9. Her Wedding Day #2
She sat up straight in the tub as the water cooled around her. I’ve got to grow up right now. I have no business marrying her if I can’t keep my promise.
Kizzy shook her head to clear her thoughts. This was important. She had only one word of honor, and it was on the line, right here, right now.
How ironic. To stay honorable, I’ve got to lie.
She took several deep cleansing breaths.
She’d always treated sex like a game, free from consequences or responsibilities.
In a little over an hour, she would be as good as married; no more seducing women or convincing pretty girls to practice kissing.
Her “rash” days were over. In a way, she’d made the same choice as her mother, marrying a man for protection.
If Mother could lie to protect her then, Kizzy could lie to protect Clem now.
She rose to stand in the bathtub, toweling herself dry before stepping out and wrapping it around her. A soft tap sounded on her door.
“Miss Walker,” called Gabby, “Mrs. Blair is here with your wedding dress and veil. May we come in?”
Kizzy smiled hearing the girl invite herself into the preparations.
Why not? It was a wedding, and the teen was a hopeless romantic.
The more, the merrier. “Yes,” she said, opening her bag and pulling out her clean pair of bloomers as three eager women swept into the room.
“So nice to see you again, Mrs. Blair. I can’t wait to see the dress. ”
“Put those away, my dear,” said the seamstress, wearing a fine gown of light organdy.
“I’ve brought everything you need from the skin out.
” She put a double armload of fabric on the bed, rifling through until finding a satin set of pantaloons she tossed to Kizzy who pulled them on under her towel.
Mrs. Blair carried over a collapsed, many-hooped petticoat of fine linen edged with lace.
“This is where we start,” she said, pulling it down over Kizzy’s head as Mrs. Bates whisked away the towel.
“Make yourself useful and brush her hair dry, Gabby,” instructed her aunt, handing the girl Kizzy’s hairbrush from the stand near her bed. “Leave it down until we decide how to style it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Gabby, brushing Kizzy’s hair with a gentle touch, her fingers combing through it.
The blushing bride covered her bare breasts with both arms as the teen brushed her hair, one matron buttoned the petticoat around her waist, and the other turned back to the bed for another garment. No one had helped Kizzy dress since she was five.
“Here we go,” Mrs. Blair said, holding out a whalebone corset with laces in the back.
She wrapped it around Kizzy’s waist, laced it, then tugged it upward until it caught the bottom half of her breasts, then even higher to make them rise round and full.
“Suck in your stomach,” said the seamstress, pulling on the laces until they cinched in her ribcage, making her breasts even more pronounced.
“What’s that?” asked Gabby, mouth open.
“Don’t stand there gaping,” snapped Mrs. Bates, peering over her shoulder, just as curious.
“It’s the latest thing from Europe,” said Mrs. Blair. “You wear them with something else called a bustle.” She tsked tsked. “But not with this gown. This is a design from twenty years ago, it needs the hoop skirt to look right.”
“It’s not a chemise, that’s for sure,” said Kizzy, gasping for breath. “Does it need to be so tight?”
Mrs. Bates laughed, slapping Mrs. Blair’s hand. “She’s right, Sarah. She caught her man. Now all she has to do is fit into that dress.”
Sarah laughed and loosened the laces. “I guess she should have enough breath to say, ‘I do’. And she’s already got a wonderful shape, doesn’t need any padding to fill out the gown.
” Mrs. Blair turned back to the bed. “Next, stockings and shoes.” She handed the stockings to Gabby who dropped to her knees.
“You’re so beautiful,” gushed the serving girl as she rolled each to mid-thigh, fastened them with garters, then buttoned her shoes for her. Young Gabby all but swooned, thoroughly in love with romance. “I want to be a bride someday.”
“Stay a good girl, and you will, you silly goose,” said Mrs. Bates, fingering a lace veil. “But this is her day, so get a move on.”
Standing in front of the beveled mirror, heart beating faster as her excitement grew, Kizzy closed her eyes as the two matrons lowered her wedding dress over her head, settling it around her.
She kept them shut as hands twitched and tugged the lace and silk into place, while others piled her hair on top of her head in an elaborate style that took four sharp hairpins.
When the flurry of activity around her stopped, she heard all three women gasp.
Mrs. Blair said, “You make a beautiful bride, my dear. Open your eyes.”
The woman staring at her in the mirror looked older and more mature than Kizzy’s eighteen years.
The pale blue gown accentuated the color of her eyes, and the soft material lit her skin with a lustrous hue.
A fine, filmy veil pinned to her thick hair fell almost to the floor.
Dropped puff sleeves left her shoulders bare, exposing a creamy expanse of mounded flesh and tantalizing cleavage.
The tight bodice, clever skirt design, and heeled boots gave her a silhouette far more curvaceous than usual.
She blinked, as did the beautiful image in the mirror.
“That’s me,” Kizzy whispered. She blinked again. “I’m beautiful.”
She’d been told she was pretty, but never understood why.
She wore plain, modest clothing, her face was the same as everyone else’s and she should know, she taught herself to draw portraits by looking in a mirror.
It felt surreal to see herself as others did, but no stranger than everything else that happened over the last two days.
“I didn’t know I could look like this.” Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Well?” urged Gabby. “What do you think of it?”
“Hush, girl,” said Mrs. Bates, nodding, tears sparkling in her own eyes. “She’s taking it in. The world is ugly, and very few times in a woman’s life will she feel this beautiful. Give her a moment to remember.”
“Pish and tosh,” disagreed Mrs. Blair. She patted the other married woman on the arm. “You need to come around my shop more often, Sarah.” Her critical eye took in the other woman’s gown. “We’ll get you feeling pretty before you know it.”
The long-faced Mrs. Bates blushed, realizing how her words sounded.
“I might, at that,” she said with a chuckle.
“Romance is in the air.” She swatted Gabby’s backside and shooed her out of the room before her.
“I’ll leave the finishing touches to you, Abbie.
Gabby’s got water to heat and I’ve a few other things to tend.
Once she’s dressed, take her down to room four at the end of the hall to wait.
That’ll be their honeymoon suite for the night. ”
“Why change rooms?”
“She’ll be staying with her husband, of course. And this way we’ve one tub to fill and empty, saving time.” Mrs. Bates laughed as she went out the door. “Oh, he’s an eager one all right. Had the whole thing figured out and told me how to set it up before breakfast this morning.”
“You’re a lucky one, Miss Walker.” Mrs. Blair stood behind her, looking over her shoulder into the looking glass. “Most husband’s want nothing to do with their wife’s wedding day. He seems very sweet.”
“I am lucky, aren’t I?” she asked, doubt tinging her voice as she fingered the pretty gown.
“Oh, Mrs. Blair, tell me I’m not making a terrible mistake.
” A sense of panic grabbed her by the throat.
“I mean, I don’t really know him, and we’re leaving tomorrow, and I won’t know anyone where we’re going, or if there will even be other women there.
” Her eyes grew even larger. “What if I’m all alone, and everything turns out terrible. I’ve read books like that.”
“First off, call me Abbie,” said the older woman with a quick squeeze of her shoulders.
“And second, every bride has those same exact thoughts.” She shrugged.
“It happens, I won’t say it doesn’t, but honey, I’ve never seen a man more thoughtful than yours.
I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about. ”
“I’m Kizzy. My mother named me for her mother,” sniffed the pale bride, staring at her reflection. “I wish she were here, and could see me like this.”
“I’m sure you do. Do you have anything of hers to carry or wear, to make it feel like she’s here with you?”
“I do!” She hurried over to her discarded clothing, rummaged down to the bloomers, and unpinned the small, beaded bag.
She pulled from it a necklace of strung pearls with a matching set of earrings.
“My grandfather gave these to my grandmother, and she left them to my mother. They were with the money she gave me.”
“They’re perfect, my dear,” exclaimed Abbie.
“I was going to loan you my brooch for your decolletage, but this,” she draped the pearls, “sets off your slender neck, and the earbobs will make it look all the longer.” As she fastened them on Kizzy, she said, “I’m sure your mother would be proud of you today.
You’re the picture of a perfect bride.” A mother’s kiss brushed her cheek, and Kizzy closed her eyes, pretending.
“Now, let’s gather your things and get out of here so your fiancé can take his last bath as a single man.
” She opened the door as an eager Gabby appeared carrying two pails to empty cold bathwater before refilling it with hot.
They carried Kizzy’s laundry and suitcase to the end of the hall, where Abbie reached for the knob on the last door.
“Shouldn’t we knock first?”
“Silly girl, there is no chance Mr. Bobblecopper will see you before the wedding, believe you me.” Abbie laughed. “I can hear my daughter downstairs already, and Sarah won’t let him upstairs until she knows we’re in here. This is the one place he is not.” She swung open the door.