Then Wilma saw Gust, crossing the avenue toward them. She had not seen him since before Jack was born. Shamefully, though, she had dreamed of him—even, sometimes, when she was half awake. Meaningless, she had assured herself at the time. But now the sight of him made her mouth go dry. She was conscious of sweat forming under her arms.

Unaware of Gust’s approach, John was talking to a couple that Wilma vaguely recognized from the church, bragging about baby Jack.

“Wilma,” said Gust, as he came near. Removing his hat, he stopped before her. His curls shone in the sunlight. “It’s so nice to see you up and about, then.”

“Hello, Gust.”

“And how’s my nephew?” he said, peering over the hood of the carriage. “Sleeping soundly, I see.” His movement caught John’s attention, and the two men greeted each other, John quickly resuming his conversation with the couple from church.

“He’s fine,” Wilma said. “Thank you.”

“And you’re feeling well?”

“Fine, thank you,” she said, though she was dizzy and short of breath; her corset was so tight!

For a moment, there seemed nothing more to say; their eyes remained locked. “I was sorry,” he said finally, “that when I came to the house you were indisposed.”

“You were at the house?” Wilma said.

He frowned. “Several times. You wouldn’t think I’d miss seeing my nephew, now, would you? He’s quite something.”

“He is?” she said, then caught herself. “Oh, yes! Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Gust grinned. “Jack.”

She smiled. “Yes. Jack.” Her smile faded; she fought the sudden, inexplicable urge to weep.

A fire wagon, pulled by six black horses shaking their manes and stomping their hooves, was leading the approaching parade.

Gust stepped up next to her, and turned toward the street. Oh, don’t—don’t, she told herself, but it was far too late. The clanging of the fire bell and the shouts of the crowd and the drumbeats of the eight-member Pine Rapids High School band grew louder and louder, and then her legs gave way, and all went black.

When she came to, she was stretched flat on a cool marble floor. Looking up into the dimness of the room, she recognized the pattern of the pressed tin ceiling. The bank. John was crouched next to her, and Gust on her other side. “Thank God, Wilma, you’re all right,”John said. “You fainted. Thank God Gust caught you. I’m sorry I brought you out today. I thought you’d feel better if you got out.”

Wilma looked up at Gust. He had caught her!

He smiled. There was an unidentifiable quiver in his eyes.