“You can’t blame her entirely,” Corinne said.

“Well,” said Mrs. Fryt, “I can tell you this much: When Wilma came to town as John’s bride, and old Knute gave her and John that house as a wedding present, that was what opened up the rift between John and his brother, Gust.”

“That couldn’t have been Wilma’s fault,” Thelma said.

“Well, as I heard it,” Mrs. Fryt said, “she didn’t do a thing to try to ease the situation. I suppose she felt the house was her due. And then she cast her spell on Gust! You can bet that didn’t help matters. Batting her eyes at her own brother-in-law.”

“That was never proven,” Corinne said.

“It was clear in his face. I’ll never forget, I was walking downtown one day, and Wilma was ahead of me. She started up the steps to the bank, and just at that moment, Gust burst out the door. The minute he saw Wilma, he turned white. He’d been about to slam his hat onto his head, and all of a sudden he was struggling to tip it at Wilma! And, by the way, she was out to there with his brother’s child! I kept walking, but I heard what he said to her, and the way he said it. ‘W-Wilma! What a pleasure to see you.’”

“What did she say to him?” Dolly asked.

“She said his name, that was all, and ‘Good day.’ But, when I turned to look, she was blushing. It was her tone—low and cool but sweet as honey. She knew how he felt as well as I did.”

Corinne sighed. “Remember that pin-striped suit from Chicago, and that gray felt bowler Gust always wore? And that beautiful carriage of his? When he drove down the street, you couldn’t help but stand on your tiptoes to watch him as long as you could. And he never married!”

“Well, he was in love with Wilma,” Mrs. Fryt insisted. “Why would he marry anyone else?”

“I can’t believe that of Gust,” said Corinne.

“Maybe the curse made him do it,” Judy said.

“What curse?” Dolly asked, sitting up straight.

“Judy,” Jeannette said.

The ladies studied the quilt, focusing on their stitching.

Mrs. Fryt sighed. “The story goes that some Indian chief’s young daughter is buried on that hill, and the old chief put a spell on the land to keep folks off it. He said that great sorrow would come to anyone who disturbed his daughter’s resting place, and it would be the deepest kind of sorrow—that caused by love.” She shook her head. “Of course, Knute Mickelson didn’t pay any mind to the rumors, he just went ahead and built that ridiculous house. And his wife died three months after they moved in.”

I won’t tell Byron, that’s all, Dolly thought quickly.