FF: Such Measures

        At exactly one minute past nine on Saturday morning, the peaceful air of Calloway Mansion was shattered by a sudden scream.  A series of thumps, crashes, and hysterical laughter followed the scream, only proving to further disrupt the sensitive nerves of the ladies who were taking holiday at the estate.

        “He’s coming home!”  The call came, shouted as loudly as possible with an unmistakable tone of absolute glee.  Celia hobbled thunk-thunk-thunk down the front staircase, past the library, and into the parlor.

        “Anette!?”  She called, glancing around the room where a couple of women sat, frozen in fear at the outburst.  Not finding Anette in the parlor, Celia  was off again, awkwardly shuffling as fast as her leg brace would allow.

        “Annnnette!”  She shouted, stopping to look in each room before hobbling off to the next.

        “Celia, stop that noise!”  Anette scolded, walking out of the kitchen.

        “He’s coming HOME!”  Celia screamed again, holding out a telegram.   “Andy, my Andy is coming home!”  She shouted.

        Anette, once she caught on to the actual significance of the situation, lost her stern look.“How fantastic!  When will he be here?”  Anette asked, reading the rest of the telegram.

        “I don’t know, I didn’t finish it –“

        “Celia…”  Anette bit her lip, handing the telegram to her.

        “What is it?”  Celia took the telegram, confused.  She read it over, all through way through this time.  As she saw the last few lines, her face fell.

        “A month.”  She said sadly.

        “Dear… it costs money to travel all the way from the coast.  He has none, I suppose.”  Anette tried to be comforting.

        “Of course he doesn’t.”  Celia said dully.  “He doesn’t receive his pay for the deployment yet.”

        “Wait wait, what about –“  Anette started.

        “No, I haven’t any money.”  Celia said, now in a rather bad mood.  “And I shan’t borrow any of yours, you know I won’t.  He wouldn’t want to either.”

        “Just this once!”  Anette tried.  At Celia’s stony face, she ceased her protests, and began instead working her mind to find a way to raise the necessary funds.

        It was at this moment, perhaps fatefully so, that two of the visiting ladies were having a rather loud conversation in the parlor.

        “They buy it?”  The first lady asked.

        “For rather large sums of money.”  The second lady said with an air of scandal.

        At this, Anette saw Celia perk up and start to listen.

        “And they walk around with that horrid short hair afterwards!”  The second lady continued.  “They just chop it off and send it to the barber, and he sends back the money!”
        
        “You don’t think it will become a fashion, do you?”  The first lady asked.

        “The only woman who sells her hair to a wigmaker is one who is desperate for money.  No woman of respect would walk around with such a signpost on her own head.”

        Anette saw Celia’s eyes light up.  “No….”  She said nervously, watching a faint smile grow on Celia’s face.  “Celia…. No.  No!”  As Anette anticipated, Celia tried to dodge around her and get upstairs.  “Celia!  So help me- !”  Anette tried futilely to keep Celia from getting upstairs, eventually losing the battle.  As Celia rather slowly climbed the stairs, Anette dashed back to the kitchen, hoping to beat Celia to the second floor by way of the maid’s staircase.  She reached the second floor ahead of her niece, racking her brain for the location of every pair of scissors in the house.

        The ones in her room, she found.  The ones in the sewing room, she found as well, locking them into a drawer in the chest.  The third pair she had trouble with, but did eventually find in the dressing-room off Celia’s quarters.  All three pairs of scissors safely tossed into the chest drawer and locked with a key, Anette turned to face the door, waiting for Celia to eventually catch on and come looking.

        Several minutes passed, and Anette couldn’t hear any sound.  Celia, with her leg brace, was usually very easy to locate.  But still the minutes ticked away and no sound was heard.  Anette sighed, thinking perhaps Celia had perhaps come to her senses.  But when she inhaled deeply through her nose, she smelled something.  Something…. burnt?  Anette left the room and crossed the hall, peering into her own dressing-room.
        
        Celia stood in from of the mirror, with the curling-rod in her hand.  The rod was normally heated and used carefully to coax hair into little ringlets, but on this occasion had been allowed to get too hot, and held on the hair too long.

        With four locks of long hair already laid out on the counter, Celia was using the iron to cut her hair by letting it burn through.  With an innocent smile, Celia laughed.

        “I wonder what Andy will think.”