Very Truly Yours, Simone

9. the ball

Considering they did not have any mother to dress them or even shop with them, Simone and Lydia mostly relied on Mrs. Poppet for guidance. With their governess long gone, they had no one but their kind neighbor and her terrible taste in fashion.

"You should not send the dress you made for Miss Burke and wear that instead," Freda, who was now fourteen, said from where she sat on the windowsill, her brown waves a wash of gold over her shoulder. Under, sitting on a pile of discarded fabric on the floor, Roxie added, "That was your best piece yet, Sisi."

Lydia, who had been sucking on her thumb, said, "We should just go to Parlton, Sisi. I don't think I'll ever finish sewing on these bloody feathers. The needles never liked my fingers, I tell you that." As she said that, a feather floated across the room, which Roxie caught and stuck in between her dark curly tresses to join the other white feathers already there. "Are you sure I won't look like a goose when this is done?"

"No, you'll look like a woman wearing one," Freda said with a laugh.

They had been spending days redoing the gowns Mrs. Poppet chose for them. To be fair, they were not the worst ones in the shop, but they were not the best either. But they had to do with what they had. Ordering a new gown from Simone's teacher in Parlton would take weeks. The Hutchinson Ball was in three days. Simone refused to use any of their older gowns because they were no longer in fashion and could not be rescued. How long had it been since their last season? Two years? No, they needed new gowns. And they needed to make them stunning. She may not enjoy the ball, but that did not mean she should not enjoy wearing a magnificent gown.

Simone, inspired by the number of birds in the courtyard, wanted to have feather skirts. Hers were black, Lydia's white.

"You'll both look odd, don't you think?" Freda asked.

"It may appear odd to many at first, but it shall be the rave soon after," Simone said with confidence. "Remember the last time I wore that ribbon hat?"

"Oh," Roxie and Freda said with a snort. "We thought Gale was praying for your soul when you did that." And Freda added, "Price dragged you toward Geneva Withers and said he was delivering a gift." They all snorted, remembering the furious look in Geneva Wither's beautiful face.

Months ago, Simone went to church in a hat that was not a hat. It was a ribbon she starched and formed into a hat. People looked, but a day or two later, they filled the shops.

"And if it doesn't work this time? If people laugh at you?" Roxie asked.

Lydia paused and said, "Well, we can just fly away."

The four of them were still laughing when their grandfather walked in with an expectant look on his face. "Are those your dresses?"

"Yes, Grandpapa," said Sisi.

"And why feathers?"

"So we can be chased around," said Lydia.

"And be served on a plate," finished Simone.

He chuckled. "You'll make fantastic turkeys." He turned to Freda and Roxie. "Walk an old man around the garden, will you?"

The two girls jumped to their feet and followed him out the door, sticking feathers into this collar as they walked out.

Lydia laughed and Simone said, "You also have one above your head."

"How did they manage it?"

"They're sneaky, that's how," Simone murmured, attention on her work. But she could feel Lydia's eyes on her. "What is it?"

"Sisi, perhaps Gale and Price are right. Maybe you're waiting for him."

Simone sighed. "Lydia, if I am, I would not be entertaining suitors."