Matt and Abbey visited Sally regularly. No one else came the four months she was in the hospice, after being with Abbey and Matt for awhile. Summer was proving to be stormy and upsetting. The weather was "all wrong" and one could not count on nice, hot days, only storm after storm.
In her room, with good care, Sally waited in pain for death. She did not know how to pray anymore. She thought, in the wisdom of her now thirty-eight years, that people who were really ill could pray. She knew better now. Her suffering was her prayer. Sometimes, she would say the rosary with the nice deacon who visited her once a week. She could not swallow Communion, but could receive the Blood of Christ.
The nice deacon read her the Gospel of the day in the Novus Ordo. She had seen the TLM priest once a month for Confession, and he promised her an anointing in the old rite. She waited.
Frieda in Madison phoned Matt when she could. She had taken on summer courses and could not get away until early August. Her fear was that she would not see Sally alive again.
One day, at the beginning of July, Frieda decided to read the journal Sally had given her.
The story written in Sally's beautiful hand was not one Frieda expected.
Part of the story which caught Frieda's attention was this.
On Saturday,we went out and Hans began to speak of marriage. I immediately heard a small voice, maybe my angel, say, "You will never be his wife." I did not know what to say. We truly love each other, but as I looked at him over the dinner table at The Grove, I wondered at this small voice, so gentle yet so firm.
Then, I saw Hans all in white, with sandals and a big straw hat, like a missionary hat. He was walking across a desert landscape, as in California.
My great uncle had been a Norbertine at St. Michael's and I saw Hans, in my mind's eye, like that. He took out the ring box and began to propose. I was shaking like a leaf. No, no, no. I would have to say no.
I began to cry and he did not understand. "I thought you loved me," he said softly. I could hardly answer.
"I do, but God loves you more." He became angry and pushed the ring box in front of me and walked out.
Then, outside church on Sunday, he took me aside and asked if we could have coffee after Mass. When we sat down, he said he went home and was so angry he almost called me back to tell me off.
Then, he was filled with a tremendous fire, and then peace. Then, he heard a little voice-"Be a priest". I was so shocked, I laughed outloud. Me, with two doctorates, a tenured position, a great practice.
Then, I saw you, in heaven, all in white...I cried and gave God my will."
We have not talked since that day. I shall never see him again this side of the grave.
Frieda looked at the ring. It was gorgeous. A large ruby set in diamonds in platinum.
She got goose bumps and had an idea. She phoned Isaac.
"Isaac, Frieda, how would you like to make some money this summer? I want to take off during the second semester, the short class, this summer. Could you see if Smith would let us do this?"
In two days, Frieda has extricated herself from her special short-semester class and had bought a round-trip ticket to Houston. She would leave on July 10th. She had one bag and on her hand a ruby ring.
To be continued....
