Flower Girl

Emily sat there, staring, for three straight solid hours. She clutched the bouquet of chrysanthemums to her face, feeling their delicate petals against her equally delicate skin. So fragile. So very much like Mother would be by sundown.

She remembered last night’s heated exchange. Mother had ordered her to finish her meatloaf and peas. Emily refused. Emily was put to bed without supper as a result. How Mother laughed!

Mother would pay. Now…where to find chloroform to douse upon Mother’s tatted lace hankerchief?