“Forgive me,” he said, reaching out to steady her. “I shouldn’t have said—”

“No,” she said, needing the corset loosened; she couldn’t breathe. With all her might, she was trying to abide by her Rule. Ignore physical discomfort. At least don’t mention—

“It wasn’t my place to say nothing.”

Despite her efforts, her legs crumpled. He held her elbows and they sank to the ground in tandem.

“It’s just that—I was—going to faint,” she said. “The—heat.”

“You’re awful pale,” he observed, and his hands slipped from her elbows to her waist.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

“Godsakes,” he said, and sprang to his feet. He turned from her, removed his hat, ran his hand through his hair, jammed the hat back onto his head. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ll help you up to the house, then. You’ll be all right?”

“Yes,” she said, though she knew it wasn’t true. She had never been the type to faint at a little heat. She realized she’d been feeling peculiar for a couple of weeks now. And she should have bled five days ago. Until this moment, she had attributed the delay to the strain of the wedding, or to what she supposed might be her body freezing up with fear of the unfamiliar attacks upon it. The unsettledness of her stomach could be explained the same way. The tenderness of her breasts?

And now this man.

She could not have anticipated such a sudden conglomeration of disasters.

“Help you up?” he said, reaching out his hand.

Do not, she told herself, and she let him help her to her feet. She didn’t dare to look at him when she linked her arm with his.

They resumed their climb uphill just as John stuck his head out the back door, wondering what was taking her so long. “The cook has coffee for us, and I want to show you the place,” he called.

“Don’t tell him,” Wilma whispered. One foot then the other and don’t even look at him. “Please.”

“I—”

“Please.”

Gust said nothing more. She could feel him like a storm beside her.

He released her at the back stoop, and faded away with a call that he would see them later. John swept her up off her feet and into his arms; Wilma’s stomach lurched and she let out a whoop of surprise. John began to laugh, and soon Wilma was laughing, too. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. He carried her up the steps and inside.

Part One - Making Marriage Work

The bride who wants to do her full job will plan from the start to create the kind of home her husband wants, and to do it with no more assistance than he willingly offers.

—“Making Marriage Work,”
Ladies’ Home Journal, June 1950

Chapter 1

HOME OF MRS. CECILIA FRYT,
412 W. First Street, Pine Rapids, Wisconsin
Tuesday, June 13, 1950