7. Kabooblebopper? #2
“I found a judge at the county courthouse who agreed to perform the ceremony this evening, after close of business. And our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Bates, have agreed to let us hold it in the hotel parlor at six o’clock, and be our witnesses.
Then we can have dinner here at the hotel, and celebrate at the bar until we leave for whichever of our two rooms,” she winked at her soon to be bride, “we’ll share on our wedding night. ”
“Oh, Clem,” she said, laughing with a playful slap to her hand, “you tease.” She blushed at the smoldering heat in the brown eyes devouring her, well aware she wasn’t teasing.
Because the idea flamed a matching heat in her, rather unbearable in her wool, she changed the subject, asking about the wagon. “How big is it? I only have one suitcase.”
“I can make room for that much,” Clem assured her with a laugh. “We’ll pick up the Studebaker at two, and I’ll spend the afternoon packing the wagon with all the supplies I ordered.”
“What will I be doing while you do that?” asked Kizzy. She noticed Clem’s smile lit up her face, taking her from cute to handsome. She’d have to make her smile often. Kizzy smiled, feeling euphoric.
“Whatever a bride does to prepare for her wedding, I suppose.” Clem laughed. “I’ll ask Mrs. Bates if a bath can be arranged, say at four? Will that give you enough time?”
“I don’t know,” Kizzy confessed. “I’ve never been a bride before.” She raised both eyebrows and bit her lower lip, drawing her teeth across it. “But I can be on time.” She laughed. “I’ll meet you in the parlor at six o’clock, looking as much like a bride as I can in that amount of time.”
“You’ll make a lovely bride,” Clem said, wiping away a bit of pie from the corner of Kizzy’s lip with her thumb. “You are lovely.” She excused herself and rose to speak with Mrs. Bates.
The serving girl rushed over, gushing, “Oh, miss, he is as romantic as you said, isn’t he?” She sighed, but blushed as Clem returned in time to hear her.
“He is,” Kizzy agreed, taking Clem’s hand. “I’m a lucky woman.”
“You really are,” the girl agreed, carrying away their plates.
“How romantic did you tell her I am?” Clem asked, watching the youngster hurry away before turning back, her eyes amused.
“Let’s take a walk and I’ll tell you how we met.”
“Yes, let’s,” Clem said, rising and offering her arm. Kizzy took it, and they strolled up the street. “So, what’s our story?”
She explained how her father had cabled the wrong day to meet her at the train, how she’d overreacted, and cried herself to sleep thinking he’d done her wrong, only to see him finishing his dinner and walking out the door.
“I told her we didn’t know each other at first, it’s been so long since we promised ourselves to each other.
But when I realized it was you, I darted into the night to find you. ”
“What did I do?” asked Clem, gazing down at her, a charmed smile raising her lips.
“You pretended to be angry and threatened to spank me, then kissed me and told me you loved me instead.”
“Sounds like something I’d do.” Clem stopped under a large walnut tree to take shelter from the midday sun, smiling as they leaned against its trunk in the shade.
Kizzy stared up at her, an odd thrill thrumming through her. “What?”
“Shall I demonstrate?” Clem bent down, lips hovering just above hers.
“Which? Spank me, or kiss and tell me you love me?”
“We can start with one and progress to the other … either way works for me.” Clem swiped a drop of perspiration from her nose, chuckled, and took her hand. “But for now, let’s get you a proper dress before you melt.”
“If you don’t want me to melt, stop making me hot,” Kizzy suggested with a saucy lilt. “Take me back to the hotel, and I’ll put my yellow one back on. At least it’s cooler, if a little the worse for wear.”
“We’ve got other places to go,” Clem disagreed, walking them down the main street, then up a side road with a signpost naming it Wayfarer’s Lane.
They passed a dry goods store, grocery, lumberyard, construction goods, feed store, and stopped in front of Abbie Blair’s House of Fashion, a small white clapboard house with bright arched windows that looked like eyes.
A tiny bell jingled over the door as they entered.
“Mrs. Blair,” called Clem. “I’ve brought her so you can finish sizing it.”
“Finish sizing what?” Kizzy’s words were lost as a tall, skinny woman with a long oval face came bustling from a back room.
“Excellent, sir, let’s see how well you described her.
” Mrs. Blair walked around Kizzy as Clem stood back.
“Hm, yes, I see what you mean,” she said as she passed behind her.
A slender hand ran across the width of Kizzy’s hips.
“You were off here, she’ll need a bit more room, but that’s an easy adjustment.
” Her hands rose and spanned Kizzy’s waist. “But here,” her hands moved higher and gestured at her breasts, “and here you were spot on. Well done, Mr. Bobblecopper, well done.”
“Bobblecopper?” asked Kizzy, eyebrows raised.
“Isn’t that correct?” fussed Mrs. Blair, fishing in her pocket for a piece of paper. “I’m sure that’s what you told me.”
“Yes, of course it is,” assured Clem without specifying, pinching Kizzy’s elbow. “Is it ready for her to try on? We are short of time, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, let’s see how it looks on her. If you’ll follow me, my dear.” Mrs. Blair nodded to a chair in front of a three-way mirror. “Have a seat, Mr. …” she paused.
“Cobblebopper,” answered Kizzy.
“Bobblecopper,” corrected Clem with an amused grin, “Isn’t she adorable?” She kissed her on the nose. “Not very bright, but cute as a bug’s ear.”
“Bug’s ear?” Kizzy crossed her eyes at Clem and grinned at the seamstress, taking her arm. “I still haven’t gotten used to it, I mean, Kizzy Bobblecopper … you see what I mean?” She tossed a look over her shoulder to Clem, who caught it with a wink.
Kizzy followed the chuckling older woman to a large room with stacks of fabulous fabrics, mannequins of varying sizes, and three separate pedal sewers, those new machines from Sears.
Or was it Roebucks? She’d seen them in the catalogs they picked up twice a year with their mail, but never one in real life. “You have three?” she asked, amazed.
“One for me, another for my oldest girl, and a third for my youngest. They help me in the shop when I get too many orders in at once. And sometimes it’s nice to be working on two different projects at the same time.”
“You must do well for yourself.” She looked around the room at the mannequins wearing various styles of dresses.
“I’m one of the few dressmakers at this end of Independence,” Mrs. Blair acknowledged.
“Most of the time I get orders for men, traveling salesmen want lightweight suits for summer, and the forty-niners heading west want sturdy mining shirts and pants.” The older woman motioned toward several stacks of ready-to-wear items. “We whip up extras during down times and they always end up selling. She laughed as she walked Kizzy over to a folding screen. “Men wear something whether it fits them or not.” She nodded for her to go behind the screen. “But don’t you worry, honey. I’ve got the time to make your wedding dress fit you like a glove. ”
“My wedding dress?” Kizzy walked behind the screen to find a gown of pale blue satin edged in fine lace, and a single hoop petticoat waiting for her to try on.
“Ooh,” she couldn’t help saying, fingering the soft fabric accented with tiny ribbons the color of moonlight.
“I’ve never seen a gown so beautiful,” she gushed.
“I’d take the compliment for myself, but your bridegroom was waiting for me with it when I opened the shop this morning.
Told me it belonged to his mother, and he wants you to wear it for your ceremony tonight.
Lucky for me, it’s already late summer and business is slow.
The last wagon train of the year will pull out day after tomorrow.
Jed Cushing’s a damned fool to be leaving this late, the traveling won’t be as easy as the spring, but I guess he knows what he's doing. This’ll be the seventh train he’s taken across in three years. ”
“That’s the one we’re joining,” agreed Kizzy with a nod. “My… husband,” she chuckled, “still not used to that either, but he says we’ll be in California before Christmas.”
“It’s eerie you should say so, Tamsen Donner said the same thing to me a bit over a year ago,” said Mrs. Blair. “But best not to think about that.”
Kizzy nodded and gulped. The tragedy of the Donner Party starving in deep snow until reduced to eating their dead had spread like wildfire.
“Surely Mr. Cushing wouldn’t take another chance like that one,” she said as Mrs. Blair helped her remove the stifling, itchy, dark blue wool and two linen petticoats.
“Oh, he’s a fool all right. He’s getting his share of the gold by rushing folks out to the west. He leads a mule train west in as little as twelve weeks, then grabs a sack of mail from Sutter’s and rides a fast horse back to Independence, once as quick as twenty-three days.”
“Twelve weeks seems like a long time to me,” Kizzy said as a satin petticoat’s hoop swayed around her ankles.
Mrs. Blair laughed, twitching it straight and buttoning the waistband.
“Time goes different out on the trail, or so I remember when we headed out west.” She lifted the gown over Kizzy’s head and settled it around her.
“We arrived in Independence only a dozen years ago ourselves, and all of this grew up around us after the gold fever hit.” She pulled the puffed ruffle sleeve down the young bride’s shoulders to create an expansive neckline.
“What are you doing?” Kizzy tugged the sleeves back up.