Page 25 of My Darling Clementine

“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.”