The black leather glove.(Darrell Case) She was a seamstress. Not an easy occupation in our town. Everyone was always in need of new clothes. Ether for work, church or wedding. There was no Walmart back in her day, so she sewed. Late into the night you could go by her house and see lamplight shining through her front window and her at work. Except for Sunday morning. Sunday morning, she set on the third pew in our church right at the end. She had fashioned a black leather glove for her right hand. She wore that glove to church, to the store, everywhere. There were rumors she wore it to bed. If you saw her, the first thing you noticed was that black leather glove.

To us boys, she seemed old and odd. However, he was only 28 and shy. Her moist eyes followed families as they entered the church. No one seemed to notice her. Her clothing too old and too big. She seldom spent money on herself. She lived in a small house. Her father built it for her just before he and her mother moved away. In pleasant weather, she set out onto her front porch. If someone came to visit, she listened and sewed. Always with her head down, concentrating on her work.

Others could only speculate on the loneliness she felt and tears she shed. She stopped one day and said no more. She finished the dress and pants she was working on and left them in packages on the porch. Two days later, a farmer found her body swinging from a limb at the back of his property. On her hand was that black leather glove. 

 

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