Every day I wake up at sunrise and for that one second I am happy, I imagine my husband right beside me and my children running around the house. Then I remember what I lost. I remember the vision of my husband dead on the noose in the town square. I remember the look on my childrens faces as they were forced to watch. Then I cry, I cry all of my hate and anger out. After I’m done I put on a straight face, I have to stay strong for my children.
“Mother!”
“Yes dear what is it,” I know what it is, every morning my oldest daughter Amber remembers it like I do.
“I miss dad,” She says trying to catch her breath. Tears roll down her face and I run to comfort her. It hurts to see her hurt, I want to cry but I have to be brave for her. Amber is 10, he died when she was 6. I was pregnant when he died. I was pregnant with twins, Amelia and Carter. They are now 3, almost 4. Then there’s Caldwell, he is 7 years old and he suffers from memory loss caused by the trauma of his father dying. He doesn’t fully remember but sometimes he gets visions in his mind, like it’s trying to tell him it happened to him. We keep it a secret. One less child that has to suffer the pain. None of the children know why Amber wakes up every morning crying, I tell them she has very bad dreams, which is half true.
At 7:00 the boys go to school and the girls stay home and help me cook and clean. When we are done with that, we sit silently and knit. Sometimes we go for walks when we have time. We rarely get out since he died. Before he was caught stealing food to help feed us he would take me out every evening to a nice tavern down the block.
One night the sky was full of stars. The moon was full, it was a beautiful evening. Mr. MCCarthy was sitting outside playing his violin. Those were the days before he lost his job and was desperate support us, so desperate that he risked his life just for a couple slices of ham. He thought he was helping us. I HATE him for leaving me! I HATE that he made my family hurt, that he left me with no one to love.
Everyone knows me as “the dark widowed woman”, but I am not “the dark widowed woman” I am Abigail Baker. They call me dark because I seem sad. Well of course I feel sad! I lost my husband, I lost security, money, and land with him too. They don’t get what happened to me so they call me dark. People make so many assumptions about me that aren’t true. They are starting to think I’m dangerous!
Well that’s life for you isn’t it. We fear what we don’t understand. I can’t blame them, there are very few widowed women in the town.
Amber and I run a small business in town. We knit and sew quilts and embroidery to sell. Some people won’t even buy something I made, but most people are willing to. Soon Amelia will start learning how to knit and sew. She will help with the business.