But with my father’s help that day, I had been able to have a dress that clearly marked me as older, mature, a woman and not a child. It was expensive, too. Most important, the colors brought out my rich, magnolia-white complexion, something even the saleslady had to acknowledge, but carefully, especially when she looked at my mother and saw the disapproval sinking into her face. The saleslady came close to making the dress seem too sexy, even though ironically it was vintage Victorian. Most of that had to do with my figure, my small waist and perfectly proportioned hips. She nearly made a tragic mistake for me by saying, “No corset could shape your daughter any better.”

“We need something appropriate,” my mother inserted. “Not shapely.”

“But it is beautiful,” I said. “Can we buy it, Daddy?”

I avoided my mother’s eyes.

“Buying you something beautiful is what we’re here for,” he said.

Now that dress hung on my closet door in my bedroom. It was an evening dress of red and white; the underskirt was white satin, kilted in front and trimmed with Mechlin lace and a garland of red roses. The overdress was red silk with a low neck and short sleeves. Of course, I had to have a pair of gloves to the elbow and chose black. Whenever I entered my room after my father had bought the dress for me, I would practically genuflect. Every day until the day of the gala, I would put it on and move around my bedroom, practicing how to turn and sit or simply walk wearing it. I wanted it to look like I’d been wearing sophisticated clothing for some time. This wasn’t some little girl bursting out of a shell.

Daisy came over to see me in it one day. Her parents weren’t invited to the gala, so she wouldn’t be there.

“You are coming out,” she said when I paraded across my room. She didn’t sound envious, just amazed. We had, after all, practically grown up together, and I could see she felt left behind.

“Soon you’ll be just as gorgeous and elegant, Daisy,” I said, even though I hardly believed it.

“Right,” she said, sounding so sad. It was really as if this was a final good-bye between us, and there was nothing either of us could do about it. I was leaving on a train she had yet to board.

I hugged her. “You will be. Who should know better than the woman who runs our womanly talks?”

That made her feel better, and we sat afterward for hours talking about the good-looking young men I might see at the gala.

“Promise to tell me all about it as soon as you can,” she said.

I assured her I would remember every important detail. “It will be like you were there.”

That was enough to put a smile on her face when she left.