Wear Something Warm

Once upon a dreary winter, in a hotel with only one story, an old woman sat upon her rocking chair stiching and sewing with her leathery fingers. Slivers of gray escaped her tight bun and crawled over her face, but her attention could not be redirected from her task. Two knocks, on the door to her small room. She doesn't stir, doesn't even look up. Her fingers have work to do, and they can't do it if they're wasting time opening doors. Her neck is bent, eyes staring at the sharp needles that form the soft fabric. A shrill creak of the door makes her jump, but continues to work when she sees who it is.
" Are you ready to go yet, Mom?"
" Darling, I'm busy. Come back in a little bit, than I'll be ready."
" What are you working on?"
" Just a little something, it's a surprise, so let's not go ruining it now."
" Alright"
Her daughter glides across the wooden floor, abrely touching it and giving her mother a gentle kiss on her coarse cheek. Her daughter pulls back the silky, jet black hair from her eyes to view her mother's creation.
" Look's lke you're almost done."
" Almost."
She gracefully pulls up a wooden cahir next to the old woman, sits down in it, and crosses her legs.
" You won't believe how beautiful it is outside."
" Oh, I've seen quite a few good ones in my day."
" This'll top them all, I stopped by to see Dad earlier, as well."
" Oh?"
" He would've love today, Mom. He loved winter time."
" Yes he did, it's very cold today as well."
" It should be! There's five inches of snow outside, and the weatherman said it would snow later this afternoon as well."
" Your Father always went out in the snow. He loved to be outside."
" Yes he did, he used to carry me up the hills on his shoulders when we went sleding. He told me... when i was up there, no one could touch me."
" He always said he was fine, but I knew he was cold."
The woman's daughter fidgeted.
" Yes, Mom."
" You remember what they buried him in?"
" No... I can't remember..."
" A flannel shirt, a shirt he hated."
" That's awful."
She continued to knit, working quickly now with anger coarsing through her veins and out her fingertips.
" Yes."
She stopped, and she tied of the string.
" Are you finished?"
" Yes, I do think I am done."
" Hold it up."
She unfolded the bundle of cloth, and outstretched her arms. It was a dark lavender wool sweater.
" It's nice, Mom, though I don't know who'll fit into that!"
" Don't be silly dear, it's for your father. I shouldn't want him to freeze to death in this weather, and to think, 5 inches of snow and he's been out there all morning! I don't care what he tells me, he's putting this on!"