7. Kabooblebopper? #3
Mrs. Blair tugged them down again. “It’s worn this way, and don’t worry dearie,” she lifted both of Kizzy’s breasts through her camisole, weighing and measuring before tucking them into the lacey bodice, “I’ve got something in the back that will make it fit like a glove.
You’ll have a perfect hourglass figure once we’re finished. ”
Kizzy stood on a riser as Mrs. Blair circled, wielding pins to tighten the bodice. With a tug here, a nudge there, she took notes about the way the skirt hung from the waistline, and then stood back for another look.
“It’s perfect for a dance, but too short for a wedding dress,” she declared. She left Kizzy standing as she bustled back into the front room.
“Are you finished?” she heard Clem ask with a bit of impatience. “Do you have anything readymade for her to wear instead of putting her back in that wool? When will you be done?”
“Calm down, my boy,” laughed Mrs. Blair, her feet scurrying down the hallway. “Yes, we’re almost finished, yes, I’ve got something for her to wear, and yes, she’ll be out soon.”
As she bustled up to Kizzy, she held out a fine sky blue silk ribbon eight inches wide. “I’ll drape this along the hem. It’ll be easy for you to remove after the ceremony, and you’ll have an elegant party dress.”
Kizzy laughed. “Where will I wear it in the mining camp?”
“You never know,” said Mrs. Blair as she dipped a feather into a metal tin and dusted Kizzy’s torso and arms with a powder that made her sneeze.
“Ah-choo! What is that?” Kizzy waved her hand at the white dust hanging in the air.
“Talcum powder,” Mrs. Blair explained. “Pretty amazing stuff, it helps keep human skin dry, and also softens up leather gloves.” She pulled out a pretty pair of elbow-length soft doeskins. “Feel this.”
Kizzy took them and tried them on. “They’re lovely,” she exclaimed.
“They’d look fine with your dress,” Mrs. Blair suggested.
“Yes, I’ll take them, and some of your talcum powder, too, if you have enough to spare?”
“I do,” said Mrs. Blair, eyes twinkling. “Anything else you might need, Mrs. Bobblecopper?”
“Mrs. Bobblecopper.” Kizzy sighed. “It does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? And yes, if you have time, there are a couple of other things I need.”
“I’ll fetch in some help. Let me make a list, while you try this on.
” Mrs. Blair handed her a clever, well-constructed thin cotton shift, white with delicate embroidered red cherries, wide enough to fit different-sized women.
When she had it on, the clever seamstress placed a shaped red leather belt around her middle, wrapping its long straps around her narrow waist to tie in front.
Mrs. Blair rolled up the puffy sleeves to above the elbow, and they both agreed a single petticoat in this heat was quite proper enough.
Kizzy placed her order, and twenty dollars later she hurried down the hallway and straight into Clem’s arms as she rose from the chair. “The dress is incredible,” she said, looking up into pleased eyes. “But how?”
“You look delightful and much cooler,” Clem declared, holding her out to see her new dress.
“I’ll explain as we walk.” She called down the hallway, “Please deliver the gown to the hotel by five, Mrs. Blair,” before whisking Kizzy back out on the street.
“It’s past time to pick up the Studebaker, and I want to see our home for the next four months, don’t you? ”
Kizzy squeezed Clem’s arm. “Yes, I do. Let’s hurry.” She felt dazed, delighted, and a little disconcerted as they quickened their pace. “But how do you have a beautiful dress for a bride you didn’t know you wanted until last night?”
Clem offered her an odd smile, both sad and satisfied. “It’s my mother’s, who died giving me life.” She shrugged. “Father left it as part of my inheritance, tucked deep in a trunk of personal items in his lawyer’s office. He kept it all those years, wrapped in tight sealskin and looking like new.”
She wiped the sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief. “He knew I live as a man, but the note pinned to it said he hoped I’d wear it at my wedding.” She chuckled, then mopped and kissed Kizzy’s forehead. “Someone will, anyway.” Clem picked up her bride and spun her around.
As her feet hit the ground, Kizzy laughed. “It’s like God placed all of this at your feet.”
Clem hugged her, then turned her around to look past a low split-rail fence into the field beyond where a new covered wagon stood. “There she is, sturdy and light.”
“It’s huge,” Kizzy exhaled. “Well, tall, anyway,” she amended as they approached. The wagon bed itself was almost eighteen feet long, and the wheels came up to Clem’s shoulders. “How do you climb in?” New dress or not, the weather was hot, and the shade inside the wagon looked inviting.
Clem placed a foot here, grabbed there, and climbed into the driver’s seat, looking down at her as Kizzy watched. “I can see how that will be more difficult in a skirt.”
“Watch, and learn,” said Kizzy before she stooped, reached between her legs for the back hem of her skirt and brought it up to her front waist. “As long as I wear a belt, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Very clever,” said Clem, swinging down as quick as she climbed up.
She grabbed Kizzy around the waist from behind and lifted her up.
“Put your foot on that part of the axle,” she hoisted her a bit higher, “and your other foot on the box.” Her voice grew warm. “That’s right, you’re a natural, girl.”
Kizzy blushed at the praise, grabbed onto the front bow, and pulled herself up to the driver’s seat. “Oh yes,” she cried, shaking an imaginary set of reins, “this is where I belong.”
“Glad you think so.” Clem smiled as she reached up with open arms to help her down again. “C’mon, let’s collect the mules, we’ll hitch ‘em up, and walk them down to the stable.”
“What about the wagon?”
“We’re leaving it behind Hanson’s stable, near the stores so I can outfit her better.”
“Her?” Kizzy laughed. “What’s her name?”
“Don’t know. You name her,” Clem said, loping off toward the wagon master. “Mr. Cushing,” she called, “I want you to meet my wife.”
“Wife, Dennison?” A tall man, broad of shoulder and narrow-hipped, stopped and turned to wait for their approach. “I didn’t know you were married.” A curious grin crossed a seamed face, dark eyes mere slits in the bright sun. “You signed on as one.”
Clem grinned, deepening her voice. “I’m two, it seems. She wouldn’t let me leave without her.”
Kizzy threw her a look that made Clem laugh. “And we’re not actually married…”
“Dammit, Dennison, you know I run a clean train,” said Mr. Cushing, bushy eyebrows bunching.
“…married yet,” finished Clem with a grin.
“The wedding’s tonight, and I’m inviting you to attend.
It’s in the Bates Hotel parlor at six o’clock.
Judge Winston will perform the ceremony, and I’d be honored if you’ll bear witness for us.
” She flushed a bit, not much, but enough for an eager bridegroom.
“I’ll be delighted,” said the wagon master. “And good luck, Miss …?”