Abe Harding’s Wife (a
sketch)
by RA Lindsey
There was a day some
years ago when Abe Harding’s wife, Etta, found out he was spending a good-sized
chunk of their hard-earned money on indecent favors with the neighbor’s wife. It was the third strike – booze; gambling;
and now, the neighbor’s nookie. Etta
immediately slammed the door on all that foolishness; leaving Abe with little
doubt of the consequences should he stray again. It was awkward, that fine summer morning when
Abe had awakened, rubbed his crusty eyes until they focused, and found that he
was looking up the barrel of his favorite twelve-gauge shotgun. Etta was at the working end of it, saying
they needed to talk. So they
talked.
They
talked about what a soulless culprit their neighbor, Sebastian Hunt was. And what a nasty whore his wife was. Then they talked about Etta’s troubles with the
change. And that was when Abe
learned about another eminent change – he learned that Etta would no longer
wrangle her hormonal inclinations to satisfy his manly needs; instead, he would
be allowed to subscribe to one men’s magazine that he could keep in the
chicken house. And he learned that he
would be allowed to tend the chickens as often as necessary.
Etta
also insisted that Abe buy a one-million-dollar accidental death insurance
policy with a fraction of the money he’d been spending at the neighbor’s house,
Etta making it clear that he should keep his eye out for a swift “accident” if
he got anywhere near Missus Hunt again. Abe
decided it was a good arrangement. Was
thankful that nothing was said about Hunt’s two little girls. Made sure the insurance policy premiums were
paid in a timely manner, the actual policy in a safe deposit box down at the First National.
Etta
Harding detested her husband with all her heart. She had for years before she caught wind of
what was going on with Missus Hunt. She
was not a proud woman, but she would suffer no fools. She knew that she’d been no prize when Abe
married her. They had produced no
children. And there had been little joy
between her and her husband for the endless days of their matrimony. But Etta was a deep-rooted woman – a deal was
a deal, and nobody was guaranteed a good deal in life. So she rationed her detestation out a little
bit at a time over the years to make it bearable, determined to hold up her end
of the deal. If need be, help him with
his…
Abe
never actually saw the insurance policy with his own eyes. Never held it in his hand. Never mentioned it to his wife. Nor did Etta mention it, but it was in her
mind a great deal. Abe was, after all,
an incautious man. Ten years her senior,
she figured it was money in the bank. So
when she heard the big explosion from the direction of Sebastian Hunt’s place
she left her pie crust unmade on the kitchen counter and went to the front
window to confirm that, as expected, her husband’s pickup was gone.
His
curiosity always had been insatiable.
Etta
went to her easy chair and sat down. The
JC Penney catalog was there and she turned to a page that featured some fine
curtains she had been admiring for awhile.
They weren’t on sale, but maybe that wouldn’t matter. Her heart smiled at the thought of those
curtains hanging on the living room windows.
If
this was grief, she figured she could live with it.
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