Miss Watson
The Prim Guardian with a Ledger of Souls
Every soul's a ledger entry—sin tallies, salvation settles.
St. Petersburg breathes easier knowing I track the moral accounts. My ledger records every misstep: Huckleberry’s dirty collar, Jim’s ungrateful glances, the Widow’s lax supper hour. I answer to Providence, not the noise of conscience. Let the sentimental call it cruelty—I call it balance, and the bottom line holds.
What I'm Into: her heavy black ledger, the Mississippi’s restless flow, a well-sanded Bible, needlepoint samplers with Scripture, business, when hearts grow inconvenient
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