Ahh…the Widow Farquhar!
(PRONOUNCED – FAR-KWAR)
This is one of those jokes that only I get but I hope in later chapters I explain enough you’ll get it too. Or just laugh to placate me.
I’ve seen a lot of old time/old west movies where a widow is actually referred to as “The Widow Whatever Her Last Name Is.”
My modern day assumption is back in the old days, a woman’s only chance at survival was finding a man (because it’s not like there were a lot of job opportunities for women outside of school marm or prostitute).
So if you’re a woman and you’ve been married before but your husband died, you wanted to make sure everyone knew that, so they didn’t think you were still a married woman or GASP – divorced! I honestly don’t know much about the history of divorce back then.
I assume it must have occasionally happened. Back then a woman would probably have to prove the man was chasing her around with a meat cleaver on a regular basis or something) not like it is today when there’s a 99% chance your wife will divorce you because you left the seat up, forget to wash your dish, or accidentally farted and she assumed she was getting a non-farting husband.
I was a fan of Deadwood – fairly recent and super vulgar western show on HBO – there was a character Alma Garrett who was a widow (same actress who plays Jackie Sharpe on House of Cards now, can’t think of her name.)
Anyway, they always called her “The Widow Garrett” and I thought it was funny.
So, in a lot of love triangle stories, the author usually “cops out” and makes one woman become super awful and terrible so the hero only has a clear choice.
I challenged myself to not do that here. Sarah is a bible thumper, pure as the driven snow, a bit helpless…but as we find out soon, she really loves Slade! So it’s not going to be an easy choice for him.
Even before the concept of “wingman” existed, Gunther is being Slade’s wingman here, talking him up to the Widow Farquhar.
Oh and we meet Chance, Slade’s horse. I wish he had more “screen time.”
The new arrival tied a bonnet under her chin then studied a wrinkly map. She was rail thin yet conveniently curvy in just the right places, though it was hard to tell as her dress went down all the way past the ankle.
She was paler than a glass of milk but attractive just the same. A few freckles. Red lips. A pretty face, though it looked very frustrated. She tucked the map into her bible and decided to see if there was a stranger willing to give her directions.
“Excuse me…excuse me…sir!”
Her voice was very soft. So soft that passers by kept passing on by, no interest in helping her out whatsoever.
Gunther looked at Slade.
“A damsel in distress.”
Slade kept watching. He took another elbow from Gunther.
“Go get her, boy!”
Slade didn’t budge. Gunther sighed.
“Shit,” the old man said. “Look at her. She is…
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Bookshelf Battle 