Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way by Rohn Federbush

were the questions she should be asking? What next? “Better get me a drink of water.” Her heart was making those flipping motions warning this was way too much excitement for a sixty-seven year old woman. “Widow,” Sally said out loud before Tim returned with a glass of water. “I’m a widow, again.”
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    First Monday in January
    Hotel Baker, St. Charles, Illinois
    For the next seventy-two hours, Sally feared for her sanity. Surreal memories of her teen years in St. Charles attempted to crowd the horrible reality of John’s death out of her conscious mind. Violent daydreams meshed with the awful truths in reality during sleepless nights of utter confusion.
    Several days were filled with Tim, James Nelson and his wife, Betty, as well as Sheriff Woods and Gabby keeping constant vigils. Nevertheless, Sally searched the assembled crowd for the man’s face filled with love who would never meet her smile again in her lifetime. Her friends kept reminding her, John was dead.
    On Monday, the funeral baskets of white roses from St. Patrick’s altar arrived at Hotel Baker, where they lined the foyer walls. Unlit candles in giant brass holders were stationed along the main hall to the ballroom. Sally reminisced about being here before, among white roses and unlit candles. “Where is Jill?” Sally asked an usher.
    Dressed in somber black, Tim shook his head.
    An older man pushed Tim aside. “Jill?” Sheriff Woods asked.
    A woman dressed oddly in black for a wedding seemed to have half the answer. “Sally,” Gabby said. “We didn’t think to invite her.”
    “For her own wedding?” Sally tried to laugh but the frowns of the people surrounding her belayed the effort.
    An old person, Sally longed to hug stepped forward. “You’re exhausted, Sally,” James said. “Come and sit down for a minute.”
    “What happened to your head?” Sally judged the top of the man’s head was too hairy to be real.
    James touched his wig. He fished in his pockets for something. The woman next to him also in the day’s fashion of black handed him a handkerchief. He freely applied the white lace to his wet face. Sally looked down at her hands. She touched a wedding ring on her left hand. Who did it belong to, and why did she hurt all over? “I don’t think I’m well,” she said to the youngest person in the group.
    Tim helped her to a cushioned chair in the hotel’s lobby. “You’ve had a shock. Give yourself time to absorb the blow.”
    Sally rested her head against the chair’s soft back cushion. Tim sat down in a chair beside her. “I know you, don’t I?” Sally put both hands to her head. Someone she knew did the same thing whenever he tried to think. John. No. She did not want to think of John. She closed her eyes and searched for Jill in her past.
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    December 1958
    Jill had called Sally at work. “I never catch you at home.”
    “Night school,” Sally answered. She hadn’t heard from Jill since the homecoming debacle in Lincoln, nearly four months earlier.
    “I’d like you to be my maid-of-honor,” Jill said.
    “Good Heavens! Who are you marrying, and when?”
    “Next Saturday to Charlie. I picked out your dress for you. I’m paying for it.”
    “Thank you,” Sally managed. “Should I try it on before the wedding?”
    “I’ll bring the dress by tonight.” Jill sounded matter of fact, in control. “Tony won’t leave me alone. My father finally let me invite him to the wedding. Could you ask Art Woods to talk to him? Art and his folks are invited too.” After a pause, Jill added, “Yours are too.”
    Jill was stiff and apologetic when she brought over the dress, keeping her coat and hat on and declining a piece of Sally’s mother’s pie. Sally tried on the flowing, emerald satin gown.
    “Wow,” Daddy said.
    “How should I wear my hair?” Sally asked.
    Jill jumped up hitting her knee on the table. “Ouch. I forgot the hat.” She ran out to the car,