When he went into the kitchen and found Anne and his mother chatting as they finished up the breakfast dishes, he decided for sure that it would be best to keep his mouth shut. His mother seemed happier than he ever remembered seeing her. Happier, and older, wispier than ever, too, so tiny that a good gust of wind might blow her away. A good reason just to let things be.

He went over to Anne, sneaked his arm around her waist, and kissed her temple, smelling her jasmine-scented hair. He immediately felt better. She asked what was wrong, and he told her, “Not a thing, now, sweetheart.” At which point his mother chuckled, and said how nice it was to see Harry really in love with a girl. “I can’t remember the last time,” she told Anne. “It was probably 1924!”

“Mom!” Harry objected, conscious of the fact that that was the year Anne had been born. But Anne just smiled.

“All right,” Wilma teased. Then her brow furrowed. “Do you think I should make more waffles for those boys? You said Ty is here now?”

“He is here,” Harry confirmed. “But I’m sure there are plenty of waffles. They have to save their appetite for turkey, anyway, right, Mom?”

She still looked worried. “Would you go check for me, Harry?”

So he pushed the swinging door open and looked into the dining room. There was no one there. Two syrupy plates were abandoned on the table.

Harry started to get a bad feeling about things. He turned and told his mother that the boys weren’t at the table, and that he was going to go find them. He gave Anne a wink, more lighthearted than he felt. He walked out into the hallway, and reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette, lighting it as he walked into the living room. Still, there was no one. He smoked. And then he heard a manly sniff from the front hall. He picked up his pace. When he came around the corner of the banister, he saw Ty sitting on the front window seat, leaning his elbows on his knees, hanging his head.

“Ty!”

The boy looked up. His eyes were watery.

“What happened?”

The boy held up a ring between his thumb and forefinger.

“Cripes!” Harry said. “Where is she?”

“She went after him.”

Harry felt a headache coming on. “After him? After him where?”

“He left. Guess he was going to the depot, leaving town. I asked her what she wanted, and she went after him.”

“Cripes,” Harry repeated, his cigarette burning unnoticed in his hand.

Chapter 59

Married happiness can never be taken for granted…. You expect your husband to continue his efforts to advance in his field; similarly you should continue your efforts to improve in your job as housekeeper, mother, and wife.

—“Making Marriage Work,”
Ladies’ Home Journal, March 1950

THE MICKELSON HOUSE
502 W. First Street, Pine Rapids
Friday, August 4, 1950