She wore a red rose brooch on her lapel, made from wool that had been knitted and boiled. I admired it more than once. It was of consuming beauty.

"I realized just before I left the house that I was wearing everyting in black," she explained. "I looked like a widow. A friend of mine gave me this; she makes them. I thought I'd brighten up my look." She took out her reporter's notebook. "I know we've talked about this before but what was your inspiration for your first book."

"Being a widow," I said; and we laughed.

She was a reporter for the local newspaper and had a tight deadline. She couldn't stay to hear every word of my soon-to-come speech. I didn't think it would be a speech in which every word would be a timeless raindrop; but I wondered what she'd think.

The night grew long.

Some 300 people showed up to hear me discuss the novel 'CAGE OF STARS' for a program in Michigan called 'Along the Lakeshore,' in which cooperative libraries held a series of events leading up to a visit with the author.

In fact, in one town, an actor had written a short play from the point of view of the young man who commits a murder in the book, and who suffers from schizophrenic illness. There was a great deal of thought and creativity under the roof of the auditorium at the high school.

When the last book was signed, I was ready to take off my heels and hit the bed.

Then someone approached me and said, "Patti said to give you this." In her palm, the woman held a red crocheted woolen rose, a gift for a black dress -- and for a weary traveler.

And I no longer cared so much what the reporter Patti Eddington would write about my visit. She had given me the ultimate tribute. She'd thrown a rose, and from her own heart.

Jackie M.