THE RIGHTEOUS WIDOW
By Hank Florentine McLoskey
Copyright 2011 Hank Florentine McLoskey,
First time I saw Hester Jones I liked her, even though I couldn’t figure out what she was at–and that’s how it was between us, right up to the very end.
She turned up off the train one day with a suitcase in either hand, dressed all in black. Even the big feather boa wrapped around her shoulders was black.
“What you wearing that thing for?” Sheriff Gregg demanded. Those suitcases were heavy and she’d stopped to take a breather right in front of his porch. That must have been the first time he and I were of similar mind–‘cos I wanted to ask her the exact same thing. She was a small woman who carried herself very upright and if it hadn’t been for that boa, I would have had her figured as a widow woman of the careful, respectable thrifty kind. It looked–what’s the word agin? Incongruous. Like somebody draping bunting over a funeral parlor window.