The Widow: and the accompanying novella, Lincoln and His Telephone

By Art Sturm

The Widow tells the story of Jake, Jenn, and Jamal and their trials and tribulations through social, economic, academic, racial, and legal issues that intertwine their lives, all culminating in a shocking and sad end.

Lincoln and His Telephone tells the tale of a secret technology that only Honest Abe and his Union commanders have, one that turns the tide of the war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098312077

Book preview

marriage.

Chapter 1

On the road

Warm morning air circulated though broken windows. Years from sitting in junkyards, the Ford Explorer’s four-door, twenty-year-old engine belched black smoke. The vehicle’s original red color had long been covered over by black paint and then rust.

She was wearing her long-sleeve blue dress and white sandals. The clothes had been new when she wore them, while waiting for her husband. He didn’t return. Afterwards, she vowed to wear the dress and sandals only once more.

As she approached her exit off the interstate, she pulled onto the shoulder and sobbed as she thought back to what had brought her to this fateful decision.

She wiped her eyes with a tissue and sat stone faced for a few minutes. Am I right in doing this? she screamed, as she put her head back onto the battered headrest. Why can’t I let this go?

She took the exit and several minutes later, stopped in front of a two-story concrete building. She looked at the weapon in her hand and shouted, I can’t do it! I just can’t!

Chapter 2

Months earlier

Jake Krueger heard the door close and looked up. The young lady sat down in the back row. It was unusual, he thought, since only his students enter the auditorium while he is teaching.

He placed the semi-automatic pistol on the table. Jake disassembled the weapon, pointed to its individual parts and slowly explained how to clean and reassemble it. To the first student he said, Put on your blindfold while I shuffle the pieces. Find each part, tell us what it is and what you are doing with it. Then put the weapon together.

With his eyes covered, the student explained what he was looking for. He felt for the grip, said that it was the detached magazine. He did the same with barrel, hammer, trigger and muzzle. He placed the weapon on the table and removed his blindfold.

Pretty good, Jake said. Twenty-one seconds.

Jake picked up the gun, wiped it with a soft cloth and placed it back in its black carrying case. Gentlemen, he said, that’s it for today. See you tomorrow.

As the students pushed their chairs back and stood up, he pointed to the woman sitting in the back row and asked, Anyone see her before?

She recently transferred from out of state, came a response. I understand she may be in the same graduate program as you.

Jake watched the students leave the auditorium. He glanced at the woman as he turned off the battery of ceiling lights. Carrying the gun case, he walked up the aisle to about ten feet away from her. I understand you just transferred here, and we may be in the similar programs, so welcome to our university.

She had watched him approach. Thanks,’’ she responded in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. That’s nice of you."

Did you walk into our auditorium because you heard of my seminar? Jake asked.

No, actually, I did not, she replied. I was looking for a quiet place to read my text, so when I opened the door and saw its many empty chairs, I figured I could read without disturbing anyone. She smiled and added, I could hear everything you said but was your seminar really interesting? You had only four students.

He sat down two seats from her and focused on her blue eyes, dimples and flowing dark hair to her shoulders. Do you occasionally wear glasses?

Actually, I do. Why do you ask?

I can see indentations on the bridge of your nose from glasses, in the corners of your eyes He leaned closer and asked, Do you know you have nice eyes?

She smiled. Do you say that to all the female students?

Female students don’t come into my seminar. You’re the first one.

So, who else have you told about their eyes?

I haven’t.

And, you’ve been here as an undergraduate, I imagine for four years? He nodded affirmatively.

What about your girlfriends?

I don’t have any.

What about before college?

I’ve never had a girlfriend.

She smiled again. So, you picked me out to say such a nice compliment?

He blushed. I didn’t intend to. It was that as I came closer to you, they just seemed to sparkle at me. I am sorry if I offended you.

Oh no, don’t apologize. Any woman would be pleased to hear what you just told me. Besides, you have a cute smile yourself.

You’re the first one to tell me that. Suddenly, he realized he liked her.

So, tell me. What is this seminar about? she asked.

I teach students gun safety.

She pointed her forefinger at him and said, Are you one of those?

One of those what? he responded, as he noticed neither hand had any jewelry.

Everyone should carry a gun.

Oh no, that is not correct. Those in my seminar are 4.0 seniors who will shortly travel to Africa on agricultural support programs. I provide only the basics of taking care of a pistol. They learn how to clean and put a weapon together in the dark. He paused a moment before adding, As you probably know, many rural villages have no electricity. He grinned as he placed the case on the floor and put his hands out, palms up. In fact, young lady, I don’t own a gun.

She closed her book, placed it on the seat, stood up and leaned across the seat’s leather armrest. Her face only inches from his. I dislike being called a young lady! she said sharply.

Taken by surprise, Jake quickly responded, as he stepped back to the next seat. Please accept my apology. I am sorry. A moment later, he said, I’m Jake Krueger. He put his hand out.

Jennifer Wilson. Friends call me Jenn. She paused for a moment, peering at Jake. She reached into her pocket and pulled a sheet of paper. Who would ever believe this? she asked. You are the one I’m looking for.

He was unsure of what she meant and waited for a reason.

Anyway, at the time, she said, I was majoring in American History, our Civil War, and the incidents leading up to it. During research at my college library, I came across an article written by you. She pointed her forefinger at him, "Yes, it was yours. It was called Problems of Children Who Are Poor, Live in Foster Care, and Have Limited Access to a Proper Education."

I didn’t think anyone, but my professor read it, Jake replied. How about that?

It turned my life around, she said. I decided to change my major and come to State University for my graduate program. My hope was to meet and possibly work with the author of that fantastic report. And when I do meet him, I find out he sucks up to the gun industry by teaching students how to shoot guns.

Jake was stunned and at a loss for words. He took a deep breath and slowly responded. That’s not true. Not now! Not ever! I get a modest fee from the gun industry. That’s it! Nothing more! he said sharply, as he saw the puzzled look on Jenn’s face. Why do you keep looking at me that way?

Because, when I read your article, I believed you to be a person of honor who understands how a man’s family, strives to make the sacrifices necessary for one member to be the first to attend a university. Jenn pointed her forefinger at Jake. You sounded so upstanding in your appeal. Before I left the library that day, I reread your article twice more. And often when I returned for additional research, I always had time to read it again. Jenn sat down and tried to slow down her rapid breathing. So, why are you doing this, pandering for the gun industry? she asked.

Jake wondered why this woman, whom he seemed to take a liking to, would badger him like that? What business is it of hers?

I barely get enough to pay my tuition. So, they give me a thousand dollars for each student in my class? So what? I also drive Uber and Lyft on weekends.

I’m confused, she said. Why should the gun industry give you so much money? Is there more to this gun business than you’re telling me?

Well, they do have the students’ names, addresses, and social security numbers. We provide them to the manufacturer.

I am no closer to what you mean. And, by the way how come I’m the only woman to come into your class?

I’m not sure, but the seminars are open to all seniors. Class opening dates are always listed on bulletin boards. Are you now satisfied?

I am not.! I hate guns, I hate people who own them. And I hate the gun industry.

Jake was at a loss of words. Why?

She got up and walked to the door, turning to face him.

"They’re killers. That’s why. They provide the weapons that are used every day

in murders. Jenn paused a moment before sitting down and with tears in her eyes, My brother, Jimmy, was only fifteen. Fifteen years old with his whole life ahead of him. He was shot and killed two years ago by a kid with a gun made right here in this goddamn country. Jimmy wanted to be a scientist and fight cancer.

The kid who killed my brother had no friends and was living in a roach-infested apartment with drunken foster-care parents in a high crime area in our city. All he wanted was to have a friend. Others told him he could become a member of their gang if he shot someone. So, they gave him a gun that had been purchased by an older teenager without a background check at a gun shop in Virginia.

She started to cry, and Jake handed her a tissue.

Jenn wiped her eyes. The tragedy was the kid thought the person he shot would be okay just like as in the movies. In court, I listened as the judge sent him to jail for life. His life will be forever lost.

Jenn pointed her forefinger at Jake. I grieve for Jimmy every day! Every damn day! So, when I see you pandering to the gun lobby, it bugs the hell out of me!

Jake was stunned. He didn’t know how to respond as he offered her another tissue and wanted to put his arm around her and tell her how sorry he was. But he didn’t.

Chapter 3

Jake and Jenn

Who would believe, that one day I would be sitting stone-faced in the library, thinking of Jimmy, and I’d come up with an article written by you.

It turned my life around, she said. I decided to change my major, come to State University for my graduate program, and I would meet the writer of that report. Oh, what the hell. Jenn sneered at Jake, You teach students how to shoot a gun. You really piss me off.

I paid for a whole year’s tuition so I can meet and hopefully pursue my education with the author of that article."

She paused for a moment and seemed to calm down. She shook her head. Maybe, women don’t come here because they don’t trust you.

Before Jake could respond, Jenn asked, What do they do with the students’ names?

They sell them to people interested in weapons.

Isn’t that kind of devious?

They all do it: banks, insurance companies, department stores, even some at the post office.

Does this university sell students’ names?

They might if it means keeping student fees down.

Well, I think it smells. How many seminars do you have?

Four days a month. I’ve been giving them since I was a freshman.

A thousand dollars for each student seems like a lot of money.

It pays for only a small part of my tuition. Jake saw the doubt in Jenn’s facial expression. Well, I also receive a stipend from the university when I interview high school seniors seeking scholarship. In fact, I have a young man who should be here later this morning.

Will you try to sell him one of your stupid guns?

Jake decided it best not to aggravate the woman anymore. Instead. he reached into his jacket pocket, took out a business card and handed it to her.

With the card in her hand, Jake moved back one row and said, Jenn, you do have nice eyes. Call me later.

Chapter 4

Later that morning

Jamal Lewis exited the bus and into the blazing sun. The young man, light skinned and muscular, stood on the sidewalk as he adjusted to the hot weather. He unbuttoned his jacket and straightened his tie. His three-year-old brown suit was too tight for his six-and-a-half-foot frame. As he watched mostly white and some Asian students walk from one concrete building to another, he crossed his arms and thought of how his life was centered only on black people.

Jamal looked at the clean sidewalks and compared them to the graffiti, discarded plastic bags, cans and bottles strewn across streets in his neighborhood.

He thought of how his high school principal had told him, "In recent years, only two black students attended State University, and they both dropped out during their first semester. To many of the white students, you’ll be an oddity. At first, they won’t think of you as a student but likely as a member of the maintenance staff.

A young woman carrying a backpack stopped and asked, You seem kind of lost. I was on the same bus as you. Noticing his powerful shoulders and clean but otherwise worn and poorly fit clothes, she asked, Are you looking for the maintenance building?

Oh no, I am a new student. This is my first time here.

For a moment, taken aback by his comment, she said, Oh, forgive me for assuming otherwise. She put her hand out. I am Mary Johnson. Had I known you’re a new student, I would certainly have said hello on the bus.

He shook her hand and responded, I’m Jamal Lewis. Glad to meet you, he said, as his eyes shifted from one building to another one. This university seems so big."

We have thirty thousand students, She said, as she pointed to the building they were in front of. This is Kingston Hall, our largest. Where do you need to go?

Jamal looked at the business card in is hand. I believe this is it. I have an appointment with a Mr. Krueger.

He’s primarily a resident assistant and a decent person. He is a graduate student, in his fifth year here and, as such, is honored by being referred to as Mr. Krueger.

Thanks ma’am. Jamal replied. But what is a resident assistant?

An RA, as it is usually called, is a coordinator in resident halls. I guess you can call it a part-time job to help graduate students pay some of their tuition. RAs also help new students apply for scholarships. I hope to see you around. Maybe on the bus? Good luck, Jamal.

He climbed the seven stone steps and stopped in front of the information desk where a sign in bold letters read, "There is no such thing as a dumb question." To the young clerk he said, My name is Jamal Lewis and I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Mr. Krueger.

She looked at her tablet screen. He is in Room 17 around the corner. By the way, Mr. Lewis, I see this is your first visit to our university. We are pleased you chose us for your next four years.

Thanks, he said, as he turned towards Room 17.

Chapter 5

Jake’s office

Jamal knocked twice on the door and waited. Come in, please, Jake Kruger responded. Jamal walked to the man standing by a desk.

Mr. Krueger, sir. I am Jamal Lewis.

I’m glad you’re here, Jake said as they shook hands.

Jake noticed the frayed jacket and too short trousers. Shoes polished but old. His initial impression of this young fellow, as he expected from his application, was from a poor family.

He led Jamal to a small oval table with two brown leather chairs. The floor was covered by light blue scatter rugs and the mahogany desk backed up to the single window which faced an adjacent building. On a counter, in the corner of his office, was a Keurig coffee maker, a microwave and a small refrigerator. The room was cool in the low 70s.

"Please feel at ease. Would