The meeting in the stuffy parlor started with a modicum of chaos, as the quilt needed to be repositioned on the frame, the finished portion rolled up to leave a new row of unquilted blocks exposed to the ladies’ needles. With Mrs. Fryt supervising, Corinne, Thelma, Judy, and Jeannette wrestled with the frame, tightening and smoothing the layers of fabric and finally reinserting the pegs through the frame and into the sawhorses on each end. Dolly tried to help, but to no avail—the women appeared to have a system, and she couldn’t find a place in it.

“All right, ladies,” commanded Mrs. Fryt, as everyone pulled their chairs up around the quilt. “Let’s get down to work.”

Dolly settled in her chair heavily, fished her needle and thread from her sewing basket, and began quilting a green triangle. Wild Goose Chase, indeed—the quilt seemed aptly named, the work endless, especially now that everything that was exposed was unfinished. Dolly wished she was at the beach. It was only four summers ago, in 1946, that she had been a carefree girl with nothing more on her mind than captivating Byron with her red two-piece. Well, that she had accomplished, and look where it had gotten her. She was toiling away every day at the bungalow and then spending this beautiful, warm summer’s day indoors with a bunch of old women—and this when she still looked good in that two-piece! (Well, her legs had always been stocky, but Byron never seemed to mind.) In fact, late last week, as though to prove a point, she had purchased a new red two-piece, this one with a white floral print. When she modeled it for Byron, she had barely had it on for two minutes before he was dragging her back to the bedroom. She tried to make him promise to take her to the beach, but he had already made plans to go fishing with Roy on Sunday. “Next week, then,” she had said, surrendering herself to him. Some little good that did, too; this morning she’d discovered this month’s blood on her panties.

She was beginning to think that if she never got pregnant, she might just as well go to the beach as to the Ladies Aid gatherings. She was sure the beach could be a saving grace to a homemaker just as much as community involvement—why didn’t the magazines ever mention that? And after all, what was the point of community involvement if she had no child in need of social advancement? Since she and Byron hadn’t been born in Pine Rapids, it was hopeless to think that they would ever belong to the upper crust themselves. Even if they did end up living in the Mickelson house.

“Our little Dolly’s looking down in the mouth today,” Corinne said, jarring Dolly from her thoughts.

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Fryt, pursing her lips as she started a line of stitching.