It was clear my father had still not mentioned Garland Foxworth, and for some reason, my mother, who was usually suspicious about anything I did or wanted to do, didn’t make the connections or ask pointed questions. Instead, she talked about my great-aunt and Hazel, warning me I would be shocked at how they lived now, cooped up and dependent on so many others. She assured me I would come away thankful for the privileged life I had.

“Sometimes we have to lose something, even for a short while, to know how important it was. Now that I think on it more, I realize this trip is a good idea. Maybe you’ll take less for granted.”

Oh, how I hated her lectures. However, she still didn’t even hint about Garland. Perhaps, I thought, she didn’t know how close to Charlottesville was the Foxworth home, and of course, she had not seen enough of me and Garland at the gala to realize there might even be a chance of a real romance.

I occupied most of my two days of waiting with choosing what I would take to wear. I should have been smart enough to get my father to buy me more clothes that day we went for my evening gown. Why didn’t I envision what would follow? You can’t be a young lady one night and a child the day after, but I feared that was how I would seem. All my clothes looked juvenile and inadequate when it came to highlighting my maturity. And I hated every pair of shoes I owned. I actually coveted some of my mother’s clothes despite how uninteresting they were. At least I wouldn’t look so young, I thought, and wished we were the same size.

The morning I left with my father to go to the train station, my mother had not yet risen. We practically tiptoed out of the house.

“This is, in fact, your first trip alone, Corrine,” my father began before I boarded the train. “I hope you will enjoy yourself but also maintain decorum, mind what you’re told, and give your great-aunt Nettie only a pleasant experience.”

“Of course I will, Daddy,” I said.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Be careful, Corrine. A man in his mid-twenties is not a boy.”

“I know that, Daddy.” I wanted to add that was the point, but I didn’t.

“I’d like you to send me a telegram in two days and tell me how things are. Send it to my bank.”

“I will, Daddy.”