An Exceptional Bargain
Darby Olcott loved life on the sea. He never let the many hazards associated with being a deep-sea fisherman frighten him.
I have to die somehow, he figured, and being lost at sea is as good a way to go as any.
The long weeks spent aboard ship were not as hard on him as they were on other fishermen, for Darby put his free time to good use. When he was not casting a net or swabbing a deck, he would carve scrimshaw, swap stories with his crewmates or simply lie in his bunk and read his books in an attempt to improve his mind.
The days spent between voyages were another matter. On land, he was the proverbial fish out of water. It was during the long winter months when his ship rarely left port that Darby's loneliness became unbearable. The fisherman's house, unlike his vessel, was empty. He had no companionship, for not even his cherished books could give him comfort all the time. What he needed was a wife and not just any wife. Like most Yankees, the New England-born Olcott was a man who liked to drive a hard bargain. He wanted a woman not only to come home to after a long, arduous voyage but also one who could keep his house and cook his meals. He wanted a friend as well as a helpmate and a housekeeper.
Unfortunately, there were few single women in the isolated Maine hamlet where Darby lived or in the surrounding towns. Nor was it likely that any widow or maiden woman would move into the area since few people ever moved to the village, no doubt preferring to live in a town with a more temperate climate and in a home that would not be in danger of washing into the sea when a mighty nor'easter struck. Darby knew that if he hoped to win a wife, he would have to head south to find one.
* * *
With a good portion of his life savings safely tucked away in the inside jacket pocket of a suit that a former shipmate—now one of the most sought-after tailors in Boston—had made for him, Darby Olcott stepped off the train in New York City. The bustling metropolis had little in common with his quaint coastal New England town. The buildings were tall and built close together, the streets were teeming with horse-drawn carriages and wagons and there were more people than Darby had ever seen in one place at one time.
"There must be plenty of eligible young women living here in Manhattan," he optimistically told himself. "I shouldn't have too much trouble finding a wife."
Darby was a practical man. He had no time for sentimental gestures or romance. When he found the right woman, he would immediately enter into a bargain with her. He was sure there were sensible women in New York who would want an honest, hardworking man, a solidly built house and a life not burdened with debt or hunger. Yet as he walked along the crowded streets, he was uncertain where to begin his search. As luck would have it, though, his future wife soon found him.
India Langtree came from a poor family who lived in a small town in northern New Jersey. Her two older sisters had both found work in a textile factory in nearby Paterson, but India had no desire to slave her life away in a sweatshop. At her first opportunity, she fled to New York and took a job as a kitchen maid for one of the wealthy families on Park Avenue, a relatively easy position she could hold until she found a husband.
India didn't have long to wait. She had been in New York for less than a year when one day she was walking down Broadway on her day off and literally bumped into Darby Olcott.
"I'm so sorry," she apologized.
"That's quite all right, ma'am," Darby replied as he stooped to pick up the sack of fresh fruit he was carrying.
"Oh, I'm not a ma'am," India said with a girlish giggle. "I'm a miss. What I mean to say is I'm not married."
Darby raised his eyebrows in a gesture that conveyed his interest.
"Is that so? In that case, maybe you would like to walk to the park with me," he boldly suggested.
It was by no means considered proper for a single young lady to accompany a man to the park—or anywhere else, for that matter—without a chaperone, but India took notice of the expensive cut of Darby's suit and threw propriety to the wind.
She and Darby walked to Central Park, where they sat on a bench, eating the fruit. They talked for hours. When the fisherman told the kitchen maid that he owned his own house by the ocean in New England, India envisioned a grand mansion like the magnificent cottages of the rich in Newport, Rhode Island, and mistakenly assumed her companion was as successful and affluent as the Astors, the Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers.
The afternoon began to fade, and Darby invited India to join him for dinner. She readily accepted. The restaurant was not one of the most exclusive ones in New York, but it was far more elegant and expensive than anything at home in Maine. Yet the thrifty Yankee did not balk at the cost of the meal because he considered it—like the price of the new suit—a wise investment in his future.
When India got a glimpse of the money Darby had in his pocket, her rather dull blue eyes lit up with greedy delight.
He is a fine gentleman! she thought, delightfully surprised that he was interested in her.
Many women in New York City were kept in luxury by wealthy men without the benefit of marriage. These mistresses were not spoken of or acknowledged in polite society, but India was not averse to joining their ranks, considering a life of luxury and sin preferable to one of poverty and virtue. Thankfully, she would not be called upon to compromise her principles, for Darby's intentions were strictly honorable. Moreover, when he and India finished their meal, he proceeded to try to strike a bargain with her then and there.
"I came down to New York for the sole purpose of finding a wife," he explained, getting right to the point.
India's heart was beating wildly. Surely, she must be dreaming!
"I need to return to Maine soon," Darby apologized, "so I don't have much time for courting."
"Do you have a wife picked out yet?" India asked breathlessly.
"I was hoping you might consider my offer of marriage," he said in his straightforward manner.
India blushed, demurely lowered her eyes and deliberately waited several moments before giving him her reply. After all, she did not want him to think her too eager.
* * *
Following the meal, the couple briefly stopped at the Park Avenue mansion of India's employer to gather her few meager belongings and inform the housekeeper she would no longer be working there. India then accompanied Darby to a justice of the peace, where the two were married. Later, the newlyweds spent their wedding night in a hotel near Central Park, and the following morning, they boarded a train headed north.
"I don't know why we had to leave so soon," India whined. "I could have used a few days to get a new wardrobe."
Now that she was married to a rich man, the bride saw no reason to wear clothes passed down from her older sisters.
"If you need anything," her husband told her, "you can buy it when we get to Boston."
During the train trip, India made a mental list of all the items she would purchase: gowns, petticoats, bonnets, gloves, slippers, hosiery and, of course, jewelry. When they arrived in Boston, however, her new husband took her to a store that sold fabric and sewing supplies rather than to a department store or a dressmaker's shop.
"Why on earth did you bring me here?" India asked haughtily.
"So that you can buy what you need to make your clothes," Darby answered. "Keep in mind that you'll need plenty of warm things come winter, so you'd best buy heavy fabrics."
"I don't know how to sew."
"You can learn. I'm sure Mrs. Brockton, our neighbor, will be glad to teach you."
India scowled but bought several bolts of fabric, pins, a pair of scissors, needles and thread. Perhaps she could pay Mrs. Brockton to make the clothes for her.
During the ride from Boston to her new home, India behaved coolly toward her husband. She had no idea why a prosperous man would expect his wife to make her own clothes. Maybe he was like Hetty Green, the notorious miser known as the Witch of Wall Street. It was common knowledge on Park Avenue that Hetty was a millionaire, yet she would not spend a penny unless absolutely necessary.
* * *
"Where's your carriage?" India inquired when she and her husband got off the train at the train station nearest his home.
"I don't own a carriage," he replied as he loaded their luggage into the back of a wagon he had rented from a nearby livery stable.
While Darby was hitching the wagon to an old mare, India walked to the end of the train station platform and got her first view of the small Maine town.
"This is nothing like Newport!" she cried with disappointment.
A chilly wind blew in from the ocean, bringing with it a most unpleasant odor.
"What's that smell?" she asked, covering her nose so that she wouldn't gag.
"Fish. Most of the men in town make their living from the sea."
A sudden thought made India shiver. What if Darby wasn't rich? She looked at her husband's finely tailored suit for reassurance. Surely such a well-dressed man owned his own shipbuilding company, or perhaps he was a wealthy merchant who made his fortune in the triangle trade.
"Time to go see your new home," Darby declared as he climbed up onto the wagon.
"In that thing?" his wife asked indignantly. "I thought you only rented it to transport our luggage."
"Unless you'd prefer to walk. But it's more than five miles, and the road is bound to be muddy."
With a look of fury on her face, the bride angrily climbed into the old wagon and sat next to her husband.
* * *
"This is it, dear," Darby announced proudly when the wagon came to a stop.
India stood in the street, dumbfounded, staring with distaste at the four-room saltbox her husband called home. From the water pump in the front yard and the several cords of firewood on the side of the house, she could tell it was a building without modern conveniences.
Darby headed toward the front door, but his bride remained standing on the muddy road, her eyes closed in prayer.
"Please let this be a joke," she whispered. "Let my husband tell me this shack is not our home, that we have a fine brick house somewhere."
Darby had carried the bags to the front steps and was waiting for his wife to join him.
"Aren't you coming?"
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"That's because you haven't eaten. Come inside, and I'll make some clam chowder for you."
India groaned. She had neglected to tell her husband that she detested seafood.
* * *
Less than a month into the marriage, Darby realized that his wife had been no bargain. Dismayed that her husband was a common fisherman and not a prosperous shipbuilder or merchant, India quickly turned into a shrew. She was so unpleasant that the poor man longed to return to sea to escape her nagging. Word of India's sour temperament spread, and her sharp tongue soon became well-known throughout southeastern Maine.
During the winter months when his ship remained in port, Darby tried to ignore his harping wife by burying his nose in his books. But like a banshee, India would scream at him whenever the spirit moved her, which was quite often.
"We need more firewood," she shouted when her husband came inside the house carrying a bucket full of water.
The seven years she spent in New England's harsh climate had taken their toll on India's appearance. While she had never been a great beauty, she at one time possessed a pleasing, youthful countenance. As her thirtieth birthday neared, though, she acquired the full figure, wrinkles and gray hair of a much older woman.
"What are you waiting for?" she hollered. "The firewood isn't going to get up and walk inside of its own accord! I swear you get lazier and dumber all the time."
As Darby shuffled out the door and to the side of the house, he cursed the day he went to New York to look for a bride. Sullenly, he walked to the stack of firewood and began gathering logs.
"Darby Olcott," a commanding voice addressed him from the other side of the firewood pile.
"Ayah, that's me. Who are you?" he wondered, not able to see who had spoken to him.
A stranger came into view.
"I understand you're a man who knows how to drive a hard bargain."
Darby eyed the visitor's unusual clothing.
"You're not from around here."
It was a statement, not a question.
"That's true, but I've always had a fondness for New England."
"Is that so? And just who might you be?"
"I'm known by many names: the devil, the Prince of Darkness, Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub. Take your pick."
Darby did not laugh since he didn't believe the stranger was joking. He was a God-fearing man who had learned to read and write by studying the scriptures. Faith in God, to him, also included faith in his adversary.
"If you've come to ask me to sign your cursed book, you can just forget about it."
"I like you, Mr. Olcott. I don't have to waste my precious time trying to convince you that I am who I say I am."
"If you say you're the devil, then why shouldn't I believe you?"
"Precisely! Now, as to why I'm here. I couldn't help noticing that you are unsatisfied with your lot in life."
"I don't know where you got that idea," Darby said with feigned surprise.
"I've heard you cursing many times. A man who curses that much can't be happy."
Darby looked the devil in the eye.
"You're right, Mr. Satan," he admitted. "I have been somewhat dejected lately."
"And why is that? Is it a shortage of money?"
"What else?"
The devil sighed, a sign of his disillusionment.
"With you humans, it's always about money. You disappoint me, Darby. I was hoping you would ask for something else. Wouldn't you rather have a long, healthy life, a talent for writing like William Shakespeare or a mind like Leonardo da Vinci's?"
"Money will do just fine. I can be quite happy with say ...."
"A million dollars?"
Darby gulped. A million dollars was an unheard-of amount in his day.
"One million dollars," Satan repeated, "and all I ask in exchange is your immortal soul."
The devil, eager to close the deal and move on to his next appointment, snapped his fingers and produced a contract written on fine vellum, a quill and a bottle of blood-red ink.
"Just sign here, and we've got a deal."
Darby took the quill in his hand and dipped it in the ink well, but his hand stopped before signing the contract.
"This is the best bargain I've ever made," he laughed.
"That remains to be seen," the devil couldn't resist saying.
"No, this is by far the best thing that could have happened to me," Darby argued. "You see, the most important thing in my life is my dear wife. She was very disappointed when she discovered I was a mere fisherman. Now that I'm going to be a millionaire, she'll love me for all eternity. What more could I ask for? I love my darling India more than my own life, more than my soul."
"Is that so?" Satan asked with renewed interest. "It has always been my custom to barter for a man's soul because that is what he holds most dear."
"That's why I've gotten such a great bargain. Had you asked for my wife, I wouldn't have agreed, no matter how much money you offered me. Now, where do I sign?"
"Wait a minute," the devil declared, setting the contract on fire with a touch of his fingertip. "I see you're a bargaining man, after all. Let's up the ante. I will give you two million dollars in exchange for your wife's soul."
"How could I barter another person's soul?"
"You two are married and are as one in the eyes of God. You, being the man, own your wife's soul and are free to sign it away."
Darby couldn't believe his good fortune, but he was a man who knew how to bargain, and he hoped he could persuade the devil to offer even more.
"My dearest wife's soul in exchange for two million dollars? I couldn't possibly agree to that. Why, I wouldn't even live long enough to spend the two million."
The devil stroked his pointed beard, eager to negotiate.
"How about a long life in addition to the two million?"
"A long and healthy life?"
"Naturally."
"I don't know," Darby muttered, faking uncertainty. "I couldn't bear facing my wife again, knowing that I've traded away her soul."
"You won't have to see her," the devil assured him. "Just sign this"—a new contract miraculously appeared out of thin air—"and I'll take your wife away with me this very day."
"And the money? When will I get that?"
The devil waved his hand, and the neatly stacked fire logs turned into bars of gold.
"It's all yours," the devil promised, waving the contract before the fisherman's face.
"Darby! Where's that firewood?" India screamed from inside the house.
The fisherman grabbed the contract out of the devil's hand and quickly scribbled his name on the signature line.
* * *
True to his word, Satan carried off India Olcott once Darby had signed the contract and sealed the deal. With his nagging wife gone to hell, Darby was able to spend his days in peace and quiet. He no longer felt the pangs of loneliness since, as a rich man, he didn't lack for company.
Then one warm autumn afternoon, he sat on the veranda of his grand new home, watching the ships at sea. There was not a richer, healthier or more contented man in all of New England.
It had been more than a year since that fateful day he bested the devil, when he unexpectedly heard a familiar voice calling his name.
"Where are you?" Darby asked warily.
"I'm right here," the devil answered from the chair beside him.
The former fisherman was shocked by the sight of the Prince of Darkness. He had not imagined an immortal being could look so old and worn out.
"I hear you're a man who drives a hard bargain," Satan said.
"We've been through all this before, or have you forgotten?" Darby chuckled.
"How could I forget?" the devil cried, shooting flames from his fingertips in a display of anger. "I curse the day I ever tried to strike a deal with you!"
"Why is that? Has no one ever gotten the better end of a bargain with you?"
"Of course, they have. Do you think you're the only one who has walked away a richer or happier man for having met me?"
"Then what's the problem?"
"It's that damned harpy you saddled me with!" the devil bellowed. "That infernal woman never stops nagging me!"
"Now you know why I wanted to be rid of her."
"Yes, well, according to the fine print in our contract, I can't rid myself of her—not unless you agree to take her back."
Darby broke out in peals of laughter.
"Pardon the expression, Your Unholiness, but there's no way in hell I'd do that!"
"Surely there must be something I could do to persuade you," the devil wailed in desperation. "Just name it."
"I already have enough money to make me happy for a very long time."
"If there's one thing I've learned through the centuries, it's that you humans can never have enough money. I'll give you unlimited wealth, a bottomless sack of gold."
Darby stubbornly shook his head.
"You wanted a long life. What about eternal life? You can live forever and never get sick or grow old."
Darby still refused to consider the devil's offer.
"Do you think I want to be shackled to an ugly, mean-spirited, old woman with a sharp tongue?"
"I'll make her young and beautiful, and she'll stay that way forever!"
"That's a tempting offer, but what about the sharp tongue?"
"Damn it, man! Don't you think if I could have done anything about her tongue, I'd have done so long before now?"
Darby scratched his head.
"Please," the devil pleaded. "I'll be forever in your debt. Whenever you call, I'll come. Whatever you ask for, I'll give you. Just take your wife back."
Darby, who knew a good bargain when he saw one, agreed. A new contract was immediately produced and executed by a greatly relieved Prince of Darkness.
* * *
India came from a small town in northern New Jersey and chose to work as a kitchen maid rather than spend long hours toiling in a textile factory. She married Darby Olcott in the hopes of escaping a life of servitude, only to be whisked away to New England to live the hard, lonely life of a fisherman's wife.
Then, just when she thought her life could not get any worse, along came the devil, who carried her off to hell. India was on the verge of giving up all hope and resigning herself to living in perpetual anguish when her husband agreed to take her back. Her gratitude knew no bounds, and when she saw the fine home he now owned, she had no further reason to nag him.
Thus, the woman who came back to him was not the same one the devil had taken away. India had left an aging, unattractive, sharp-tongued shrew and returned a young, beautiful, loving and obedient wife. In dealing with the devil, Darby Olcott had once again gotten an exceptional bargain.
Two Salems for the price of one? Not my idea of an exceptional bargain!
