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Daviess, Maria Thompson, 1872-1924

"The Melting of Molly"

"
"Yes, Aunt Adeline, I'll go take it off this very minute," I heard
myself answer her airily to my own astonishment. I might have known that
if I ever got one of those smiles it would go to my head! Without
another word I sailed into my room and closed the door softly.
I wonder if God could have realized what a tender thing He was leaving
exposed to life in the garden of the world after He had finished making
a woman? Traditionally, we are created out of rose-leaves and star-dust
and the harmony of the winds, but we need a steel-chain netting to fend
us. Slowly I unbuttoned that black dress that symbolized the ending of
six years of the blackness of a married life, from which I had been
powerless to fend myself, and the rosy dimpling thing in snowy lingerie
with tags of blue ribbon that stood in front of my mirror was as
new-born as any other hour-old similar bundle of linen and lace in
Hillsboro, Tennessee. Fortunately, an old, year-before-last, white lawn
dress could be pulled from the top shelf of the closet in a hurry, and
the Molly that came out of that room was ready for life--and a lot of it
quick and fast.
And again, fortunately, Aunt Adeline had retired with a violent headache
and black Judy was carrying her in a hot water-bottle with a broad grin
on her face.


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