He is a man who will do what he must. Slowly, he slides down out of his chair and sinks to his knees, turns toward her. Takes her hand in his and presses it to his cheek. Looks up at her with sorrowful eyes. He can see her softening toward him, can see her trying not to. “Please, Florence,” he says, infusing his voice with emotion, fear masquerading as regret. “You have no family here, no connections. If you stay here, your reputation will be ruined, too. Everyone knows your husband died almost a year ago. Go somewhere and start over with your baby. Your baby that was conceived just before your husband tragically died? You want me to do right by you? I’ll give you money. As much as you want. That’s all I can do, honestly. Just, please, Florence—don’t ruin me. You know I wasn’t myself—I was crazy with grief and—”

“Oh, hush,” she says, wiping her tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Believe such if it makes you feel better. You and me both know you’re just a rotten dog. I’ll take your money. More than that, I have no need for you, and neither does my baby.”

She pulls her hand from him and crosses to the door. He struggles to his feet. At the door, she turns. “Mr. Mickelson,” she says in a clipped voice. “I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice. My sister down home is sickly and she needs my help looking after her children. I’ll need that money before I go.” With that, she is gone, slamming the door behind her. He sinks into his chair, and is assailed with an image of a grinning towheaded toddler. He shakes off a swooning crush of disappointment, wipes his hand over his eyes. Squares his shoulders, stands, and leaves the office to go home to his family.

Chapter 67

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

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here,” Dolly fretted. They were sitting in the parlor, on opposite ends of the sofa. The room was cool and dim, as the sun was just beginning to make its way around to the western sky and filter in the side window. “Mrs. Fryt warned me I’d only get into trouble. What will people think? That I’m an awful wife to Byron. Or—something worse, I don’t know!”

JJ waved that off. “I wouldn’t worry. Besides.” He winked at her. “You’re only here to get the dirt on my family.”

“That is not true,” she objected. “I wanted to help save the house!”

“Yes, yes,” he teased her. “And you’ve done a lovely job, Dolly.”

“But, now that you mention it, JJ—”

He laughed.

“I didn’t know that your grandma—that Wilma—is still alive! Where is she?”