The Four Winds

“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 party?

The Fourth of July was one of those rare events where the whole county gathered. Usually the different towns celebrated in their own halls, but for this party, people came from miles around.

“Let’s go,” Papa said. “Your mother hates to be late.”

Elsa followed her parents out to her father’s brand-new bottle-green Model T Runabout roadster. They climbed in, squished together on the heavy leather seat. Although they lived in town and the grange hall was close, they had a lot of food to carry, and Mama wouldn’t be caught dead walking to a party.

The Dalhart Grange Hall had been decorated in layers of red, white, and blue bunting. A dozen or so cars were parked out front. Most belonged to the farmers who’d done well in the past few years and the bankers who had financed all that growth. Great care had been taken by the women of the Beautification League, so the lawn out front was a lush green. Flowers grew in bright profusion alongside the steps that led up to the front door. The grounds were full of children playing, laughing, running. Elsa couldn’t see any teenagers, but they were here somewhere, probably sneaking stolen kisses in shadowy corners.

Papa parked in the street and turned off the engine.

Elsa heard music. Party noise drifted through open doors: chattering, coughing, laughing. A pair of fiddles played along with a banjo and a guitar: “Second Hand Rose.”

Papa opened the trunk, revealing the food Maria had spent days preparing. Food Mama would take credit for making. Family recipes, handed down from her Texas pioneer ancestors—molasses stack cakes, Aunt Bertha’s spicy gingerbread, upside-down peach cake, and Grandpa Walt’s favorite ham with red-eye gravy and grits—every item designed to remind people of the Wolcotts’ deep place in Texas history.

Elsa fell into step behind her parents, carrying a still-warm Dutch oven toward the wooden grange hall.

Inside, colorful quilts had been used for everything from decorations to tablecloths. Along the back wall were several long tables filled with food: pork roasts and rich, dark stews, trays full of green beans cooked in bacon fat. There would undoubtably be chicken salads, potato salads, sausage and biscuits, breads, cornbread, cakes, and pies of all kinds. Everyone in the county loved a party and the women worked hard to impress each other. There would be smoked hams, rabbit sausage, loaves of bread with freshly churned butter, hard-boiled eggs, fruit pies, and platters full of hot dogs. Mama led the way to the corner table, where the women of the Beautification League were busy rearranging the offerings.

Elsa saw her sisters standing with the women of the Beautification League. Suzanna was wearing a blouse made from Elsa’s red silk. Charlotte wore a red silk scarf at her throat.

Elsa stopped; the sight of her sisters in that red silk made her heartsick.