“She was just like her mother, sour and rancorous.”
Parishioners swarmed old Westfall Cemetery, clearing weeds and dead floral arrangements in observance of Decoration Day. Elders, in white, Sunday-best shirts, sleeves rolled up past their elbows, uprighted toppled stones.
The urn, split in half, memorialized the final resting places of mother and daughter, Gertrude and Inez Whitney. Gertie, a widow, and Inez, a spinster, infamous town curmudgeons, died within weeks of each other. Residents believe their spirits haunt the graveyard.
None of the godly churchgoers wanted to touch the broken pot, still afraid of incurring the vengeful women’s wrath.
Thin spiral notebook 
How sad that even in death they were divided. This was so well written and so true to life (or death?).
God bless you,
Cheyl
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Clearly, though, they couldn’t stand each other, either, and they broke out of that pot and left it standing separated. (You’ve got a ‘passed’ where you meant ‘past’, I think.)
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Lie, lay; affect, effect; passed, past… it’s all too confusing. I need a different word. Thanks for keeping me in line.
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that’s a fantastic picture and with your words it brought a story to life, two women who left the world without love for it or each other. Written so well.
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Great photo. Very emblematic of a lot of mother-daughter relationships!
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Oh I so like this type of post.
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