The Widows of Braxton County by Jess Mcconkey

What has that kid ever done around here?” He shoved away from the tree. “He’s been mollycoddled since the day he was born and has never done a lick of work.”
    “He’s a boy,” Hannah said quietly.
    “I was a boy once, too, and nobody ever stopped Pa working me half to death,” he answered, his voice full of bitterness.
    “I tried, Joseph—when I first married your pa—and I got the worst beating of my life . . .” Her voice trailed away as she pressed her fingers to her forehead.
    “But then Willie came along and he was more important.” He puffed out his chest. “I probably should thank you for not interfering—Pa was hard, but it made me strong.”
    Sadness for the little boy who’d got lost in his father’s violence tugged at her.
    “Oh, Joseph, I know it was hard losing your mother and—”
    He shook a finger in her face. “Don’t you speak of my mother,” he said in a threatening voice. “She was a lady .”
    “I’m sure she was,” Hannah said, trying to calm his anger, “I only meant that I’m sorry—”
    “I don’t need your pity,” he yelled. A malicious look stole over his face. “You’re the one to be pitied. Pa was making plans to divorce you—”
    “What?”
    “That’s right.” He chuckled. “He didn’t want you and your ways spoiling his chances in the election. He was taking you back to your mother’s house and dumping you like a bucket of slop—” Stopping, he watched Hannah’s reaction. “He was going to tell everyone you’d run off.”
    His words hit Hannah like one of Jacob’s blows.
    “You know what that means, don’t you?” He swaggered toward her. “You never would’ve seen your precious son again.”
    The abuse hadn’t been enough for Jacob. He’d planned on stealing her only reason for living. Cold rage enveloped her and she faced Joseph with a freezing glare.
    “Then I’m glad he’s dead.”

 
    Chapter 13

    H annah walked back and forth across Willie’s room, her black silk dress rustling with every step and her boots clicking on the plank floor. She stopped and tugged at the scratchy crepe collar. This was her best dress and she hated it. Jacob had purchased it for her when her father had passed five years ago, and had spent more on it than he had on all her other clothes combined. Scowling, she continued her pacing. He hadn’t wanted her to show up at her father’s funeral looking like a poor relation, so he’d parted with the money for the dress. Now she’d have to wear the damn thing for the next year.
    She mopped her face with a black-edged handkerchief. Between the stench of mothballs emanating from the dress and the heat, she felt faint. She had to have some air and strode to the window.
    “Hannah, you can’t,” Fannie called from across the room.
    “I can’t breathe,” Hannah replied, pulling back the curtains and rolling up the shade. She grasped the window and threw it open. Fresh air blew into the room and Hannah closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. When she opened them, she noticed the men standing in the shade of the old oak tree.
    Clarence Schwab looked up and saw Hannah. Disdain crossed his face.
    Fannie tugged her away from the window, then pulled down the shade. “You have to keep them closed out of respect for Jacob,” she chided. After leading her to a chair in the corner, she motioned for her to sit down. “This pacing isn’t doing you any good.”
    Hannah sank into the chair and bowed her head. “This inquest is taking hours. It’s obvious what killed Jacob—a knife.”
    Fannie knelt next to the chair and placed a hand on Hannah’s knee. “But they need to learn the events that led up to his death.”
    Hannah’s head shot up. “I don’t like them questioning Willie.”
    “They must. Willie was in the house last night, too.”
    “He’s only a child.”
    “But he might have heard something.” Fannie patted her knee and rose. “Once you’re finished testifying, they’ll return him to