Margaret breathed an inward sigh of relief. They couldn’t do the work of taking care of this until Gladys knew. But Margaret would never have been the one to tell. Not behind Dottie’s back.

Gladys was speechless. For about ten seconds, which might have been some kind of record.

“A baby,” she whispered in reverential tones. “You do beat all, Dorothy Troutwine. You do beat all. So much for being an innocent. You’ve gone and gotten randy on us!”

Dottie’s cheeks reddened. She and Margaret waited for Gladys to speak again and were rewarded by one of her classic retorts.

“I suppose our boy Johnny will be safe during this war. Because apparently he can hit a target.” She grinned.

“Gladys!” Margaret and Dottie shouted her name at the same time. Margaret flushed with embarrassment, but she was both relieved and surprised by what happened next: Dottie broke into a fit of giggles.

She hadn’t heard Dottie laugh like that in many months, and it was as delightful as the twinkling lights that were put around town at Christmastime. The corners of her own lips widened until Margaret, too, started laughing. Gladys had already contributed to the harmony, and Margaret had to admit that it had been far too long since they’d given themselves over to such joviality.

When they’d settled down—and after Gladys had dribbled some hot chocolate onto her white blouse—Dottie repeated all that she’d told Margaret the night before, including her concerns about what her parents might do. Just one more Troutwine girl who would disappoint and scandalize the parishioners of St. Charles Borromeo if they didn’t intervene.

Gladys scooted up until her knees were touching Dottie’s. She took Dottie’s hands in her own. “Dottie. First of all, what is it you want? Do you want to keep this baby? There are places…”

Dottie pulled her hands back and sent Margaret a horrified look that needed no interpretation.

“Of course I want this baby. This is John’s child. It’s…it’s just all happening earlier than I would have wanted, but I couldn’t go through life as Mrs. John Beck knowing that I’d…done that.”

Gladys leaned in farther. “No, that’s not what I meant, honey. Don’t you think I know you at all? Goodness, I’ve already sent a letter to the Vatican asking them to open a case for canonization. Though I have to say, this predicament doesn’t help your cause.”

She grinned at her own humor. “Anyway, I was going to ask if you wanted to give the baby up for adoption. And if not, there are places that can help women in your situation—unmarried—get what they need to get through it. Lodging, food, diapers. Leave it to me. I’ll see what I can find out.”