“They were arrogant,” Mrs. Fryt snapped. “Had no sense of their own human imperfections! That was why. And I can tell you to the day when that house started to crumble. It was the day Jack Mickelson decided to drag his brother Chase off to enlist in the First World War.”

“They were heroes!” Jeannette said, surprisingly animated, among murmurs of disagreement.

Mrs. Fryt harrumphed. “Yes, heroes, of course. We all know it, and if we don’t, someone else will say it to us until we do. But I still say, if Jack hadn’t been so bent on outdoing everybody in town by enlisting the very day that war was declared—” She held up a hand to quiet objections. “I know, some people say he shouldn’t be blamed. But I was there, and I don’t see how we couldn’t blame him. Taking Chase out of high school that way!”

“It was the bravest thing they could have done,” Jeannette said.

But Mrs. Fryt turned to Dolly. “The day the boys decided to enlist, it was Good Friday—this would have been 1917. I was down at Tomsovik’s Flower Shop choosing an Easter lily. Well, here comes Wilma Mickelson in the door. I still remember what she was wearing: a dress that reminded me of a silver maple leaf. Green lace over silver silk. You would never have seen that dress on anyone in this town except for Wilma. And she wore it like it was everyday! With her fancy gray coat open over it. She had a broad-brimmed hat to match, too, and even her shoes were that particular green. To wear such shoes in mud season—I couldn’t understand it. Well, in she comes, with Chase trailing behind her. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and his cap pulled down low over his eyes. He was a senior in high school that year, and he always looked like he had a secret he could tell.”

“Goodness,” Dolly said, imagining.

“He drew wonderful cartoons for the school paper,” Jeannette said, her voice low again.

“Well,” Mrs. Fryt went on. “That Wilma. It wasn’t enough for her to get a simple Easter lily like the rest of us. She ordered a dozen yellow roses, a dozen white roses, and three Easter lilies. She hadn’t seen me when she came in, but I went right up to her. I must have asked her if she was planning to come to the Good Friday services. So what did she do but call out to Mr. Tomsovik to make it five Easter lilies. ‘Two for the church,’ she said. ‘To set by the altar.’”

“She always was generous,” Thelma put in.