by Rebecca Tope
‘I do not seek such a life. To grow fat and lethargic, ordering servants back and forth, seeking increasingly desperate means by which to pass the days – that is not the life I see for myself.’
‘There is the child to consider,’ said Carola.
‘The child of my brother,’ Fanny flashed back.
‘In what way is that significant?’
‘I would wish to be witness to its …development. I would not like to think of us being forever separated.’
‘And yet you had no objection to my finding a woman from some distant town to adopt it.’
‘I believed at the time that you wished it to happen in that way. Now that I know you are resolved to raise the child yourself, I feel differently.’
‘I could claim to be a widow,’ said Carola thoughtfully. ‘A wealthy widow with one small child might have decent prospects, might she not?’
‘Prospects regarding a handsome husband – is that what you mean?’
‘Fanny – I am merely reviewing the possibilities. You are taking every syllable I utter as the Gospel truth. The fact is, I have no firm plans.’
‘The fact is, you are dreaming grand dreams, believing in the impossible. Even the wealthiest woman alive has to find occupation for herself.’ She sought urgently for the right words to convey her meaning. ‘Ahead of you lie thirty or forty years of life. The decisions you make now will ordain the nature of those years. Take care, Carrie. We have made a place for ourselves here. To move to Astoria or Portland or wherever would be the same as leaping blindly off a cliff. It carries a good deal more hazard than potential benefit.’
‘It would provide the opportunity to deny our sordid activities and begin afresh.’
‘Sordid activities?’ Fanny thought of Charlie and Paul Merryman who had been so tender and considerate, and the several older men who were so grateful. Carola, she feared, thought of the man intent on sodomy and the difficulties of continuing with a child in the house. She frowned, then sighed. ‘I should be sorry if no such activities ever came my way again.’
Carola stared at her. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I am saying nothing definitive. But I find myself a good deal less happy than you are with these sudden changes. I have no wish to leave Chemeketa. It feels as if I am destined to remain here all my life. I like to imagine a circle of regular friends, accepting our place amongst them, and trusting us to behave with decorum. It is what I decided upon, three years ago, and I have no real reason to alter my mind.’
‘And yet you demand an equal share of the money.’
‘There is not a person alive who would refuse it,’ Fanny shot back. ‘Who are you to withhold it?’
Carola shook her head. ‘We are back where we began. Enough, Fanny. We must allow ourselves a day or so to settle the confusions in both our minds. But with your permission, I shall go now to the butcher and request two prime steaks for our dinner. I suggest you stoke up the fire and get the fat sizzling. I shall be back before you can peel three potatoes.’
It was just as she had foretold, the steak and fried potatoes a grand feast, which saw Hugo slavering hungrily beside Fanny’s chair. She pushed him away, still smarting from Carola’s easy rejection of him. His noble head turned into her hand, nuzzling at her in a familiar gesture that she interpreted as fondness. ‘Dear boy,’ she murmured.
‘What?’ Carola looked up.
‘I am lavishing affection on my dog.’
‘Huh! Well, don’t feed him from the table. Even my mother knew better than that, with her little monsters.’
Fanny elected to laugh, overriding the wariness that now coloured her feelings towards her friend.
Chapter Twenty-One
There followed a few days of near paralysis. Carola spoke of plans, but less determinedly than before. There was no move to transfer any money to Fanny, and when she asked, the excuse was made that they should wait for the bank to compile a portfolio of investments. ‘But the two hundred dollars are readily available,’ Fanny argued.
‘And earning interest,’ Carola replied. ‘What are you wishing to do with it, pray?’
‘I wish to know where I stand.’ But she quickly fell silent, knowing that each day in which nothing was decided or acted upon was a day in her favour. Carola’s back was paining her, now and then, with the result that she fell into a habit of retiring to bed each afternoon for a few hours’ rest. This suited Fanny very nicely and she made much of the benefits of this practice.
But nothing was as before. There was money, and yet they had purchased no new items. Fanny was in normal health, with time on her hands, and yet their doors remained closed to customers. The weather had turned unpleasant, with a prematurely autumnal feel to it. The month of September went out churlishly, leaving nostalgic thoughts of the fine summer months quite vanished now.
Chemeketa continued to expand. Out in the street, the air was filled with the sound of hammering and the scent of new-cut timber. One of many thriving businesses was that of the sign-painter. Each new store needed its name and business trumpeted on a large colourful board, and inevitably a specialist came forth, who would add curlicues and gold paint to the essential facts. Talk largely consisted of scandalised reports of the goings-on in San Francisco. Murders, rampages, immense sums lost at the gambling tables, and very much more – it all fuelled the stories that arrived in Chemeketa, where life remained almost absurdly civilised by comparison. Many wives refused to allow their men to go south, for any purpose. It was generally agreed, in any event, that it was already too late for the miraculous finds of gold that had now been occurring for over a year. Many of the stories featured starving prospectors who might glean an ounce or two, and then nothing more. Tales of sudden immense wealth were fading, overtaken by complaints at the greatly inflated prices of basic necessities.
Fanny missed hearing these tales firsthand from her visiting men. She gathered snippets in the stores, but nobody sat down with her for a good long gossip, as had happened throughout the year in their parlour, where men relaxed and smoked and enjoyed female company. She began to feel bored and frustrated. Hugo was evidently in a similar frame of mind. Finally, five days after the momentous visit she and Carola had made to the bank, she elected to take her dog out for a lengthy walk.
The weather had settled. The date was 6th October 1849. It was a Saturday, a week since Miriam Myers had paid her call. Carola was chafing against the lack of progress with her plans, but seemingly too distracted and indecisive for any real action to be taken. Fanny felt an urgent need to clear her head and have a concentrated think.
The death of Reuben had faded into a lesser concern, which Fanny knew was shameful and wrong. Her Catholic parents and grandparent would be saying prayers for his soul, keeping a candle burning for him, telling all the stories they could think of about his life. Her sister Charity would perhaps find other matters pushing away her grief. She lived half a day’s ride away from the family, and had small children to occupy her.
For the first time, Fanny thought of her parents and sisters in relation to the new money. They would expect a part of it, however small, if they knew of it. It was a natural normal expectation, hardly worth debating. She understood, then, Carola’s reluctance to divide the inheritance. Shared, it became so much less. Distributed amongst relatives, it would quickly dwindle to little more than a healthy boost to one’s savings – far from the lifelong security and possibility that it had first seemed to confer.
Was it, then, more trouble than it was worth? The dissent and greed that arose from it had already almost split the girls apart. Squabbling sisters, reproachful parents, hard decisions and large changes would remove just about all the joy and hope that first came with news of the legacy. So, then, she resolved, standing on the bank of the Willamette river where new sectors of the town were rapidly developing, she would renounce any claim to the legacy. Carola could have it all. Carola had earned it, with her visits to Marybelle. Fanny had done nothing whatever to des
erve it.
Hugo ran ahead of her sniffing, marking every tree and rock with his scent, a large animal that primitive people would find alarming, but whose softness was almost embarrassing. Except when his mistress was under threat, of course. She felt again the sharp pang that Carola’s words had caused her, when she said so easily, ‘The dog must go.’ That had been the point where everything changed. Simply identified now, looking back. Until then, Fanny had taken for granted that they were always united, come what may. But if Carola could even imagine sending Hugo out into the wilderness to fend for himself, growing thin and lame and red-eyed with grief and bewilderment, then she was not the close companion Fanny had believed her to be. The images before her eyes made her whistle him back for a caress. ‘Dear boy,’ she murmured into his ear. ‘Dear good boy.’ And Hugo made a sound like the purring of a cat, expressing his undiluted love.
And Carola would soon have her little one to receive all her devotion. Fanny and Hugo would both be pushed aside when that happened. Where they might have formed a strange little family, all with something to give, there was a dawning mistrust. Perhaps, as already faintly suspected, it would be best for Carola to move away to start a new life with her new wealth. Fanny and Hugo would seek another girl to take her place, and continue as before. No need for Marybelle’s gold at all. The town was growing apace, with its increasingly complex networks of suppliers of necessaries and luxuries, bringing life in Oregon ever closer to that in Massachusetts or Rhode Island. The States of America were to become truly United, one vast country with a common language, common purpose and common values. Even the lawless California was said to be applying for formal Statehood, with an election of political leaders due within a few months. There would be a role for Fanny and a few more of the same.
And yet, the very idea of permanent separation from Carola was painful. Much of the distress arose from an inability to believe that Carola was capable of looking after herself and a child. Even if she could employ servants, and pass herself off as a rich widow, she would be essentially alone. Lacking sisters, she did not have the same abilities as Fanny believed she did herself for acquiring friends amongst other women. The fact that neither of them had looked outside for companionship was purely a result of practicalities. If she wanted to, Fanny had no doubt she could find friends in plenty.
Again, her thoughts switched track. Did she really expect local girls from decent families to take up friendly relations with a whore? And those few young women who belonged to the poorer outskirts of town, who had made their way to Oregon as servants or reluctantly assisted charity cases, hangers-on with no property to call their own – would she want to associate with them? They may not judge Fanny’s choice of work, but they would make very unsatisfactory companions.
Decisions, resolutions, conclusions came and went, twisting and turning, as she walked blindly along the bank of the river. She understood her own powerlessness more clearly by the time she felt hungry and weary enough to turn back. She thought of Carola’s intention to acquire a horse and buggy, and found herself dreaming of the status and convenience such an asset would confer on them. It had been pleasant to journey to her parents’ homestead, despite the rough roads, sitting snugly together in the vehicle they had hired. One day, perhaps not so far off, there would be turnpikes and good roads that would make travelling a simple matter.
The men were, of course, central to all her considerations. The men were her work, and without them she would be altogether idle. She might become more selective in those she took as patrons, insisting on standards of cleanliness and good behaviour. Chemeketa was a decent little town, establishing itself as a place for families, businesses, good order and universal decency. There might be gambling and drinking in the newly-erected taverns, but it very seldom led to noise or violence. Somehow – and Fanny supposed it must have to do with the early missionaries and the tone they set – this particular township was successfully maintaining an atmosphere that showed no signs of changing. There was talk of political advancement, with every prospect of attaining the position of State Capital. The town’s name, some said, should be changed to something less savage. Politics was sure to be affected by the gold fields, with the increasingly urgent need for systems, laws and all kinds of management. She thought she might enjoy learning more of such matters, as she grew older. She thought, in her usual fashion, that there was surely opportunity to be had for a young woman who followed her own path and made it good. Had she not proved this to be so, already? She had sinned, and gone unpunished. Carola had performed acts of kindness on behalf of Reuben and Marybelle, and earned the most drastic and unsettling consequences.
She walked home, the dog cheerily loping a few paces ahead, having been impatient with her musings, which had slowed and even stilled her progress. Hugo was a trusting creature, but his early experiences had taught him wariness amongst strangers. He had most likely been kicked and abused in his wanderings and searches for food. There would always be people who were alarmed and therefore aggressive on account of his size. Fanny was in no doubt that the dog required her protection in equal proportions to her need of his.
Carola showed no signs of having moved all day. She reclined with her feet up on the couch, stitching something small and white. When Fanny and Hugo breezed in, breathing hard and glowing with their exposure to the elements, she gave them a look of reproach. ‘Take him out back,’ she ordered. ‘His feet are filthy.’
The dog’s paws were in fact entirely unsullied. Any mud he might have collected had shaken off again in the final yards of their walk. There was a stiff coir mat on the threshold, which functioned well as a foot-cleaner for man and beast. Saying nothing, Fanny escorted him through to the yard and fussily settled him in his kennel. He made no complaint, flopping down bonelessly to rest.
Provisioning herself with bread and salt beef, Fanny drifted into the main room, with nothing particular on her mind. She had arrived at no firm conclusions during her walk, other than a sense that she would fight to continue very much as she was, regardless of what Carola chose to do in future. She scrutinised her friend critically as she ate. The Southern softness was very apparent, in the flounced frock she wore, and the carefully ringletted hair. Even the way she lay so indolently conjured images of hot Carolinan idleness; slaves hurrying in and out with drinks and sweetmeats for the imperious mistress. Fanny’s more austere experience protested at this way of life. Here in the new Oregon country, work was assumed to be a virtue, every man creating his homestead by the labour of his own hands. There was no slavery here. Life was pared down to the basics, by necessity. While there were plenty of specialists to manufacture equipment of every kind, it was yet assumed that many people would produce their own food, construct their own homes and stitch their own garments. There was more than a whiff of New England self-reliance in the establishment of agriculture and orchards, new roads and plain workaday homes. No place here for the great while colonnaded mansions that filled Charleston and Atlanta. As these observations formed in Fanny’s mind, she realised how few Southerners had settled in Chemeketa. It did not suit them. They were better off in the warmer climes of California and Texas. Remembering her studies of the globe in her schooldays, it struck her that people generally stuck to the same latitudes as far as they could. The Collins family had moved from Ireland to the north-east of America. And from there, they had followed much the same line, moving westwards, avoiding any southern seductions along the way.
Carola and her child would leave Chemeketa. Suddenly Fanny was certain of this as a sure fact. How or when remained to be seen, but from that moment on, she began a conscious withdrawal from her friend. She hardened herself against any hurt the separation would bring her. ‘I will open the door and set out the lamp tonight,’ she announced. ‘We cannot remain closed to our patrons indefinitely.’
‘Do as you wish. I shall not be available for anything other than conversation.’
‘I had expected nothing else.’
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nbsp; The remainder of Fanny’s day was spend replenishing flower bowls, dusting and sweeping rooms downstairs and up. She washed her hair and buffed her fingernails. With the setting of the sun, she propped open their door, and ignited the lamp that they had taken to placing on the porch to guide the men in.
Barely ten minutes later, a tall man, clean-shaven and free of mud, came up the stoop. He moved quickly, without hesitation, and doffed his hat with an urgent gesture the moment he stepped into the house.
‘Mm-hmm,’ murmured Carola. The sound conveyed that she recognised him and his need all too well.
Fanny smiled a welcome and offered him a drink.
‘Thank’ee, Miss, but time is short. I am spared but an hour by my friends.’
‘Come, then,’ she agreed. ‘Give me a single moment, and I shall be at your service.’ She trotted out to the privy, as always, while Carola directed the man to her room upstairs.
The man did his best to make his time count. His member was unusually long and hard. Fanny felt its whole length inside her, and moved instinctively to receive its load. Then she felt the vinegar-soaked sponge shift painfully, pushed deep by his energetic coupling. ‘Aah!’ she breathed.
He did not react, but kept up his pumping with the same vigour. She saw no alternative but to endure till the end, biting her lip to stifle her yelps of pain. It was not his fault, she told herself. The sponge was too large, and too stiff from disuse in recent weeks. If he felt it himself, it might cause a matching discomfort, she supposed.
At last he was done, with a hearty shout of gladness.
He then remained a full fifteen minutes, talking about what had just taken place between them. He told a familiar tale of self-gratification, and the ensuing low spirits that went with it. ‘’Tis against nature,’ he sighed. ‘I needed a real woman so bad it was all I could think of.’ He fingered himself idly. ‘It growed,’ he muttered.
