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Flour Jar Dress

by Marguerite Mullaney
Anne smoothed the wrinkles in her daughter’s new blue back-to-school dress. The dress still carried that fresh, store bought smell. It made a soft, crushing sound with each pass of Anne’s hand.
“This fits just perfectly,” she hummed.
Anne loosened the jewel neck collar so it would not pinch too close. The raglan sleeves ran gently downward from the neckline. It was a perfect fit.
Because the dress was quite expensive, it took many months to save for it. Scrimped money had been hidden in the old flour jar. Like all mothers, Anne wanted the best for her daughter. She would start her little girl off on the right foot with this prized dress for the first day of school. Anne fluffed the stiff, white petticoats that crept out from beneath the blue dress line at the knee.
“Anne, it’s time to go,” mumbled her husband.
She nodded, then paused to make one final correction. Reaching down, Anne straightened the cuff around her dead daughter’s cold wrist.
The End
Originally published by Gotta Write, A Maren Publication, Winter 1989

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