4. Independance #2
After several more minutes of moping, she rose to stand at the window in her room.
Letting her eyes wander over the street below, she watched the citizens of Independence go about their daily business.
Women dressed like her mother walked by either in pairs with baskets over their arms, herding small children, or walking with a husband. Not one woman walked alone.
So that’s why they stared at me.
Removing her father’s suit, Clem put on some sensible work clothes she’d had a tailor make for the long trip ahead. Having traveled this way once, she knew what she needed and planned ahead.
Passing through the hotel doors onto the wide street beyond, Clem headed for the dry goods store to place a large order.
The hot summer breeze brought scents of animals, dust, wildflowers, and a dozen baked pies cooling in the Hotel kitchen’s window.
It struck Clem with a sense of relaxing freedom that there were no more expectations of her.
Who she was, no longer competing to win her father’s approval, was up to her now.
From here on out, she could be her own woman or man.
A profound idea struck, one so great she stopped dead in her tracks, and leaned against the storefront, her foot braced against the wall to keep her upright.
I’m both, and neither.
She looked around, amused by the idea that none of the people passing by had any idea that she was a woman. Clem spat, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and continued into the store.
Kizzy stood watching the difference between the sexes.
Some men walked back and forth with easy strides, others rushed here or there running errands of their own.
Women hurried along, holding themselves and their packages with tight grips.
A few men stood talking to each other, some with their wives waiting behind them.
The businessman from the train, now dressed in sturdy work clothes, stood by himself outside the dry goods store, holding up the wall with his sturdy presence. His quick eyes watched everything and everyone. What was it about him that kept catching Kizzy’s attention? She looked closer.
During every church service, choir practice, and Sunday School lesson she’d examined the other women in the congregation, trying to pinpoint her attraction to the feminine body.
Kizzy had stared at a lot of female faces in her eighteen years, and when the man holding up the wall turned his head to spit, she recognized a woman’s cheek and jaw.
Wait… what?
She rubbed her tired eyes and looked again, but saw only a rugged-looking fellow, pushing himself away from the wall with his boot, hat slouched low over his eyes against the sun. He walked into the general store.
It must have been a trick of the eye.
Kizzy was exhausted. She took off her dress and two petticoats to lie down on the bed in her chemise and pantaloons, seeking respite from the afternoon heat. It was already past four, and she needed a nap.
I’ll think better after I rest and eat dinner.
Clem spent the rest of the afternoon ordering provisions and making arrangements to have them delivered to her Studebaker wagon once it arrived at the smithy next door. After hours of running errands, her stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch.
Returning to the Bates Hotel, as she passed by the registration desk, the same clerk was still on duty, gossiping away. “Some lady, I say. She shouldn’t be traveling alone.”
“It doesn’t take much to make ‘em slip,” agreed a man standing near the door to the Saloon. “Just let ‘em miss a meal or three, and they’ll hop on the next man they see to get fed.”
“Goddamn,” said Clem. “That’s one shitty set of circumstances. Would you want to have no choices?”
“I wouldn’t mind having endless sex with any number of nameless strangers,” the man who stood near the Saloon door leered, “and get paid for it. Easy way to make a living, on your back.” He and the registration clerk laughed as Clem passed on by and up the stairs.
“Let me know if she comes down,” said the man before returning to the saloon.
Sympathy stirred in Clem’s breast for the unknown woman, for all women. Thank God no one knows I’m female.
Back in her room, keyhole covered, she wondered what her life would be like if she’d traveled west as a woman, in women’s clothing.
The moment she closed and locked the door of her first private train compartment she’d cut her hair, bound her breasts, and put on men’s clothing.
Her dress, petticoat, hat, and all the other identifying markings of womanhood had flown out that window, dotting the landscape with her shed femininity.
She’d lived as a man ever since and couldn’t imagine life any other way.
The sun was down, and darkness filled her room when Kizzy’s eyes opened.
She sat up, disoriented and lost, but then it all came rushing back.
She calmed her racing pulse by taking deep breaths, found the kerosene lamp at the bedside, and lit it.
Looking out the window, she felt dozens of eyes staring at her, and yanked the curtains closed, suffering in the stifling air.
She dressed and went downstairs to dinner, surprised the pendulum clock over the registration desk read nine thirty. Amazed she slept that long, she knew she’d be up all night. That might not be bad, considering the options she had to think over.
Clem went down to dinner in the Bates Hotel dining room feeling satisfied with her arrangements for a wagon, provisions, and mule team. In only three more days she would head home, to her claim and Barney. Having learned the hard way the first time, she was determined to take what she needed.
As was her habit when eating alone, Clem pulled out a book to read as she ate. She loved reading new novels, but her mind kept wandering to her father’s final choices concerning her inheritance. Maybe it did come down to her tricking him into buying two of her articles under a pen name.
People were still eating in the dining room, but the kitchen had closed for the night. The cook, a pleasant, round woman with a red face, agreed to fix her a plate if she didn’t mind leftovers.
Kizzy carried a dinner of ham steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a slice of apple pie with a piece of sharp cheddar cheese into the dining room, making her way to a table.
Having not eaten since lunch on the train, she dug in and filled the empty space in her belly.
Distracted by delicious food, she forgot to be on guard, but the few men left in the hotel restaurant sat alone with newspapers or books to read.
A few nursed coffee, others drank beer from the bar.
None seemed to notice her, leaving her to enjoy her food.
Was Dad jealous? Of me?
Clem looked at her reflection in the window beside the table.
Would Dad think I make a handsome man? Would mother have thought so? She frowned at her image.
Did Tom Dennison, newspaper mogul, wish to be Dennis Tines, wanting my life and talent? Am I living the life he wanted but didn’t get? And was the reason he didn’t because he had a motherless baby girl to raise on his own? Did he resent me for that, too?
No, it was the other way around. She dreamed of being like him. It’s why I started writing in the first place.
It just didn’t make any sense.
She tried to refocus on the latest by Poe, enjoying a piece of apple pie and cup of coffee to finish her meal, but kept getting distracted by her thoughts. Clem gave up trying to read, tucked the book in her coat pocket, and signed her dinner check.
Deciding to take a walk before turning in, she crossed to the door and noticed the striking woman from Rocheport eating a late meal alone. She couldn’t help staring at the exceptional beauty.
For the briefest of moments their eyes met, and the admiration in her return glance made Clem smile before exiting out into the street. Maybe I am attractive to women. Could I even be… handsome?
The idea made her laugh as she loped along the dark road toward the blacksmith shop, enjoying the light exercise.
While swallowing the last bite of her pie, the man she had seen earlier from her room window rose from his table and pocketed a book. As he reached the restaurant door, he turned to look at her, gave her a knowing smile, winked, and disappeared.
In a flash, Kizzy knew she was right. That is a woman.
Without thinking about what she was doing, she rushed out into the night after the stranger. Not seeing her, Kizzy started down toward the railway station. From the dark, she heard men’s raucous laughter. Fear turned her back around.
Earlier, the woman who posed as a man stood outside the dry goods store, so Kizzy headed that way.
Her petticoats brushed the tall grass growing at the side of the dirt road, rustling as she passed.
As she walked past the blacksmith shop, a single gas lamp hanging in front of Hanson’s stable lit her from head to toe.
“Hey, there she is, over here. The new whore is this way.”
New whore? She turned to see a man some ways down the street, waving for someone to join him. A trickle of fear ran down her back as she realized she stood illuminated in the darkness.