The Poor Young Widow

The Poor Young Widow
by C. S. Marshall


July 14th

          Chase raised his right hand over his head to shield his eyes from the sun. Julia stood at his side, watching him, as much as watching the sea. He towered above her, handsome and charming. The rays of the summer sun silhouetted his stunning profile. Almost angelic. She could have loved him forever. She could have. But now, in the dark far shadows of her mind, in the innermost secret corner of her contemplation, she plotted her escape, and …her revenge.
          Look at him. Does he even know the magnitude of what he has done to me? Could he be so self-absorbed, so insensitive? She decided it did not matter, not anymore. Soon enough, he would know. Soon enough, he would pay. She forced a smile as he looked down to her.
          “Look Julia, can you see it?” An air of excitement was in his voice. “Over there,” he pointed, “Just on the horizon. Do you see it?”
          Julia looked up pretending to see, “Oh yes. Isn’t it lovely” She managed to sound sincere.
          “I’ve got goose bumps. Imagine, here we are looking at them, sailing to some exotic port –o-call.” So child- like. “We will have a yacht like that some day.” He promised. “Some day some other couple will be looking out at us, like we are looking at them.” Yeah, when pigs can fly. A shudder overtook her. She felt sick.
          She knew Chase was a dreamer when she married him. She once found it engaging. She now found it incredibly irresponsible. He still believed that he was destined to become a famous writer, another Fitzgerald or Michner. She, on the other hand, knew it was impossible.
          In her youthful exuberance, she had shared the dream. That was before she found real writers had more than active imaginations. They had talent, talent and commitment. Chase had neither. Julia’s dad had once told her, “A dream without a plan is a nightmare.” She now knew what he had meant.
          Chase laid his hand on her shoulder. She fought off the urge to pull away. “Chase, I’m catching a chill. Let’s go back to the car.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the road. He followed with mindless compliance. She was reminded of the trained bears she had seen as a child. They always made her sad. Those magnificent wild creatures were dressed up in frilly skirts and silly hats, riding little bicycles in endless circles to the jeers and cheers of ill-mannered children and addle-minded parents. Chase was a trained bear in Hobbs and Associate’s corporate circus and she hated him for it.
          Chase took an entry-level job at Hobbs’s publishing division to, as he said, “learn the ropes”. They knew his ambition and took full advantage of his eagerness. Sadly, they also knew his writing. “Some day, my boy, someday.” They promised, all the while knowing they would never publish his amateurish swill.
          It was after five when they pulled into the Cypress Apartments parking lot. Chase killed the engine but made no move to exit. He laid his right hand on her left and asked, “What is wrong? You’ve been so quiet.” He spoke with such sincerity, such quiet charm. There had been a time, her knees would weaken and she would have almost swooned when he spoke to her in that low melodic voice. That was before she knew about Cassandra Hobbs. Before she followed them into the Cameron Hotel, the one he said they couldn’t afford for their fifth anniversary, and before she found that Chase had decided to use his “other” talent to get his pathetic manuscript published. Julia believed, in some warped way, he still loved her, loved her as much as he could love anyone other than himself. Perhaps, in his own naive dim-witted mind, he rationalized that he was doing it for “them”. What a jerk.
          She did not like Cassandra but neither did she fault her. Chase had a way of melting a woman’s willpower. God knows he had melted her own self-control, not that many nineteen-year-olds could ever lay claim to an abundance of prudence. Chase Arcain had come to Morrison State to “hone his craft”. Julia was stunned when he asked her to Phi Kappa’s fall mixer. Some speculated that Chase was attracted more to her father’s money than to Julia but, whatever the reason, she was thrilled and all the other girls turned a satisfying shade of green. A year later they were married over her parent’s objections. Julia chose to abandon her world of affluence to join Chase as he followed his dream.
          “There is nothing wrong.” Said Julia, “I’m just not feeling all that well.” That part was true. “I’ll be better after a warm bath and a glass of sherry.” …and particularly, after you have assumed room temperature.
          She poured a sherry and retreated to the bathroom. It was the one place she could be alone. Chase had an odd phobia concerning bathroom privacy. He would not intrude. There was once a time that his idiosyncrasies had not bothered her. Now, every small annoyance grated on her raw nerves; the way he laid out his vitamins in neat little rows, the way he always salted his food before he even tasted it, the way he insisted sleeping with the window open, even in winter, not caring whether or not she froze. “The fresh night air is full of oxygen, fuel for the brain, you know.”
          She had endured six years of his selfish and thoughtless behavior. Six years of silly middle-aged women saying how lucky she was. Six years was enough, more than enough. She considered divorce but Daddy didn’t approve. “You made your bed. Now lie in it.” He told her. She did not crave Daddy’s approval but she did crave his money. She had none of her own and God knows she would not get a cent out of Chase. He had nothing, and would always have nothing. Cassandra Hobbs would tire of him even quicker than Julia had, and Rodney, Cassandra’s husband, would never agree to publish Chase’s Seeds of Wellington no matter how much she coaxed.
          Chase had to die. There was no other choice. Julia had to be the grieving young widow, Daddy’s poor little girl. She had to be free; she had to be welcomed back into the fold. Most of all, Chase had to pay. It was as unmistakably simple as that.
          She had been in her daddy’s courtroom enough to know that murder was not an easy crime to conceal. “They always make thing too complicated,” her father would say, “They try to be too clever. It is the simple ones that get overlooked. The one’s with the least to hide.” It was from those words she took her lead. She fashioned her plan, simple, direct and lethal.


July 22nd

          “Honey, I’m sorry about dinner but I had a call from Donavan. You know, the editor up on the eighth floor? Well anyway, he wants to see me after work.” The lying twit. “I’ll be pretty late. Around one, I think.” She could always tell when Chase was lying. No wonder he was a lousy writer. He couldn’t even craft a believable excuse. Julia hung up the phone. Tonight is the night.
          She had rehearsed her plan a hundred times in her mind and another hundred at the soon-to-be “scene of the crime.” She was ready. The plan was as foolproof as any murderer’s premeditation could be. She decided that the reward was worth the risk, and besides, even if thing went terribly wrong, Daddy would help her. He would never believe his baby girl capable of cold-blooded murder.
          Julia waited on the little balcony outside of the apartment’s second-story door. She had pulled a dinette chair outside so she could see when Chase’s old Volvo turned into the parking lot. She waited for hours. Dusk melted into dark and the stream of cars in and out of the apartment’s drive gave way to still and quiet. She pulled her coat close as each tick of her watch re-enforced her resolve.
          She recognized the Volvo as it turned into the lot 500 feet away. It was five after two. Chase switched off the car lights before he turned into his parking place. You are not fooling anyone but yourself tonight, buck-o. He slowly crept up the stairs, not seeing his wife in the shadows. He let out an audible yelp when she called his name.
          “Geesh, woman you almost gave me a heart attack.” Chase was startled at the sound of her voice from behind. He was startled and dropped his keys to the floor.
          “Chase, I’m so glad you are finally home.” She threw herself into his puzzled arms. “I dropped my wedding ring somewhere out on the catwalk by the bridge; the one that overlooks the cove. I am so sorry.” She sobbed through her words. “My finger was itching and I took it off for just a minute. I can see it but I can’t reach it.” Her eyes were swollen, not from crying but from hours of deliberate irritation. “Please Chase, You have to get it…before someone else finds it.”
          “I will get it in the morning. The catwalk is too dangerous in the dark. Someone could slip and fall up there. It must be a hundred feet to the rocks below.”
          “No, we must get it tonight. I’ve got the big flashlight. It gives off a lot of light.” She argued. “Something might happen. A bird or a squirrel might get it. We must go now.” She knew Chase would eventually relent. He had no spine. She instinctively scanned the complex for neighbors. A lone car was pulling up across the way but it did not really matter. That was part of the beauty of her plan. Unless someone was standing six feet away, they would not know. Chase would step over the rail. He would reach down with one hand as he held on with the other. He would stretch as far as he could and then…whap. Julia would smash his lying cheating narcissistic fingers. Bruised fingers, after a hundred foot fall onto the rocks, would not likely lead to a theory of murder. She would toss the flashlight down after him and when help arrived, she would cry and blame herself for dropping the ring and everyone would tell her it wasn’t her fault and beg her not to torture herself so.
          The couple held hands as the walked up the steep path to Lookout Point. Longtime natives called it Lovers Leap. Local legend held that an Indian brave and his sweetheart maiden were forbidden to wed, and rather than live apart, they chose to die, together. They were said to have held hands as they jumped to their deaths on the jagged rocks below. What a crock.
          Julia insisted on carrying the light. She led Chase up the path, one deliberate step after another. The trip would take about fifteen minutes. She had timed the climb both in good moonlight and in cloud. Tonight fell somewhere in between the two. She counted the steps in her head. It was a habit acquired over the past few weeks. She did not need to count. She knew exactly where she had carefully placed the ring.
          As they reached the last set of wooden stairs, an angry voice called out from behind. “Arcain”. The two jerked from the sound of a sharp male voice. They turned to see the shadowy outline of a small man. Suddenly, there were two quick flashes accompanied by deafening explosions. Chase shook violently, spun to the railing and slumped to the ground at the foot of the stairs. His body jerked again as two more shots were fired. A stunned Julia raised the light beam to the shooter’s face. Even in the odd shadows cast by the moon and the flashlight, she recognized the tearstained face. She stood in frozen silence as Rodney Hobbs raised the pistol to his own right temple and fired.


July 24th

          The young widow, appropriately dressed in a smart black suit with a small hat and half veil, leaned on a large gentleman in an Armani suit and five hundred dollar Italian shoes, “Oh, it was so awful.” She said. “Why? Why would anyone do a thing like that? I just don’t know if I can go on without him. I loved him so.” She dabbed the of her eye with the corner of her balck lace hankerchief
          “Now, now, Baby. It will be okay.” The older man squeezed the sobbing woman’s shoulder, pulling her close. “Everything is going to be all right, Daddy’s here.”