Her eyes widened as she recognized it. She jumped up from the bench, crossing the room to sit again on the davenport. Her china cup tinkled nervously against its saucer as she took a sip of coffee.

Harry stood. “Anne,” he said, crossing to her. “If you won’t make a fool out of yourself, then I guess I’ll have to make one out of me.”

She looked up at him.

He sat down next to her. His nerves were worse than a schoolboy’s. “I know you lost Bobby not too long ago, Anne, and I know it’s been hard. But unless I’m dreaming, I think you’re starting to like me a little bit.”

A small smile raised a corner of her lips.

“But unless you can sneak something of yours into my coat pocket before I leave tonight, I’m just about to run out of excuses to see you again.”

Her smile broadened; she looked at her coffee cup.

“So I guess I’m just going to have to come right out and ask you if you’ll let me take you out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Oh!” She set her coffee cup on the table, smoothed out her skirt. Then she looked up and met his eyes. “Yes. Yes.”

Chapter 44

You’ll be surprised at the number of table mats, napkins, curtains, and sport things that have to be ironed, even with only two in the household….

—Good Housekeeping, January 1950

HOME OF MRS. CECILIA FRYT
412 W. First Street, Pine Rapids
Tuesday, August 1, 1950

Rain came in the middle of the night, and lasted all morning. Dolly was exhausted from all the work in the Mickelson house bath suite yesterday, plus from staying up late to finish her laundry, then getting up early to get started on the never-ending ironing before making Byron’s breakfast. Still, the change in the air and the smell of wet hemlock lifted her flagging spirits; she was light on her feet the whole way to Mrs. Fryt’s under her umbrella.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Fryt was of the school of thought that windows must be closed tightly against even such a gentle rain; her parlor was miserably stuffy, the windows covered in steam. As Dolly settled around the Wild Goose Chase quilt with the other ladies, in her sleeveless white dress with the red trim and her red ballerina slippers, her mood languished again, as she began to feel sticky immediately.

A sense of apprehension only made matters worse. Though she didn’t know how the ladies would respond, she had decided she’d better tell them something about her and the Mickelson house. She hadn’t been able to stop worrying over what conclusions Mrs. Fryt might draw, and what rumors might take flight, if Mrs. Fryt saw Dolly going in there.

As everyone was threading their needles, she blurted, “Well, JJ Mickelson has hired me to help him clean the Mickelson house.”