Page 3 of My Darling Clementine

Nothing was missing or out of place; her clothing lay undisturbed, and the hidden bottom still hid her reserve of secrets; four flats of linen bindings for her breasts, the six johnsons she’d had time to make on the long train trip in her private car, and her personal stash of US currency, which she traded gold for in Sacramento before taking off east. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, she added the five thousand dollars Jim Burdock gave her to it, and repacked her bags.

Deciding to use the cold bathwater to freshen up, she undressed and examined herself in the mirror. In the prime of life at twenty-three, she stood close to six feet tall with an imposing build that now filled the suit she’d taken with her three years earlier. She set aside her pocket watch, then removed coat, vest, and shirt, revealing the linen binding her breasts.

Clem inhaled, thinking about what she’d learned from her father’s lawyer, enjoying the first deep breath she’d taken since wrapping this morning. With more air in her lungs, she might figure things out.

During three years of hard work, she’d grown sturdy, with strong arms, a wide chest, broad shoulders, a muscled stomach, and thick-hewn thighs. In the mirror, her light brown eyes stared back at her from under heavy brows grown together above her father’s large, beak-like nose, her full lips pressed into a severe line beneath it. In his clothing, of course she looked like Tom Dennison, newspaper magnate. Why hadn’t she noticed it before Henry Philpot, the nervous clerk, fainted?

So many whys. Her cruel brain poked at the new bruise of knowledge. Pain flared behind her eyes.

Why did her father sell the Journal instead of leaving it to her? Clem expected him to stipulate she couldn’t be the editor or even write for it, but why sell eighty-five percent interest to someone else? He believed she’d ruin his paper, so he made sure she couldn’t. Fifteen percent interest gave her an income, but no more.

Did he hate her because she was passing as a man? Because she didn’t fit his idea of a woman? Or wasn’t the son he always wanted?

Or the wife he lost?

Her chest felt tighter than she’d ever bound it. Had he disowned her from his grave?

No.

He meant it when he said he loved her.

Or maybe she’d always been a trusting idiot.

She was a child desperate for his approval, so of course she believed he loved her. What a fool I was. She shook her head to clear it.

The last time her father told Clem he loved her was almost three years ago when she boarded the train for Independence. He was mad, furious, worse than she’d ever seen him, but he said it when he hugged her goodbye. She could still hear his voice, clear under the rumbling hiss of a train engine building steam. “You may not be the woman I know you could be, but I have always loved you, Clementine Lorelei Dennison, and I always will.” He’d emphasized his words with a hug so tight it left her breathless before spinning on his heel and walking away from her without a backward glance.

He must have been lying, but why? Her father couldn’t have loved her and done what he did.

He loved her mother, he’d said it many times. When she died in childbirth, his only child became a poor substitute; no good for anything because she didn’t look, act, and by some miracle become her.

Using cold bathwater, she sponged away the sweat of the day, both from heat and anger. Her head pounded, but her heart remained shocked into silence. She spared a thought to wonder if it even still beat.

She didn’t have to wonder anymore now that she knew for sure. Her father never loved her. She shook under the power of the familiar, miserable thought as she dressed. Her mother was the perfect woman, and she’d killed her by being born. Tom Dennison would a thousand times rather she lived, and his child died.

Clem chased away this thought the same way she had for the last eight years, speaking out loud to make it powerful. “Too bad, old man. I’m not her; you’re stuck with me.”

Checking herself in the mirror, she reached down inside her trousers to adjust her fresh johnson, making sure it angled down and not up. She grinned, remembering making that mistake once, returning from an outhouse to a California saloon where she and Barney were drinking. One of the working girls got the wrong impression, and when turned down she made Clem a laughingstock. That embarrassment would last her a lifetime. Now she always checked in the mirror, head on and profile, before going out in public. A lucky, if disgusting thing she’d learned; men adjusted themselves without caring who saw, so she could too, when needed.

Walking toward the home of James M. Burdock, Esq., she felt the consequences of her fight yesterday. Walking wounded, she kept her hat low to cover her eyes, checking out everything, but seeing nothing.

When she reached Jim Burdock’s house, a handsome, slender man in his thirties with the dark complexion of the Mediterranean opened the door and cried, “Hello!” He threw both the door and his arms open in a clear invitation to hug.

She stepped back, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. “You’re Clem Dennison.”

“Yes,” she said, still unsure. “Is this Mr. James Burdock’s house?”

“It is,” said the animated young man, tugging her across the doorsill. “I’m An Burdock, short for Antony. He told me how you terrified poor Henry, that must have been a sight. Your father’s been here many times, and I must say, the resemblance is uncanny. I would have known you anywhere.”

He tucked his arm in hers, walking through a large anteroom into a formal sitting room. “Jimmy’s waiting for us in here.”

Jim Burdock stood near the bar across the room, tending a fire. He smiled and handed them each a tumbler of whiskey. The smaller man accepted his drink with a graceful nod.

“Jimmy?” Clem asked as An let go of her arm. She took the glass Jim offered her, sitting in an overstuffed chair.

“Clem,” Jim said, wrapping an arm around the younger man’s shoulder and kissing his cheek, “this is An, my lover of sixteen years.” He gave her a moment to let the information sink in.

As it did, she smiled.