“Now,” said Mrs. Whittle, clasping her hands together, “let me help you pick out some gowns to try on. Does the senorita have a price in mind?”
“I—I don’t know,” Turquoise stammered.
“Give her anything she wants.” Trace yawned.
The owner pulled a very bright, large-flowered dress from the rack. “Just perfect for a fiesta.”
Turquoise blinked. Was that sarcasm in the lady’s voice? “This isn’t for a fiesta. I’m going to the debutante ball.”
“The committee needs to be more careful,” Mrs. Whittle murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing, my dear.” Again the glib smile. “How about a bright color to go with your dark hair?” She began to pull dresses from the rack. There were many white and pastel ones, but the lady passed those by. “Here’s a purple one, a red one, and a turquoise one in silk.”
Turquoise looked at them. “They seem a little bright.”
“You’ll surely be noticed in any one of these gowns.” Mrs. Whittle smiled at her.
They did seem a bit too much, but who was she to argue with a fashion expert like Mrs. Whittle? She wished she’d brought her friend Fern along, but after all, Fern had never been a debutante and wouldn’t be much help. “I think I’ll try these on. Are you sure this is what the other girls will be wearing?”
“Of course. My own daughter, Maude, is a debutante and most of the girls got their dresses here.” Mrs. Whittle nodded. “Now I’ll help you into them and you can decide.”
Trace let out a soft moan. “I presume we’ll be here all afternoon?”
“Well, after all”—the haughty lady drew herself up to her full height—“this is the social event of the season here in Austin. All the best people will be there.”
It looked for a moment like Trace would say something again, but Turquoise gave him a pleading look and he sighed and returned to staring at the ceiling.
Turquoise took the dresses and went behind a screen. “Which one do you think?”
“What about the bright red one?” Mrs. Whittle suggested and reached for it.
“All right, if you think so.” She took off her pink dress.
“Good choice!” The clerk helped bring the red dress up over her head. “You’ll really stand out in this one.”
Turquoise looked in the mirror while Mrs. Whittle buttoned up the dress. “I don’t know. It seems so bright.”
“I assure you, you’ll cause a stir in this one.”
She didn’t want to cause a stir; she only wanted to be accepted by the gringas in spite of her Mexican name. Turquoise surveyed herself in the big cheval mirror. “No, this isn’t it.”
“What about the turquoise one?” Mrs. Whittle said. “Of course, it’s a bit more expensive and if you think your gentleman friend would balk—”
“He’s not my gentleman, he’s my guardian,” Turquoise corrected her as she began to pull off the scarlet dress.
“Of course, anything you say.” The lady was smiling, but her voice was sarcastic.
Whatever was the matter with this clerk? Of course, Mrs. Whittle was used to dealing with snooty, upper-class patrons and maybe they all acted this way. Uncle Trace was now dozing in his chair. “I think the turquoise is the one. I can wear all my jewelry with it.”
“Perfect,” said the clerk and took the dress off the hanger.
Turquoise put the dress on and stared at herself in the mirror. It was a gorgeous dress that brought out the color of her eyes, but the bodice clung to her figure and was very low-cut, revealing a generous curve of breast. “I don’t know. This one is a bit daring.”
“Well, if it’s too expensive for you, perhaps—”
“It’s not the money,” Turquoise protested. “It’s just so— so bare.”
“Of course.” Again the woman’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Of course, you could put a shawl around your shoulders. Let me get one.” She disappeared and was back in a moment with a paisley silk scarf, which she draped around Turquoise.
“Oh, that does help.” Turquoise smiled at herself in the mirror, knowing she looked very curvacious and feminine in the low-cut gown. “I don’t know what Uncle Trace will think.”
“Oh, just surprise him with it,” the clerk urged her. “Shall I wrap it up?”
Turquoise nodded. “You really think I’ll fit in at the ball? I don’t want to do anything socially incorrect.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Whittle reassured her. She took the dress into the back room to box while Turquoise put on her pink frock and returned to the front area.
“Good.” Uncle Trace yawned. “Can we go now?” He stood up. “You want to show it to me?”
“I want to surprise you,” she said. She was already feeling uneasy that Uncle Trace would think the turquoise silk too daring. Maybe Fern would come by the hotel this afternoon and give her an opinion.
When they left the shop, her guardian carried the big box.
“Thank you, Uncle Trace.”
“And I reckon I have to put on a monkey suit and escort you,” he grumbled.
“Well, I guess I could go alone.”
“In a town like Austin at night?” Trace snorted as he helped her into the buggy and she opened her parasol. “Not on your life.”
“Uncle Trace, there’ll be dancing and all the society people will be there.”
“Sounds dull to me,” Trace complained as he put the box in the back of the buggy and climbed in. “I don’t want to dance with anyone but Cimarron, and society people are all dull snobs. I don’t know where you get these high-falutin’ ideas.”
Tears came to Turquoise’s eyes and she blinked them back. She had never asked Trace or any of the Durangos about her questionable birth except that she was certain old Sanchez, the ranch boss, was not really her father and with her parents both dead now, there was really no one to ask. She was determined to reach a pinnacle of respectability so that no one would ever gossip about her again. A proper gentleman would give her security from the whispers.
They had barely returned to the hotel when her chubby, red-haired friend, Fern Lessup, showed up and the pair retreated to the bedroom to look over the dress while Trace left the hotel on business.
“Just look,” Turquoise said conspiratorially as she unpacked the dress.
“Oh my word, it is beautiful!” Fern breathed and ran her hand over the turquoise silk with its sassy bustle. “It must have cost a fortune.”
“It did, but the owner assured me I would be the best-dressed girl at the debutante ball, and that’s important. Why, I might meet my future husband there.”
“Imagine!” Fern gasped. “Just like Cinderella.”
“Or some high-society Austin man. It is at the governor’s mansion, you know.”
“I know.” Fern’s brown eyes widened. “Except I’d rather go to a barn dance with Luke Jeffries. Neither of us would feel comfortable at a fancy shindig like this.”
“Well, this is my first ball,” Turquoise reminded her. “I’ve always dreamed of being married to an important man and no one sneering at me again and wondering if I’m really Mexican.”
“Oh, Turquoise, half the people in Texas are part Mexican. They just don’t talk about it.”
“Well, I want to marry someone so important, no one would dare make rude remarks about me.”
“You really want to marry some stuffy city man?” Fern asked.
For just a moment, she remembered the man she had met this morning, the sweaty sheen of his muscular brown body, the way his dark eyes had devoured her. She shook her head to clear it. “I’ve got to wash up. Then would you please help me with my hair?”
“Sure,” Fern said. “I can hardly wait to see you in that dress. Get your curling iron and I’ll get a lamp.”
Turquoise washed and dried her long black hair while Fern put the curling iron over the oil lamp to heat. Then they curled her hair and put it up on her head in a mass of ebony curls with several turquoise and sil
ver combs.
Next Turquoise put on a fine lace petticoat, a lace bodice, and long silk stockings under her lace drawers. “Do you think I dare put on makeup?”
Fern rolled her eyes. “You want to be taken for one of those girls on the street?”
“Good point. I’ll just pinch my cheeks and bite my lips to give them some color.”
“At least you don’t freckle like I do,” Fern said.
Turquoise looked in the mirror again. “I hope Uncle Trace doesn’t forget and comes up in time to get dressed.”
She took the dress out of its box and Fern helped her slip it on.
“My word!” Fern gasped as she surveyed the low bodice. “Your uncle let you buy this?”
“Well, actually, he didn’t see it,” Turquoise said defensively, “and I do have a shawl and some jewelry.”
“Maybe you won’t look so bare with the jewelry,” Fern suggested.
She was having her doubts as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The silk clung to her generous curves. She wasn’t sure Uncle Trace would let her leave the hotel if he saw her in this dress. “It is the latest fashion, Mrs. Whittle assured me. She said I’d really fit in among the debutantes.”
“I don’t know about that,” Fern said, still wide-eyed and doubtful.
Turquoise looked at the clock ticking on the bureau, sprayed herself with forget-me-not perfume, and put on the fine turquoise and silver jewelry she owned.
Next door, she heard the key turning in the lock as Uncle Trace came into the adjoining room. “Hey darlin’, are you about ready?” he yelled.
She looked at Fern and now she was spooked, too. “Actually, I’m ready, Uncle Trace. Why don’t I go on ahead and you meet me there? I think there’s supposed to be some kind of practice for the girls.”
“Alone at night in a big city?”
“Stop worrying about me. I’ll get a carriage and go directly to the ball.”
“All right.” He sounded uncertain. “It’s at the governor’s mansion, right?”
“Si,” she said and picked up her tiny reticule and her shawl. “Fern, walk down with me.”
“Sure.”
The two girls walked out into the hall and down the stairs. Turquoise had draped the shawl around her shoulders, but as they passed gentlemen, the men turned and gave Turquoise a wide-eyed look.
“My word,” Fern whispered, “you are attracting attention, all right. I reckon I’m just too old-fashioned to keep up with high style.”
Turquoise put her head in the air and walked proudly, as a society lady should, as she went to the desk and asked for a carriage.
The boy at the desk blinked and stared as he nodded.
Then the girls went outside to await the carriage. It was dusk and many people were coming and going.
“Well,” Fern said, “I reckon I’d better be headed for home. Daddy will worry about me if I’m not home by dark.”
“Come by the hotel tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about it.” Turquoise hugged her friend.
“Oh, I want to hear every word about all the dances and the high-class gentlemen. Do you think they’re that much different than cowboys?”
Again the vaquero from this morning came to Turquoise’s mind. “I—I don’t know. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
About that time, her carriage arrived and Fern said goodbye and left as the driver helped Turquoise in.
“The governor’s mansion,” she said grandly and he nodded. Turquoise took a deep breath to quiet her nervous stomach. Maybe tonight there would be a Prince Charming at the ball who would fall in love with her and make her so respectable, no one would ever whisper about her again.
It was a warm dusk outside as the carriage moved down Congress Avenue. Turquoise was so nervous, she kept fiddling with her shawl. “Stop it,” she warned herself. “You look as good as any of those gringa girls. Isn’t Mrs. Whittle an authority on how to dress? Think about meeting the man of your dreams.”
The man of her dreams. The Mexican vaquero came to her mind unbidden. He’d been so masculine and virile as he labored over Silver Slippers’s hoof, and the way his dark eyes had looked into hers was bold and inquiring. Without thinking, she licked her lips, wondering what his kiss would have been like.
“We’re here,” the driver leaned down to announce as he stopped before a gigantic house with white pillars. Lights gleamed from every window and dozens of carriages were stopped out front.
“Oh, just look at all the carriages,” she whispered to herself. “Why, half of Austin must be here.” Her heart was beating hard as the driver came around to help her out. She must remember every detail to tell Fern tomorrow: what the inside looked like, what food was served, and how many gentlemen asked her to dance.
Oh, suppose no one asks me to dance? She imagined herself standing by the wall, waiting. Well, at least Uncle Trace might dance with her.
The driver opened the door and held out his hand to assist her. Turquoise paused on the step and took a deep breath. This was something she had dreamed of for years, ever since she had read about the debutante ball in the newspapers.
I am finally here, she thought. She clutched her fan and glided across the porch and into the grand entrance. There was such a crowd that she could barely get through, although men stared at her and then stepped aside so she could enter.
“Girls! Girls!” Inside she could hear a shrill feminine voice and the sharp clap of hands. “I am Mrs. Van Hooten, and I am in charge here. Now all you debutantes gather up so I can tell you how we’ll enter.”
Turquoise pushed her way through to the ballroom where young ladies were gathering around the sharp-voiced, dumpy lady. Turquoise glided over to join them and they all turned to stare at her. Very slowly, it dawned on her that she was dressed completely wrong. She stared at all of them in horror and wanted to turn and run out, but there were too many people standing around in the doorway.
The other girls were all dressed in demure but expensive white gowns. They had little jewelry but wore long white gloves. She was the only debutante not wearing white. Mrs. Whittle had deliberately set her up to be humiliated. The tittering began and grew, then the whispering. The dowager in charge frowned at her. “Who are you?”
“I—I am Turquoise Sanchez,” she managed to stammer.
“Sanchez? I’ve got a Turquoise Sanders on my list.”
Tittering in the background.
“No, it’s Sanchez.” Turquoise bit her lip.
“Hmm, you don’t look Mexican. We never had one before.” The woman’s lip seemed to curl.
The girls started to titter again and the older lady clapped her hands sharply, her gold and diamond rings glittering in the gas lights. “Behave yourselves, girls, and remember, tonight we are presenting the most eligible young ladies in the Lone Star State to the cream of Austin society. Now, each of you have your escorts? We will practice the presentations.”
“Escort?” Turquoise asked. “My uncle will be here later—”
“No, no.” The lady frowned and the girls giggled again. “Don’t you know anything? You are supposed to have arranged for a young gentleman to escort you down from the stage.”
“I—I’m afraid I don’t have an escort,” Turquoise said.
She heard whispering from the girls. “What do you expect from a Mexican girl?”
“Haven’t you heard? She’s the ward of the Durangos and he’s got enough money to buy her way in.”
Turquoise wanted to turn and run out but decided she would not let these vicious girls defeat her. She tried to stand straight and tall, as diminutive as she was.
“All right,” Mrs. Van Hooten said with a sigh. “You girls, don’t one of you have an extra brother or cousin here who might escort Senorita Sanchez in the ceremony?”
The silence was deafening. Turquoise felt like the lonely child who was always chosen last in games.
She heard a girl whisper, “She doesn’t belong here. We don’t have Mexicans at our balls.�
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The older lady clapped for silence again. “Doesn’t any young man want to escort this young lady?”
What was she going to do? Turquoise felt her face burn with humiliation. It wasn’t only the gaudy dress; now she was without an escort.
The silence seemed to echo and then, just as she was ready to turn and run out of the grand ballroom, a man’s voice said, “I would consider myself lucky to be the escort of such a beautiful young lady.”
She heard the shocked sighs and saw the faces of the girls before she turned to look behind her. A handsome, mature man stood there smiling at her. He was tall and elegant, with light hair turning slightly gray at the temples and eyes as pale as her own. He bowed before her, wearing the finest of evening clothes with a white rose in his buttonhole. “That is, if the young lady is willing.”
He took her numb fingers in his and kissed the back of her hand. The way the girls were staring at him, they were in awe.
“Ah, Senator Forester,” the older lady gushed, “we would be so honored to have a member of such a prominent family and our fair city’s most eligible bachelor take part in our presenting of the debutantes tonight.”
He stared into Turquoise’s eyes, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the crowd. “No, it is I who is honored. What a pretty dress. May I ask where you bought it?”
The dress was all wrong and she knew it now, knew that Mrs. Whittle had deliberately sabotaged her. The girls snickered again, but she took a deep breath and stammered, “Gracias, sir. The dress came from La Mode.”
He smiled at her. “It makes all the others look like hens beside a peacock,” he murmured, but Turquoise noticed he said it loud enough for the other girls to hear and they all seemed to sigh as if the wind had been taken out of their sails. Then he lowered his voice and whispered, “I have been standing in the back, watching all the drama.”
Turquoise could only nod gratefully.
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