Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way Read Online Free Page B

Dressed in dark browns, his body seemed to lag behind his busy mind. She imagined a panther’s limbs following its hunting gaze. At the door, Art turned and gave her a little wave of thanks. Boy! Her heart was racing, her breasts tingled under the sweater, and her face wasn’t the only part of her body capable of a hot blush and sweat. She would pay the book fine herself. She picked up a copy of ‘ Wuthering Heights’ from the stack of books on the cart and tried to concentrate as she randomly flipped through the pages. Forcing herself to relax, she melded into the words of another century.  “(When) Heathcliff appeared on the door stones,...(she felt) as scared as if (she) had raised a goblin,...(she resolved) further on mounting vigilant guard, and doing (her) utmost to check the spread of such bad influence ...” Closing the book, Sally placed it on the correct shelf next to ‘ Jane Eyre .’
    No wonder her classmates laughed at her inane, archaic remarks. Whenever she raised her head from the fictive dreams in books, the unpredictable people surrounding her in reality jarred her sensibilities. She read too many books. Everyone in town thought so, except her mother.
    Volunteering as an assistant librarian allowed Sally to hide out in the bright, book-lined room close to the endless possibilities of the written word and away from troublesome people. However, not one syllable prepared her for Art Woods. He probably wouldn’t approach her again. He dated every pretty senior girl and most of those in her own junior class, except for Jill Wisnewski; because Art’s closest friend, Tony Montgomery, went steady with Jill.
    When the library cart was empty, Sally chose three more books to read at home; one on mythology, one named ‘ Lilith, ’ and one on how to construct a log cabin. Reading felt like an addiction at times. She needed to know each word hidden between the covers of any book. How much could she remember from all these books? Maybe words filtered out after stimulating the brain. The brain fluid contained the same chemical make-up as tears. Perhaps the words were wept away. She’d suffered enough to cry for the rest of her life. Ugliest daughters needed to weep, frequently. She gathered her schoolbooks from her main-floor locker for the last time in the school year.
    As Sally was leaving the school building, Jill hailed her, reminding her to call. And report what? Nothing ever happened to Sally. Jill, on the other hand, bragged about enough intima te encounters to fill a football stadium. Prone to embellish, Jill’s lurid stories nagged at Sally. Books weighed down her arms. Written accounts of Greek gods, Jewish wisdom, and hatchet-made interlocking logs didn’t stay in her brain as long as Jill’s fictive dreams. Of course, even in ‘Lilith’ God was described as male and female entwined to ensure an all-knowing being. Gods from India displayed four arms, too. And in Tahiti, under the encouraging cheers of female priests, the holy-of-holies included the pure act of creation between altar-prone teenagers.
    Sally shook her head. In her birth religion, the consecration of the flat Host at Mass certainly held less excitement. All these sterile descriptions of intercourse, even Jill’s tales, failed to mention the intensity of her body’s reaction to touch -- Art’s touch. Could she ever return to her serene world of books?
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    First Wednesday in January
    In John’s home the bedside telephone rang, waking first John and then Sally from their naps. “Sheriff Woods.” John handed the phone to Sally.
    “Tim’s been telling me some interesting stories,” Sheriff Woods said.
    “About Matilda?” Sally guessed.
    “No. Is there something more I should ask Tim about Mrs. Armstrong? Tim’s told me who Bret was having an affair with.”
    “This, I need to hear in person.” Sally looked at her watch. Eight o’clock.
    “Wait until morning.” John advised.
    “How about if I bring Tim