaret.

  “I think you do a little,” Nancy insisted.

  “I’m at your mercy,” said Margaret, her eyes hard now, the watery nostalgia gone from them. “If that’s what you mean to say.”

  “You’re no such thing!” The waiter came up with the second bottle. Nancy reached for her glass before he finished pouring, brushing his hand and knocking over the vase of peony roses. He gave her such a look. Clumsy drunkard, she imagined him thinking, or however the insult translated in his language. Nancy laughed out of embarrassment, out of clumsy drunkenness. He busied himself tidying the table, and then went away testily, saying the oysters would be served shortly.

  Nancy sighed. What did she care about his poor impression? She’d never see him again. A couple waltzed by, the young lady flushed-faced, clearly taken with her clean-shaven beau. It used to be said that unmarried ladies should not dance the waltz at all, in public or in private, as the dance itself was too loose a character.

  On impulse, Nancy lifted her glass to Margaret, toasting modern times. “We’re at the dawn of the twentieth century! You’re at no one’s mercy, leastwise not mine.” Margaret touched the rim of her glass to Nancy’s, her hand aquiver.

  “It’s kind of you to say.”

  “I want us to get along,” said Nancy. “I mean it sincerely, Margaret. Do you think we ever could?”

  Margaret lowered her gaze. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, really.”

  “You’ll always have a place in our home. I hope you know that.”

  Margaret looked up. “Thank you, Nancy.”

  They sat back, saying nothing more for a while. The words had just popped out of her. Nancy didn’t altogether regret making the offer; but neither could she picture themselves years from now, two old grannies, still sharing the same kitchen.

  They picked at the second platter of oysters when it came. The taste was off now, Nancy thought, a little rancid.

  Margaret turned her attention to the dance floor, wondering aloud if Henry had ever learned to dance. “He suffered two left feet when I knew him,” she said.

  “I’ve never danced with Henry,” said Nancy. The fact depressed her. Why hadn’t they danced at least once? They were still young enough. She certainly was anyway. “We didn’t have much of a courtship, you know. There was Gertrude.”

  Margaret seemed not to hear. The orchestra had started up a lively polka. She was watching the dancers. After a long silence she said, “Did you mean what you said, Nancy…about our truly being welcome in your home?”

  Nancy hesitated half a moment before yelling over the accordion coda. “Yes.”

  A crash of cymbals brought the deafening number to an end. “Suppose we went elsewhere then, the lot of us,” said Margaret. “Suppose we left wretched Berkeley and its wretched Daughters of Decency altogether? I worry,” she said, more to herself.

  “The marriage certificate will come soon,” said Nancy. “The Daughters will go on to other causes. You’ll see. A farm isn’t disposed of that easily,” she added, quoting Henry directly.

  Early on he’d sat her down to discuss his will, providing her with a list of bankers and managers to contact upon his death. Nancy wasn’t to give the farm away. She was to wait for the right time and hold out for a fair price. The property would fetch income to last her days if she didn’t lose her head and sell too hastily, he said. The proceeds were to be put in certain stocks, an eighth here, a quarter there. Nancy didn’t remember what all. It was too confusing. She didn’t imagine holding out very long in any event. The farm was nothing but hard work. She’d never told him, but given a choice, she’d leave tomorrow and set up housekeeping in town, have the butcher’s boy deliver wrapped sausages and chops to the door. The move would be good for Henry. His disposition turned pitch black on slaughtering day. Nancy often thought he should return to accounting and leave farming to the less tenderhearted. “Where would we go?” she asked.

  “A sizable city might be best,” said Margaret. “It wouldn’t matter really, as long as no one knew us. We’d introduce ourselves as Henry’s wife and his sister, the maiden aunt from England, come to help out.”

  Margaret’s concession both surprised and shamed Nancy. There was no telling what she might do in Margaret’s position.

  The waiter approached. “You think me preposterous,” said Margaret.

  “Not entirely,” said Nancy. “Henry’s the one you’d need to convince.”

  Margaret was like most any other relative in need, she guessed. At worst, they take up too much room and you can’t stand them. At best, they take up too much room and begin to grow on you. Either way, they’re here, and you live with it. Those weren’t his exact words. But that’s more or less what Uncle Chester said to Nancy when she arrived in Berkeley.

  A BROMO SELTZER would have been Nancy’s salvation, but was not on the menu at the Palace Hotel, a
ccording to the sarcastic waiter. She tipped him, anyway, leaving the dime by her plate as she’d originally planned.

  “Thank you, madam,” he said, without a trace of gratitude. She had half a mind to snatch up the dime and leave a penny instead. She would not be returning. That much was certain. They would take their business elsewhere next visit. There were plenty of fine restaurants in San Francisco; that was but one advantage of a city so large.

  They found a druggist a block away, who sold Nancy a packet of Bromo Seltzer, and gave her water at no extra charge. “Have you always had the desire to live in a big city?”

  “Not when I was younger certainly,” said Margaret. “I think now the anonymity might be preferable. And you?”

  “Well,” said Nancy, taking a bitter sip. “There’s the disease to consider. And the pickpockets. They’re everywhere, I hear.”

  “One might choose their company over certain Berkeleyans,” said Margaret.

  Nancy watched the pharmacist mash something yellow in his sieve. Francis loved mixing and concocting. His hands had never smelled the same two days in a row. “Flowery sometimes, not like medicine at all.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Margaret.

  Nancy emerged from her fog, aware now that she’d spoken out loud. “Never mind,” she said, laughing a little. “I took a trip back in time. You know how it is.”

  “If only one could pick and choose the memory,” said Margaret, “and erase the rest.”

  JOHN OADES was on hand to meet them at the fish-stinking Berkeley docks, as expected. He approached with a serious look on his face. Margaret rushed him. “What is it? Is it one of the girls?”

  “It’s Father,” he said, and Nancy’s knees buckled.

  “Oh, sweet Lord, no.” She pictured Henry laid out in his Sunday suit, Francis’s jar and pedestal moved to make room for the coffin.

  “He’s all right,” said John. “It’s the cows. Four good animals were charged with consumption and taken in.”