She supposed her homesickness had been aggravated by a difficult week. She hadn’t had a minute to herself; she hadn’t even been able to start the new Cherry Ames book her sister had sent her. After she finished her regular chores each day, she had so much shopping to do to get the bungalow decorated. She had been thrilled to find at Penney’s a set of bright pink towels that exactly matched the shade in the floral print wallpaper in the bathroom. But Byron had squawked at the sight of them, saying he refused to use a towel of that color. So it was back to Penney’s again, and again. She brought home the light blue, the bright blue, and the green, in succession, but none looked as good to her against the wallpaper as the pink, and the issue still wasn’t resolved. When she threatened to give up on the towels and start looking for new wallpaper instead, Byron said he would paint the room white, but he hadn’t even bought the paint yet. Until he did, they were getting by with their old towels—a wedding gift, they were lime green and looked hideous with the wallpaper—because she didn’t know which color she would like with the paint. (And he’d said: “It’s going to be white, Doll! Any color will go fine with it. Just get what color you like.” And she’d said, “I like the pink.”) Adding to her frustration, she had spent hours shopping for pillows for the sofa, finally settling on a pair with stylish buttons in their centers. But Byron had said they were uncomfortable to lean against. She toyed with sending him out to find pillows and seeing how he liked it, but she discarded the idea, knowing that he would have no sense for color. Any man who would think white was the solution to their problems …

What made everything seem worse was her conviction that she would have no such frustrations if she could put her creative energies to work on a house that was worth the effort, one like the Mickelson house. The bungalow was satisfactory, but there were dozens of houses of the same design in Pine Rapids; even Dolly’s most heroic decorative touches would never make it exceptional. The Mickelson house, though, was unique. It had true potential, and it needed Dolly, especially since, according to the women of the Ladies Aid, no one else in town would have it. It needed Dolly before it caved in on itself from lack of care and love.