Afternoon sunlight brightened the space, and a breeze played with the sheer curtains at the south-facing windows. Casta stood in Olinda and Ventura’s room, wearing only her chemise, corset, and pantalettes, as the sisters “oohed” and “aahed” over her wardrobe. She carried an armful of dresses from the guest room where she stayed. Along one wall stood three hoop cages. Tonight was the Aliso community dance, and the three friends decided to swap clothes for the event. Nobody would know if visitor Casta was wearing her own clothes, but Olinda and Ventura were excited about the chance to be seen in a different outfit.
Even if none of their lands in California were threatened, the deprivation of war affected all Americans. Since the price of cotton shot sky-high two years ago, new clothes cost too much for most people to afford. So the ladies made-do with their existing wardrobe. Women became inventive, turning doilies that used to adorn a table into detachable collars or cuffs for an existing dress or switching bodices from one skirt to another.
“I love this yellow one with red flower sprigs.” Olinda snatched the gown from the bed and held it against her front. She walked to the cheval glass mirror and viewed herself from several angles. “Don’t you think the fabric looks good against my skin?”
Casta had to bite back a laugh. Of course, it complemented her coloring because the three shared the same tan skin and dark hair that was their heritage. “Whichever one you choose, just know you won’t have to cinch your corset too tight. I learned from a nurse friend that those fashion requirements have proved to be harmful to…” She glanced between these young women with no medical training and searched for the proper wording instead of internal organs. “Um, women’s insides.”
Olinda’s eyes rounded. “What do you mean? An eighteen-inch waist is mandated for a woman to catch a man’s eye.” Her hands went to the top of the skirt and she pressed it at her waist. Frowning, she nibbled her bottom lip.
Not if she wants to avoid a fainting spell. “All of my dresses were made for a twenty-one inch waist. Believe me when I say that size can still be quite confining.”
Ventura stepped to her sister’s side. “Casta, wearing something new is exciting. We both are grateful for the loan of your dresses.” She elbowed Olinda and lowered her brows. “Aren’t we, hermana?”
“Sí, sí.” She waved a hand. “If I had more time, I might take up the sides to fit better.”
“No, Olinda.” Ventura crossed her arms over her small bosom. “You will gladly accept the dress as is or wear one of your own.”
“Oh, all right.” Olinda spun back to face the mirror.
Casta turned toward the armoire to glance through what Ventura and Olinda offered. One dress displaying black branches dotted with blue and red flowers on a gray background tempted. But her bosom was bigger than that of her friends. Her modiste always teased that she’d have a job as long as she wanted because Casta couldn’t buy ready-made clothing. She spotted a white crocheted shawl on a shelf and lifted it down. Accented with roses, the pattern was loose and resembled the lace that Casta liked incorporated into her clothing. She glanced over her shoulder. “Might I borrow this shawl instead of a gown?”
An hour later, as she descended the staircase with Joaquin’s sisters, she spotted the flash in Joaquin’s eyes and noted how he straightened from where he leaned against the newel post. Just like I hoped. She chose the rose-colored dress covered in deep-red vines accented with white flower buds. The hue against her olive skin brought out a blush in her cheeks, or maybe anticipation of the evening caused the heightened color.
Smiling, Joaquin stepped forward, made a half-turn, and extended his crooked right arm. “Casta, you look beautiful. Shall we?”
Tongue-tied, she slipped her gloved hand onto the crook of his jacketed elbow. By rights, she should still be angry at his dismissal of her abilities. But she pushed away those thoughts, wanting to focus on having a fun evening. Tomorrow would be soon enough to continue that discussion. Walking at his side pressed on her hoop skirt, making her feel connected to his body. She slid sideways glances at how his gray trousers with a high waistband and waist-length matching jacket showed off his physicality. Anyone could see how hours of riding the rancho’s lands kept him fit.
As the eldest, he was obligated to escort and assist her into the waiting carriage. But she hoped he didn’t mind the task.
At the last minute, Papá decided not to join the outing, worrying about the chilly night air on the return trip. Rafael and Yoana graciously agreed to remain behind at home to keep him company.
Casta would have an evening just for herself without tending her papá—a rare event. The short carriage ride in the golden sunlight was quite diverting. Casta sat back, listening to Olinda’s excited chatter, while she watched Joaquin riding ahead with his brothers. The formal, flat-topped black hat was different from his working broad-brimmed one but still highlighted his attractiveness. He cut such a fine figure on a horse—one of his abilities that first caught her eye as a young girl.
Once she stepped into the large community hall, Casta was swept into the hustle-bustle of introductions. And she lost contact with Joaquin. She would have preferred to circle the room in a slow, natural way. But Olinda latched onto her arm and dragged her from this group to that. After sending Ventura a pleading look, she was rescued, and the three settled into empty chairs along the wall. Casta looked around and saw someone had gathered lupines, monkey flowers, bush sunflowers, and mariposa lilies for bouquets to decorate the refreshment table. The splashes of color brightened the room of white-painted wooden walls. She liked knowing these plants grew nearby, if she should need them in treating Tornado.
Perched on the edge of her chair, Olinda fluttered a white fan before her face and glanced over the crowd. “Who do you think will ask me to dance first?”
Exactly what a twenty-year-old would think. Was I ever that young? Three years wasn’t much older, but the responsibilities she carried provided that emotional distance. As she surveyed the room, Casta smiled. “The gathering is not large. I suppose we each might dance with all the eligible men at least once.” A thrill ran through her at the image of her stepping in rhythm with Joaquin. Tonight was the first social event other than ones with only family members she’d attended. Hands clasped in her lap, she scooted to the edge of the chair. The music couldn’t start soon enough.
The first violin twang quieted conversations, and men shuffled to move to expectant partners.
When a body stepped in front of her, Casta looked up and smiled at the sight of the youngest Galtero dressed in traditional Spanish formal wear with a red shirt beneath his black vest.
Pablo bent at the waist and held out a hand. “Con permiso, Señorita de la Luz?”
“Sí.” Dipping her chin, she stood and dropped the shawl onto the chair. Arriving in the middle of the dance floor, she released his hand. “I hope I don’t embarrass you with my dancing. A long time has passed—”
“This first dance is a reel.” At the edge of a raised wooden platform, a man in a green shirt cupped his hands around his mouth. “So form up a line of ladies and another of gentlemen.”
“My favorite dance.” Grinning, Pablo grabbed her hand again.
Casta studied the corner where the musicians sat near the caller. In addition to the violin were a guitar and trumpet player. She looked closer and saw the smaller stringed instrument was a vihuela, which played at a higher pitch.
A second man rushed forward holding a dark wood guitar.
Pablo escorted her to the close end of a line of six couples.
The musicians started playing “Turkey in the Straw.”
“Head lady and foot gentleman forward and back.”
Pinching the sides of her skirt, Casta took four steps toward the opposite end of the line, facing Berto, then retreated.
“Head gentleman and foot lady forward and back.”
Next, Pablo repeated the same steps, and he approached Ventura.
“Forward again with both hands round.” The caller stomped a foot to the beat.
Casta sashayed down the aisle until she was within reach of Berto, clasped hands, and circled once before they returned to their places. This neighbor proved himself an adequate dancer and an attentive listener, but Casta kept glancing around for a sight of Joaquin.
Pablo and Ventura repeated the same step.
The dancers not named in the call clapped or stomped their feet in rhythm to the music.
“Do-si-do.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she advanced to the center and made a circle around Berto, keeping their right shoulders close.
The dancers in the other corners repeated the action.
“Now, don’t forget your partners. Do-si-do straight across.”
Casta hop-skipped forward to circle around Pablo. She remembered how she and her friends would change the tempo of their movements to personalize their steps.
“Head couple, gallop down the lane.”
Hands clasped with her partner, she and Pablo side-stepped in a chassé for four counts and then returned to their original spot.
“Right arm to partner and reel.”
This was Casta’s favorite part, where she and Pablo linked right elbows and swung in a circle. Then they broke off to the opposite line—she toward the men and he toward the women—and swung the next person in line, came back to the middle, linked elbows with the original partner in another circle, and worked their way down the divided line. After the last encounter, she and Pablo clasped hands and chasséd down the aisle to their first spot.
Then the head dancers turned to the outside and walked the length of the line. She and Pablo formed a bridge of their raised arms as all the other couples passed under, then side-stepped with hands clasped up the aisle.
By the time all the dancers had a chance to be head couple, everyone smiled and laughed as the lines dispersed.
Casta glowed, so happy at the lighthearted fun she hadn’t enjoyed in a long time.