“She took advantage of a stretch of clear weather to tend the roses growing in ragged, weed-filled beds. Wearing her last old dress, an apron, and a pair of gloves, she went outside with a couple of garden tools, a can of coffee grounds mixed with broken eggshells, and a watering can filled with a sulfur mixture for the roses. She wore her hair in a braid and it hung over her shoulder with a ribbon tied at the end. She’d hired one of the neighbor boys to pull the weeds out here, but he’d missed ...more than half of them. Still, it almost made her feel young again to kneel on a pad of old newspapers and dig in the soil with her trowel under the warmth of the mild spring sun. It was easy to forget, just for a while, the troubles she’d known for so long. Now there wasn’t much she couldn’t do. She didn’t have to like it, but she’d been forced to learn such basics to survive. She was busy snipping off rose leaves withered from black spot when she heard someone at the gate.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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