Page 27 of My Darling Clementine

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 …?”

“Walker,” supplied Clem with a proud grin. “Kizzy Walker. It’s a pretty name that trips from my tongue, but she’ll be a Dennison before dark.”

“Well, best of luck, Miss Walker,” said Mr. Cushing, taking her hand. “He crossed on my first journey west, and pulls his weight jus’ fine, but he’s a handful when he drinks.”

“Which isn’t near as often as it was, I swear,” said Clem in a rush. She grinned and shrugged. “But it does happen.”

Kizzy laughed. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Cushing,” She took Clem’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be sure to watch his drinking.”

“I’ll appreciate that, ma’am.” He stroked his mustache, displaying large white teeth in a brief smile. “Now, let’s pick you a team of nine mules.”

He led them to a barn with a large lean-to shelter. Under it huddled a hundred or more donkeys. “You want the big ones; they stay to the outside of the group, or the ones dead center, smart enough to find shade before the others hemmed them in.”

“Smart is good, complacent is better,” mused Clem, gazing at the small herd. A sharp elbow connected with her ribs. “Ow.”