Follow Me by Joanna Scott Page B

opening chords. Sally stepped forward toward
     the microphone. She’d never sung into a microphone before.
    It’s easy to smile…,
she sang, and then she stopped, startled by the strange volume of her voice and scared of the audience’s concentrated attention.
     But the band kept on playing, and the audience remained silent with expectation. She didn’t know what to do. She thought she
     saw a woman in the crowd mouthing
I-told-you-so,
and Sally worried that she was getting ready to call out a loud boo. They were all going to boo at her. They were going to
     boo her out of Fishkill Notch.
    She searched for Uncle Mason, but the place beside Swill’s wife was empty. Swill’s wife was looking like she’d rather be sitting
     there than anywhere else in the world, stationed in the audience at Georgie’s wedding waiting for Sally Werner to sing. Sally
     focused on her, mesmerized by her cheerful face. Swill’s wife grinned widely, communicating her pleasure. It didn’t matter
     what Sally did — Swill’s wife was going to enjoy the show no matter what.
    “It’s easy to sigh…,”
the bandleader whispered to her.
    “It’s easy to sigh,”
she sang
…
    It’s easy to know
    That you and I
    Were meant to fall in love.
    It was strange to hear her voice amplified and coming back to her as a new sound. She felt stupid and vulnerable. But she
     also felt an unfamiliar strength filling her, making her bend her fingers into fists. She sang louder:
    It’s simple to wish,
    And simple to dream…
    It was helpful to watch Swill’s plump wife nodding and grinning, grinning and nodding.
    It’s simple to guess…
    That you and I…
    Were meant to fall in love.
    A hoot of praise rose from somewhere in the audience. Someone else yelled, urging her on. Sally kept her eyes fixed on Swill’s
     wife as she sang,
    Oh, you and I,
    Yes, you and I,
    Were meant to fall in love.
    There, she’d done it, sung like there was no tomorrow. And in the empty space following the end of the song came applause,
     loud and merry applause, whistles and calls for an encore.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the bandleader, “that was your own Sally Werner.”
    “Sally Werner,” called the audience. “Sally Werner, Sally Werner, Sally Werner!”
    “How about another song, Sally Werner?” the bandleader asked her through the microphone and then murmured to her, “You know
     ‘Walk with Me’?”
    Sure she knew “Walk with Me.”
    Walk with me, walk with me,
    Darlin’, won’t you walk with me…
    She sang with full confidence right from the start. She sang because she liked singing. She liked it more than ever now that
     other people wanted to hear her. For the first time in her life, she was worthy of admiration. It didn’t matter that she was
     singing with a bunch of farmhand-musicians in front of an easy-to-please crowd. She might as well have been singing in a concert
     hall before an audience of thousands.
    After singing the two songs from start to finish, she stepped off the stage to the clamor of applause that wouldn’t fade.
     They wanted more, more, more! Sing another song, Sally Werner! Keep singing until the cows come home!
    But she felt wise beyond her experience right then and knew that she should stop while she was ahead. She waved to the audience
     to signal that her part of the show was over. She returned to the mike to say, “Thank you, thank you very much,” and then
     offered a quick curtsy.
    The applause faded slowly, reluctantly. Sally held on to the sound until the last person had stopped clapping and the fiddler
     had begun a new song.
    “That was fine singing, Sally Werner!” someone said to her as she brushed past.
    “Oh, young lady, you have talent!”
    “Sally,” said Georgie, giving her a hug, enveloping her in the satin folds of her dress. “My friend Sally!”
    “That took some guts,” said Erna, handing her a glass of champagne.
    Everyone was praising her, even surly old Swill, who raised his glass