The Bride Wore Black

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“Julie, my Julie.” It followed the woman down the four flights of the stairwell. It was the softest whisper, the strongest claim, that human lips can utter. It did not make her falter, lose a step. Her face was white when she came out into the daylight, that was all.

The girl waiting by the valise at the street entrance turned and looked at her almost incredulously as she joined her, as though wondering where she had found the fortitude to go through with it. The woman seemed to read her thoughts; she answered the unspoken question, “it was just as hard for me to say goodbye as for them, only I was used to it, they weren’t. I had so many long nights in which to steel myself. They only went through it once; I’ve had to go through it a thousand times.” And without any change of tone, she went on, “I’d better take a taxi. There’s one down there.”

The girl looked at her questioningly as it drew up.

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