Even through the haze of dust on the glass, Dolly recognized Wilma from the ladies’ descriptions: her whipped-butter skin, golden piled hair, high cheekbones, and straight nose. (Her mouth, Dolly noted, had appeared on Jack.) Her high-necked, long-sleeved dress was exquisite, but so tight around the bodice that Dolly could only imagine the strain it must have been to breathe. The pointed toe of a spangled white shoe peered out from under the long skirt. Wilma was even tinier than Dolly had envisioned, her head barely clearing John’s, though he was seated in front of her. Despite his obvious height and the broadness of his shoulders, there was something about him—something at the corners of his eyes—that looked insubstantial, like a good wind might blow him away. As for Wilma’s eyes, they were glassy—and Dolly didn’t think that was just a trick of the portrait. Why, she almost looks as though she didn’t want to marry him in the first place!

In all of Dolly’s wedding photos, she was grinning like a fool.

Well, it was a different time, she told herself. They weren’t supposed to grin in their wedding portraits.

Moving away from the portrait, she discovered a snapshot in a small frame on the mantel. She picked it up, and recognized the girl in it immediately: Elissa. Standing next to her was a tall blond soldier: Nick, then. Both were smiling, though they looked a little awkward together. Dolly removed the back of the frame to see if there was anything written on the back of the photo. What she found was this: “1943. ‘Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me. Psalm 51.’”

Dolly sank to the floor, hugging the picture to her, closing her eyes.

A moment later, she began seriously to weigh her options.

She was fed up with trying to please Byron. It wasn’t fair that she should give up everything for him, only to have him betray her. She knew she had been no angel, either, concerning JJ, but at least nothing too physical had happened. She decided: No matter how much everyone might think Byron’s infidelity had been brought on by her wifely shortcomings, it was ample provocation for her to leave him. Wilma was proof enough of that.

But if Dolly were to leave Byron, what would she do? She had no money, only a high school education, no car, and certainly no secret inheritance like Wilma Mickelson had.

She immediately disregarded the idea of going home to Battle Point. A divorcée could hardly go back to live with her mother and father just as though nothing had happened.