Dolly marched up the Mickelsons’ back steps late Monday morning carrying a basket that held four small foil-wrapped packages. One package contained four cinnamon rolls from the batch she’d made yesterday; another, several slices of yesterday’s ham; another, a baked potato; and the last, steamed broccoli. She had warmed all four packages in her oven before leaving the bungalow.

She let herself in the back porch and knocked on the door to the house, swallowing the trepidation that had been swirling within her all weekend. Considering the damage JJ had done each of the two nights last week, she hated to think what he might have accomplished over the weekend.

Yesterday after church, Mrs. Fryt had been atwitter because Jeannette had told her that Albert—Jeannette’s husband, who owned Wasserman’s Hardware—had helped JJ on Saturday pick out some sandpaper, varnish, and a set of brushes. “Something about a table he was going to refinish, I understand,” she told Corinne and Dolly, the fresh daisy atop her hat trembling. “Apparently he looks just awful. Thin as a rail and pale as death, and he smelled worse than a lumberjack—alcohol and cigarettes and like he hadn’t had a bath in days—and the way he walks, it’s just pitiful, Jeannette said. He might have even been drunk, but he was so charming that Albert couldn’t say for sure.” She emphasized charming as though it was a distasteful thing to be.

Dolly wished she could sock Mrs. Fryt and send her ridiculous flowered hat sailing. Instead, she changed the subject, and Corinne, fortunately, backed her up.

When Byron returned to Dolly’s side—he had, after the service, gravitated toward a group of men discussing hot fishing spots—Mrs. Fryt and Corinne were going on about the troubles they were having with their tomatoes this year. Happily, the subject of JJ Mickelson didn’t come up again, because the ladies would have been surprised to hear from Byron that they had arranged for Dolly to work for JJ.

Well, she’d had to tell Byron something, before he heard from someone else that she was hanging around the Mickelson house. But when she had told him at supper on Friday night that JJ Mickelson had hired her, he’d looked at her and said, “I don’t think so, Doll.” Of course, he had no idea that she had been sneaking into the Mickelson house for almost a month as it was.

“But, Byron—” She was trying hard to behave herself—no matter how gratifying it had been to act prideful with JJ. It was important to make Byron think that she wouldn’t dream of doing anything he didn’t approve of first.

“I make enough money. You don’t have to work.” Byron stopped to consider, and added, “I won’t have you working. Cleaning someone else’s house!”