contained and smelled of jasmine and roses. At the end of a hedged path stood the large Wolcott home, built just after the Civil War by her grandfather for the woman he loved.
Elsa still missed her grandfather every day. He had been a blustery man, given to drink and arguing, but what he’d loved, he’d loved with abandon. He’d grieved the loss of his wife for years. He’d been the only Wolcott besides Elsa who loved reading, and he’d frequently taken her side in family disagreements. Don’t worry about dying, Elsa. Worry about not living. Be brave.
No one had said anything like that to her since his death, and she missed him all the time. His stories about the lawless early years in Texas, in Laredo and Dallas and Austin and out on the Great Plains, were the best of her memories.
He would have told her to buy the red silk for sure.
Mama looked up from her roses, tipped her new sunbonnet back, and said, “Elsa. Where have you been?”
“Library.”
“You should have let Papa drive you. The walk is too much for you.”
“I’m fine, Mama.”
Honestly. It sometimes seemed they wanted her to be ill.
Elsa tightened her hold on the package of silk.
“Go lie down. It’s going to get hot. Ask Maria to make you some lemonade.” Mama went back to cutting her flowers, dropping them into her woven basket.
Elsa walked to the front door, stepping into the home’s shadowy interior. On days that promised to be hot, all the shades were drawn. In this part of the state, that meant a lot of dark-interiored days. Closing the door behind her, she heard Maria in the kitchen, singing to herself in Spanish.
Elsa slipped through the house and went up the stairs to her bedroom. There, she unwrapped the brown paper and stared down at the vibrant ruby-red silk. She couldn’t help but touch it. The softness soothed her, somehow, reminded her of the ribbon she’d held as a child when she sucked her thumb.
Could she do it, do this wild thing that was suddenly in her mind? It started with her appearance.…
Be brave.
Elsa grabbed a handful of her waist-length hair and cut it off at the chin. She felt a little crazed but kept cutting until she stood with long strands of pale-blond hair scattered at her feet.
A knock at the door startled Elsa so badly that she dropped the scissors. They clattered onto the dresser.
The door opened. Her mother walked into the room, saw Elsa’s butchered hair, and stopped. “What have you done?”
“I wanted—”
“You can’t leave the house until it grows out. What would people say?”
“Young women are wearing bobs, Mother.”
“Not nice young women, Elsinore. I will bring you a hat.”
“I just wanted to be pretty,” Elsa said.
The pity in her mother’s eyes was more than Elsa could bear.
TWO
For days, Elsa stayed hidden in her room, saying that she felt unwell. In truth, she couldn’t face her father with her jaggedly cut hair and the need it exposed. At first she tried to read. Books had always been her solace; novels gave her the space to be bold, brave, beautiful, if only in her own imagination.
But the red silk whispered to her, called out, until she finally put her books away and began to make a dress pattern out of newsprint. Once she’d done that, it seemed silly not to go further, so she cut out the fabric and began to sew, just to entertain herself.
As she sewed, she began to feel a remarkable sensation: hope.
Finally, on a Saturday evening, she held up the finished dress. It was the epitome of big-city fashion—a V-neck bodice and dropped waist, a handkerchief hemline; thoroughly, daringly modern. A dress for the kind of woman who danced all night and didn’t have a care in the world. Flappers, they were being called. Young women who flaunted their independence, who drank hooch and smoked cigarettes, and danced in dresses that showed off their legs.
She had to at least try it on, even if she never wore it outside of these four walls.
She took a bath and shaved her legs and smoothed silk stockings up her bare skin. She coiled her damp hair into pin curls and prayed they would create some wave. While her hair dried, she snuck into her mother’s room and borrowed some cosmetics from the vanity. From downstairs she heard the Victrola playing music.
At last, she brushed out her slightly wavy hair and fit the glamorous silver headband on her brow. She