see me, my disgrace exposed. ‘You do things right,’ he’d said about me. If he discovered the truth, what then?
The house began to shake. The men had come up the front steps. I went to the bedroom door to close it. ‘Don’t you all be tracking dirt on my floors,’ I heard Nan say.
‘Shoot,’ one of the Ogdens said. ‘You’re near as bad as Ma.’
‘Hush up,’ Nan said, and it was as if she were speaking to me. Say nothing, keep still. Oscar’s family might not know. His mother might not be living. His sister might have married and left Dayton years ago. His brothers could be the kind of men who did not write letters. Oscar might have lost touch with all of them.
On the crucifix nailed to the wall, painted blood dripped from the crown of thorns. Should Oscar learn the truth, he would turn me out of his home.
‘She’s having herself a rest,’ I heard Nan say.
‘She poorly?’ This was one of the Ogden men.
‘I asked her. Told me she wasn’t.’
‘Worn thin from the trip,’ Oscar said. ‘That’s what it is.’
Gratitude rushed through me. He’d made my excuses.
I closed the door and sat down at the dressing table. My face, pale and gaunt, stared back at me from the mirror. The voices of Oscar and the Ogdens in the parlor were distant and faint.
My hands trembling, I took off the black crystal earrings. Trinkets, I thought. For Edward’s mistress. I had worn them every day, even for my wedding. Now I couldn’t bear the sight of them. I went to the open trunk and pushed the earrings into a side pocket beneath my handkerchiefs and sachets. Tomorrow I’d bury them. Or throw them into the gulf.
Through the closed bedroom door, Oscar’s voice was a soft mumble. He’d wanted the men to meet me, his wife. As if I were a spoiled child, I had placed him in a position where he had to make excuses to his employees for my absence.
I deserved everything that had happened to me. I couldn’t repair the damage I’d done to Edward’s family. I couldn’t make amends to Oscar for my letters that were one deception after the next. But I would not shame him before his employees.
I put my hand on the doorknob and opened the door.
‘I’m ready to get on home,’ I heard Nan say.
‘You don’t look ready,’ one of the Ogdens said.
‘That’s ’cause I’m waiting for you to get the ice. Guess you all are just going to let it melt out there in the sun.’
I raised my chin and began the walk down the short dim hall to the parlor to meet the Ogdens.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mrs Williams
I saw how the new Mrs Williams looked at the house when Oscar brought her here. Her face was pinched like she was on the windward side of meat left out to rot in the sun. Oscar’s own face was streaked with worry as he helped her down from the wagon, then helped her up the veranda steps, doing his best to please her. For pity’s sake, I thought as he stumbled through the ‘howdy do’s, me and her taking our measure of each other. Oscar should stand proud of his house. It was painted and the veranda went all the way around it. There was running water in the kitchen and washroom, and the floors weren’t pine but oak, sanded smooth as could be. It wasn’t patched together like my family’s house was, Daddy adding on a room now and again, the floors not altogether even. Oscar had the finest fireplace on our end of the island, other than the Fultons’, but they were city people. The Fultons’ house by the bay was all about show, them able to have a big house in the city and one here, too. But Oscar’s fireplace was red brick, and if Mrs Williams noticed, she kept that to herself.
Then there was Oscar himself. A finer man couldn’t be found nowhere, and everybody on the island knew it. Everybody but him, that was.
My own brothers, Frank T. and Wiley, were nearly struck dumb when they met the new Mrs Williams. Oscar brought them up to the house as soon as they got back from their milk deliveries. At first I didn’t
The house began to shake. The men had come up the front steps. I went to the bedroom door to close it. ‘Don’t you all be tracking dirt on my floors,’ I heard Nan say.
‘Shoot,’ one of the Ogdens said. ‘You’re near as bad as Ma.’
‘Hush up,’ Nan said, and it was as if she were speaking to me. Say nothing, keep still. Oscar’s family might not know. His mother might not be living. His sister might have married and left Dayton years ago. His brothers could be the kind of men who did not write letters. Oscar might have lost touch with all of them.
On the crucifix nailed to the wall, painted blood dripped from the crown of thorns. Should Oscar learn the truth, he would turn me out of his home.
‘She’s having herself a rest,’ I heard Nan say.
‘She poorly?’ This was one of the Ogden men.
‘I asked her. Told me she wasn’t.’
‘Worn thin from the trip,’ Oscar said. ‘That’s what it is.’
Gratitude rushed through me. He’d made my excuses.
I closed the door and sat down at the dressing table. My face, pale and gaunt, stared back at me from the mirror. The voices of Oscar and the Ogdens in the parlor were distant and faint.
My hands trembling, I took off the black crystal earrings. Trinkets, I thought. For Edward’s mistress. I had worn them every day, even for my wedding. Now I couldn’t bear the sight of them. I went to the open trunk and pushed the earrings into a side pocket beneath my handkerchiefs and sachets. Tomorrow I’d bury them. Or throw them into the gulf.
Through the closed bedroom door, Oscar’s voice was a soft mumble. He’d wanted the men to meet me, his wife. As if I were a spoiled child, I had placed him in a position where he had to make excuses to his employees for my absence.
I deserved everything that had happened to me. I couldn’t repair the damage I’d done to Edward’s family. I couldn’t make amends to Oscar for my letters that were one deception after the next. But I would not shame him before his employees.
I put my hand on the doorknob and opened the door.
‘I’m ready to get on home,’ I heard Nan say.
‘You don’t look ready,’ one of the Ogdens said.
‘That’s ’cause I’m waiting for you to get the ice. Guess you all are just going to let it melt out there in the sun.’
I raised my chin and began the walk down the short dim hall to the parlor to meet the Ogdens.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mrs Williams
I saw how the new Mrs Williams looked at the house when Oscar brought her here. Her face was pinched like she was on the windward side of meat left out to rot in the sun. Oscar’s own face was streaked with worry as he helped her down from the wagon, then helped her up the veranda steps, doing his best to please her. For pity’s sake, I thought as he stumbled through the ‘howdy do’s, me and her taking our measure of each other. Oscar should stand proud of his house. It was painted and the veranda went all the way around it. There was running water in the kitchen and washroom, and the floors weren’t pine but oak, sanded smooth as could be. It wasn’t patched together like my family’s house was, Daddy adding on a room now and again, the floors not altogether even. Oscar had the finest fireplace on our end of the island, other than the Fultons’, but they were city people. The Fultons’ house by the bay was all about show, them able to have a big house in the city and one here, too. But Oscar’s fireplace was red brick, and if Mrs Williams noticed, she kept that to herself.
Then there was Oscar himself. A finer man couldn’t be found nowhere, and everybody on the island knew it. Everybody but him, that was.
My own brothers, Frank T. and Wiley, were nearly struck dumb when they met the new Mrs Williams. Oscar brought them up to the house as soon as they got back from their milk deliveries. At first I didn’t
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