Mama entered the room, her fashionable day shoes making no sound on the rag rug that covered most of the wooden floor. She was a tall woman, with broad shoulders and a no-nonsense demeanor; she lived a life above reproach, chaired church committees, ran the Beautification League, and kept her voice low even when she was angry. Nothing and no one could ruffle Minerva Wolcott. She claimed it was a family trait, inherited from ancestors who had come to Texas when no other white face could be seen for a six-day horse ride.
Mama sat down on the edge of the bed. Her hair, dyed black, was drawn back into a chignon that heightened the severity of her sharp features. She reached out and touched the tender bruise on Elsa’s jaw. “My father would have done much worse to me.”
“But—”
“No buts, Elsinore.” She leaned forward, tucked a ragged lock of Elsa’s shorn blond hair behind her ear. “I suspect I will hear gossip today in town. Gossip. About one of my daughters.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “Did you get into trouble?”
“No, Mama.”
“So, you’re still a good girl?”
Elsa nodded, unable to say the lie aloud.
Mama’s forefinger moved down, touched Elsa’s chin, tilted her face up. She studied Elsa, slowly frowning, assessing. “A pretty dress doesn’t make one pretty, dear.”
“I just wanted—”
“We won’t speak of it, and nothing like it will ever happen again.”
Mama stood, smoothing her lavender crepe skirt, although no wrinkles had formed or would dare to. Distance spread between them, as solid as any fence. “You are unmarriageable, Elsinore, even with all our money and standing. No man of note wants an unattractive wife who looms over him. And if a man did come along who could overlook your weaknesses, certainly he would not dismiss a tarnished reputation. Learn to be happy with real life. Throw away your silly romantic novels.”
Mama took the red silk dress on her way out.
THREE
In the years since the Great War, patriotism ran high in Dalhart. That, combined with rain and rising wheat prices, gave everyone a reason to celebrate the Fourth of July. In town, store windows advertised Independence Day sales and bells clanged merrily as folks went in and out of the merchants’ stores, stocking up on food and drink for the festivities.
Usually Elsa looked forward to the celebration, but the past few weeks had been difficult. Since her night with Rafe, Elsa had felt caged. Restless. Unhappy.
Not that anyone in her family looked closely enough at her to see the difference. Instead of voicing her discontent, she buried it and went on. It was all she knew to do.
She kept her head down and pretended nothing had changed. She stayed in her bedroom as much as she could, even in the ragged heat of summer. She had books delivered from the library—suitable books—and read them from cover to cover. She embroidered dish towels and pillowcases. At supper, she listened to her parents’ conversation and nodded when she needed to. At church, she wore a cloche over her scandalously short hair and made the excuse that she didn’t feel well and was left alone.
On the few instances when she dared to look up from a beloved book and stare out the window, she saw the emptiness of a spinster’s future stretching out to the flat horizon and beyond.
Accept.
The bruise on her jaw had faded. No one—not even her sisters—had remarked upon it. Life returned to normal at the Wolcott house.
Elsa imagined herself as the fictional Lady of Shalott, a woman trapped in a tower, cursed, unable to leave her room, forever doomed to watch the bustling of life outside. If anyone noticed her sudden quiet, they didn’t remark upon it or ask the cause. In truth, it was not so different. She’d learned how to disappear in place long ago. She was like one of those animals whose defense mechanism is to blend into the landscape and become invisible. It was her way of dealing with rejection: Say nothing and disappear. Never fight back. If she remained quiet enough, people eventually forgot she was there and left her alone.
“Elsa!” her father yelled up the stairs. “It’s time to go. Don’t make us late.”
Elsa pulled on her kid gloves—required even in this terrible heat—and pinned a straw hat in place. Then she went downstairs.
Elsa stopped halfway down the stairs, unable to keep going. What if Rafe was at the