Six Vintage Dresses Left in a Cedar Trunk on Oak Street

mint.

I pressed the flap down, sealing the petition inside.

The mahogany bench in the third-row gallery of the probate courtroom was cold through my wool skirt, smelling of yellow floor wax and damp winter coats.

I sat between Beatrice and Jane, our shoulders pressed together to make room for Peggy and Sally on the narrow bench.

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