Dear Mrs. Gloria Whitehall,
My name is Irene Wachowski and I am a friend of Marguerite Vincenzo, as I believe you know. I’m sorry to bring such bad news in this impersonal manner. The enclosed telegram was copied in the office of Dr. Aloysius Martin. He owns a photostat machine.
On Tuesday afternoon, Marguerite did not show up for lunch. When I went to Dr. Martin’s office to investigate, he said she did not come to work, which is unlike her. Concerned, my friend Charlie and I walked to her home.
She was in a very bad state, as you can imagine. Apparently, the death notice came as she was having her morning tea. I found shards of the cup all over the front yard, a tea stain on the sidewalk and Margie locked inside the house with the curtains drawn. Charlie coaxed her into opening the door a crack, but she would not come out and would not let anyone in.
I offered to send a telegram to the Vincenzo family in Chicago, and to you, as I know you’ve grown close. She went hysterical at the idea of you getting a telegram, and made me promise not to send it.
After a while Charlie and I were able to get into the house. He sat with Margie while I slipped away, running back to the university with the telegram in hand. I went directly to Dr. Martin’s office and informed him of the tragedy. He immediately granted her a leave of absence. While in his office, I asked to use the photostat to make a copy of the telegram for Sal’s family in Chicago. I made an extra for you. I found one of your letters on Margie’s dressing table and copied down the address.
I asked to stay with her last night and she refused, quite violently, and pushed us from the house. She doesn’t want to speak with or see anyone. She said she was going to stay put and let the sunflowers grow over the house, blocking the doors and windows and light.
I fear for her mind, Mrs. Whitehall, and I’m not quite sure what to do. Mrs. Kleinschmidt is sitting watch on Margie’s front porch today. I’ll head over there after work with Roylene and the baby. Charlie will take the night shift. If she won’t let us in the house, though, we can’t help her much.
Marguerite had such love for him, and I can’t imagine the pain she is experiencing. Please write to her. One thing I can do is slip a letter under her door. At this point, I’ll try anything.
Sincerely,
Irene Wachowski