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Twyla
There were thirty-six boxes stacked end to end, floor to ceiling, in the tiny service room. I knew this because I’d counted each one as I looked through them for the sewing kit Cedra had promised. Each one only yielded disappointment, although there was a considerable amount of old clothes that I could redesign into something more contemporary with some care.
I sighed as I pulled out the last box, taped shut tightly with industrial-grade gray tape. I mourned my nails as I picked at the sides of the tape, slowly peeling it back and praying for the best.
I wasn’t disappointed this time. There was a dark green case I immediately recognized as a vintage sewing kit, complete with everything an amateur seamstress would need to mend clothing. My fingers ran over the gold-encrusted thimble and the silk pincushions. I couldn’t help the smile that creased my lips as I picked up the auto-sew, an old handheld alternative to the large and cumbersome sewing machine that could be clasped to any surface. It was solar-powered, like much of Star technology, and I set it on the sun-drenched windowsill to recharge for a while.
The big box yielded more surprises, like floor-length vintage party dresses and slightly off-white men’s formal shirts. I hung each one up, my mind already awash with design ideas. I could definitely create two short dresses out of the silky cream-colored party dress with the ruffled hem—it wouldn’t even take me very long if the auto-sew was working.
I lifted the tube-shirt over my head and set it aside with the thick gold chain that had been nestled under my breasts all night. I grimaced at the grooves the gold had made on my skin and tried in vain to rub it off with my fingers.
After a bit of a struggle with the numerous clasps, my long engagement skirt joined the top and I stood in front of the stained and dusty mirror in the corner of the room. Dressed only in my pink panties, I sucked in my stomach as I usually did to create a better silhouette.
Oh, who was I kidding?
Shaking my head, I exhaled abruptly and my belly came tumbling out. I’d always be two sizes bigger than I wanted.
The fabric pooled around me as I slipped the long cream dress over my head, caressing my body as it slid to the floor. The dress had originally been made for a bigger woman, which meant I had excess fabric, giving me some room to be creative.
I gently plucked pins from the silk cushion and carefully indicated my bust and hem measurements. This would make a great casual dress if I could alter it a little. Pins in place, I slipped it back over my head and placed it on a hanger for later—at least until the auto-sew charged up.
As I pushed the old boxes back into place, I wondered about the masculine garments I’d unpacked. Would Cedra appreciate it if I altered them according to her measurements? Or would she be offended that I’d offered in the first place? Her clothes weren’t exclusively masculine, just practical for farm life.
As I thought of Cedra, a curse tumbled from my lips when I realized her thermos full of coffee was still sitting on the kitchen counter. I stood quickly, almost reaching for the door handle, before realizing I was still naked save for my panties.
I looked grudgingly at the pile of clothes on the floor—the clothes I’d attended my engagement party in, escaped in and slept in...
Ick.
I quickly sifted through the clothes I’d hung up and selected a synthi-cotton blend white sleeveless shirt that looked like a work shirt from a few decades past. It fell to midthigh as I tried it on and looked decent, if not at all fashionable. Plus, unlike the beaded skirt, I could work unencumbered.
It smelled like an old storage box, but it would have to do for now.
As I exited through the kitchen door with the thermos in hand, I realized I had no idea where I was heading. There were fields studded with cows as far as the eye could see to my right and an old barn a short distance to my left.
I figured I’d rather try the old barn rather than get lost in the fields.
