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Sylvia

15 April 1942

Dear Izzie,

I am sorry. I can tell from my unanswered letters that you don’t trust me. That is my fault, and I will continue to apologize for as long as I have to for you to believe me that I am sincere. You are my sister, and I have always loved you. You must believe that.

I have been thinking a great deal about what you said in the shop that day. Your designs are beautiful. Anyone with an eye would be able to tell you that, and I do not know why our mother tried to convince you they wouldn’t sell. They will. I am certain of it.

Our mother was stubborn, Izzie. I think that is one of the things that allowed her to build a business when no one would help her. However, it also made her shortsighted. She believed so much in what had worked in the past that she couldn’t see what possibilities might be in front of her.

Trust me when I tell you that I move in circles where your designs would be sought-after. There are women who want to dress in the things you’ve dreamed up, even in a time of war. I promise you that.

You have talent, and it is a shame not to show that talent off to the world.

Please reconsider and allow me to use the sketches moving forward. I know that you have your doubts, but I promise you that between your designs and Miss Reid’s construction, Mrs. Shelton’s could produce beautiful things.

Yours,

Sylvia

P.S. Miss Reid tells me to pass along the message that she thinks you’re being stubborn only for stubbornness’s sake. I do not know if that will persuade you, but at this point I will use anything I possibly can to plead my case, so I am putting this in here on the off chance it will help.

Chapter Twenty-One

Izzie’s hand shook as she finished addressing the envelope and put her pen down on the wooden shelf behind her with a firm click.

For the past two and a half weeks, Sylvia had written to her, trying to apologize and failing miserably with every new letter. However, this last one had been the limit. Not only had her sister invoked their mother, but Sylvia had tried to act as though she knew the first thing about what Mum was like.

“I’m going to post this,” Izzie said, sliding off her bunk and landing neatly next to her work boots. “Does anyone have any letters they need taken?”

Amelia and Grace looked up from their card game and murmured a “No, but thank you.”

Lottie, who had been playing around with a new way to dress her hair, asked no one in particular, “Do you think my curls will stay if I wear my hair like this for the dance on Friday?”

“No,” Nancy muttered as she turned a page.

“You didn’t even look up from your book!” Lottie cried.

“I didn’t have to,” said Nancy tartly.

Alexandra, who had been propped up on her elbow reading on the bunk underneath Izzie’s, closed her book and said, “I’ll go with you, Izzie. It saves me from listening to Nancy and Lottie bicker again.”

“We do not bicker,” said Nancy with a sniff.

“You do,” said Alexandra.

“Izzie,” Nancy appealed to her.

“You do,” echoed Izzie.

Nancy opened her book with such force she nearly snapped the spine.

As Izzie and Alexandra stepped out of their barracks and into the early-spring sun, Alexandra said, “I love Nancy, I really do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to throttle her half of the time.”

Izzie laughed. “She does go after Lottie more than she should.”

“I think she secretly wishes she was as good with men as Lottie is,” said Alexandra.