John patted her shoulder, and got to his feet. “We’ll go home now, Wilma. You just rest a moment, and gather your strength. I’m going to check on Jack. I left him with the Olsons, but I don’t like having him out of our sight.” She heard him walk away across the marble. The heavy door opened, letting in the sounds of the parade. When it closed again, the quiet was like a salve.

Wilma closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so ashamed.”

Gust said nothing.

“I wish—” she began.

“Wilma,” he said.

She clenched her fists against all that was welling inside her. Steady, steady. A tear escaped her closed eye. Still, he did not touch her. When John returned, Gust stood back while John helped her to her feet.

I wish I had known it when you had your arms around me, was what she had come so close to saying. I wish I could know what it felt like.

But back out into the heat and noise, teetering along under John’s arm, to where their baby slept on.

Chapter 8

Take an interest in his appearance. Keeping his clothes in order is your job; encouraging him to look his best, and admiring him when he does, should be your pleasure.

—“Making Marriage Work,”

Ladies’ Home Journal, January 1950

HOME OF MRS. CECILIA FRYT
412 W. First Street, Pine Rapids
Tuesday, July 11, 1950

“I was wondering,” Dolly said, as soon as the ladies were settled and stitching in Mrs. Fryt’s parlor. “Do you think there’s any truth to what you told me about the Mickelson house? About it being cursed, I mean?”

Ever since her late-night adventure on the Fourth of July, Dolly had felt lost in the dream of that wonderful house. At the oddest times, she would recall herself back into the shadowy rooms, just as during algebra class her senior year she had (without necessarily meaning to) recalled herself back into Saturday night and Byron’s arms. She had felt so comfortable being in the house, she simply couldn’t believe that there was anything so menacing as a curse lurking about it.

“You just won’t let that family rest in peace, will you?” Mrs. Fryt grumbled. Mrs. Fryt had grudgingly allowed the group to cancel their meeting the week before, since it had fallen on a holiday, and now she seemed to resent them all for slackers, ushering them briskly into the parlor and bidding them to get straight to work on the quilt. The room was stuffy today, despite the windows being open; the ladies and the spider plants all drooped more than usual.

“Well,” Corinne said, “all we know for certain, Dolly, is that the family did have more than their share of sorrows.”