Page 8 of My Darling Clementine

“He speaks of a different type of man, interested in handsome men.”

An laughed. “He said you’re a cute, sexy youngster, and I agree. I’m sure you look just as yummy to women, but honey, what happens when you convince one into your bed and all your secrets are revealed?”

“Some would be pleasantly surprised.” Clem laughed, but rubbed the back of her neck. “For the first few years I did without. Then, when the Journal sent me a hundred dollar bill for my first article, I treated myself to Lady Jane’s Parlor of Tonsorial Delights, passing on the shave, getting a much needed haircut, and enjoying the company of two lovely women.” She smiled, remembering.

“The first few visits I only watched them with each other. But they were skilled and passionate; soon I wanted to get involved, so I shared my secret with them. Joy and Poppy are my only lovers, but I pay for their attention and discretion.” She sighed, looking at the happy couple who put the lie to her next words. “That’s about all someone like me can hope for, right?”

She went back to her father’s house that night, a flock of new ideas flying around in her head. Unwinding her linen binding, she took her first deep breath all day. She let it out, then took another, cleansing one.

She undid her trousers and johnson underwear. Removing them, she stood examining her angular, muscled body in the glass. It amused and disturbed her that Charles found her sexually attractive.

She wasn’t good looking, she’d never been good-looking. When she lived as a woman, she was plain Jane Clementine, now she was Homely Homer Clem. She stared at her reflection and shook her head. Did she look like a homosexual man? She started comparing how she dressed to the three men at the Burdock house and decided she needed a tailor to loosen the seat in her trousers.

On her last day in Boston, packed and ready to leave, Clem finally visited her parents’ graves in the cemetery. A new granite headstone stood tall and proud over the mounded earth of her father’s while beside it, well-tended green grass still surrounded her mother’s monument. She read her own name as she laid roses by both.

Clementine Lorelei Dennison Beloved Wife & Mother

Born: September 3, 1804

Died: May 1, 1825

No one else was present at the cemetery early on a Tuesday morning. Clem removed her shoes and socks to walk barefoot on the manicured lawn, something she’d dreamed of doing many times. Cool blades of grass teased her toes on the same spot where she’d been forced to stand every Sunday for fifteen years beside her grieving father, tickling her into dancing.

Clem glared at her name, etched in weathered stone, announcing her death on her birthday. She danced until she ran out of breath, collapsing on her mother’s grave to speak to her father.

“I will never understand why you did it, but I forgive you. You tried your best, even if you left me wanting.” She rose to stand between the two graves.

“Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Dad. I loved you, and it no longer matters if you loved me.” She walked away, shoes in hand, and barefoot.

Standing on the Burdocks doorstep to say goodbye that night, she hugged An. “I left a trunk in my old bedroom filled with all the female trappings I have no use for, clothing, shoes, stockings, hair ribbons, hats, gloves, a few pieces of jewelry, all of it.” She winked. “A clever person could let a seam out here, nip and tuck a few things, and create a whole new look … if she had a mind to, that is.”

An squealed, beautiful dark eyes growing round. “I could try everything on all at once, not buy a piece here, and another one there so no one gets suspicious.” He blushed. “I already have a pair of bloomers Jimmy gave me for Christmas.” He squealed again. “Oh, thank you, Clem! I can’t wait to try things on.” He hugged her tight.

“Bloomers?” Clem asked, grinning over An’s shoulder at her attorney.

“A delightful piece of clothing, on the right person,” Jim agreed with a leer.

Clem kissed An’s cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

“Me? I haven’t done anything.”

“Are you joking? I’ve been here several nights a week, complaining, whining, nursing grudges. You took me in without question, accepted me as I am, and helped me through a difficult time. I will miss you both.” She let him go and held out a hand to Jim.

“Thank you for making all the arrangements I should have been here to make. I appreciate your help with sorting through father’s business and financial dealings, and liquidating the property.”

“The property,” echoed An, a sad note in his voice. “You don’t even call it home anymore.”

“It’s not my home now.” Clem sighed. “Maybe it never was.”

“As time passes, you’ll remember more of the good.” Jim shook her hand. “I’ll write to you once a month, care of General Post in Sacramento, where your bank is. I’ll mail your proceeds from the Journal, and hope you’ll write back and let us know how our dear friend is doing out in the wild west.” He pulled her in for a hug. “You’re more to me than a client, Clem.”

“You’re family,” agreed An from over his shoulder, wrapping them both in his arms. “You must stay with us whenever you visit Boston.”

In her private compartment on her way to Missouri, Clem refused to cry as she struggled with her emotions. The heart her father broke upon her arrival had healed during her time with the Burdocks, who were more than friends. Barney, and now An and Jim, filled a hole in her life, becoming the family she’d never had.

As the train hurtled west on its iron rails, dizzying thoughts spun in her head until jotting it all down in her private journal helped sort them out to make sense.

Genuine family are the people who encourage you to be happy, listen without speaking, nurse you if you need it, and buck you up whenever necessary. You belong to them, as they belong to you. Responsibility, yes, but with all the rights that are inherent in a family.