Page 36 of My Darling Clementine

What was she doing? This wasn’t a fairytale, and Clem wasn’t an enchanted princess who would sweep Kizzy off her feet into a happily married after.

But her nipples hardened at the thought of how Clem’s lips would feel on them, wondered if her teeth would tug. She washed them again.

After all, they wouldn’t really be married, not like her mother and father. The papers we sign won’t be legal because we’ll be lying.

The thought smacked her right between the eyes.

We’ll be liars. I will be a liar.

Kizzy took pride in her honesty. When accused of various wrongdoings over the years, she never lied, always admitting the choices she made. She’d never been a liar before.

I’ve also never married a woman living as a man before, either. She’d be keeping someone else’s secret, protecting Clem. And Clem passing as a man would protect Kizzy.

What would Mama think of Clem? I guess she had her share of wild times in her youth.

She shuddered remembering the enormous secret that freed her from any paternal obligations to her erstwhile father. It was a good thing she left town without seeing him again. She would love to tell him what a fool he was to his face, but he’d take it out on Mother. Still, if he got all hypocritical and self-righteous on her again, could she keep such a delicious secret?

What makes me think I can keep Clem’s? I am impulsive.

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.”