On nights such as these expectation beamed from Cecelia’s sparkling eyes for she had discovered, although belabored by time, a solution to her heart...ickness. ‘Oh Lydia…come, come!’ Cecelia would show her another daily composition to a benefactor in France’s court who showed a possibility of taking up her cause. A table covered with parchment, manuscripts, quills, ink and Royal stamps had become ubiquitous near her bedside. Her most recent composition spread out upon that table would be. "Do you know a Mary Ellen Reardon?"I told him that Mary Ellen was my wife."We found her sitting on a park bench on campus and she's in pretty bad shape."I told him I would be right down and he interrupted me to say that she wouldn't be at the campus police station:"We are having her transported to Mercy Hospital. She will be in the emergency room."I found Sgt. Matthews waiting for me when I got there."She's in the exam room and I'll take you in to see her in a minute, but first, can you tell me. More

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