by Sean and Rob Morris
Prologue
She thought about the lost love of her parents, from the harsh words that would doubtless come. She thought about her lost reputation. She hadn't tried hard to build one--because it hadn't been necessary. She just had a good one, and had done nothing to besmirch it.
She thought about the lost stares of a town, pitying the pathetic girl who could get herself in a predicament such as this. In her parents' day, such a thing might've been calmed with a quiet, honest explanation. But that was then, and this, after all, was 1876. In this day and age, no one would accept an innocent explanation for such a state as she found herself in.
Sarah was vulnerable in one sense, but also in many others. This was evidenced by her reactions over the last hour to every little thing.
"Who is it?", was a rabbit.
"Oh, don't look!", was a breeze-blown branch.
"At least let me cover...", was in reaction to absolutely nothing at
all.
Braving the countryside was suicide. She didn't care how well she knew
the land, the trees and brush were simply not enough cover-especially for
a young lady. Plus, she would have to inevitably depend on someone's kindness
to see her through. If that someone should be the wrong someone, her face
and name in the town were done for. One stupid incident could rule a life-and
ruin it, as well.
Sarah looked up at the sky.
"I know this is how you made me, but please avenge my sins some other day, and in some other way, Lord!"
It was a vain, prideful thing to think that the Lord operated in such a manner, but she was quickly becoming desperate in waves. Her hopes had gone from the return of her friend, to being found by her parents, all the way down to being found by a boy who was willing to keep quiet and help her in exchange for a quick glimpse. Even a long glimpse, so long as he had a robe in hand.
As her last hope broke, she made her way back to the water. At least it provided limited cover, cold as she was getting. As she shivered and goose-pimpled, she said out loud what she had been thinking since her first horrified glimpse at the shore.
"Sarah, you must calm yourself, and forget the cold water for now. The water, though cold, is all you have, for your clothes are gone, taken from you while you swam. You are cold, alone, vulnerable to harm---and quite naked."
Chapter One
Sixteen-year-old Sarah's ears fairly split from the din of the wolf whistles coming from the shore. It seemed that virtually every boy she knew was standing there, howling with delight at their unexpected find. Those she would have once deemed to be young gentlemen were whistling the very loudest. As hoots raged, as fingers went between teeth, and as some bolder ones seemed to approach the water, grim words rang through Sarah's brain.
"Come out, Sarah! Let us see!"
"A quick glimpse, then maybe we'll find you some clothes."
"Let her stay in! The water's clear, we can see everything anyway, and watching her try to cover her charms is great fun."
Sarah's heart was beating a mile a minute, threatening to leave the chest that her tormentors wished to sight. She was scared, and alone, but she found the courage to say a few simple words.
"There are no boys at the shore."
With that, the crew of hooligans went back where they came from. For they had only existed in Sarah's mind all along.
"I must, and I will keep my calm. If I do not, then I am lost just as surely as if I were found out. No one has seen me as yet."
Of course, the 16-year old classic beauty knew this to be a lie. Someone had seen her - the thief who took her clothes while she swam. She only prayed that she had been under water when - he? - came. Suddenly, the three minutes she had spent doing the backstroke seemed an expensive luxury. But then, where was the thief? Before re-entering the water, she had looked around for a half an hour, yelling out, almost daring the individual to strike. For some odd reason, she could not picture any man waiting two hours before showing himself, whatever his reasons for marooning her so.
"I'm calling out to you, in the name of decency. I'm quite cold, and if you wish to destroy me, you'd best do it before I die from pneumonia. If you wish it, I'll stand by the water's edge, and let you see me again. But I have done nothing to you. All I want is my clothes back."
"Is that so, Sarah? Well, I believe that any young lady who reveals herself as you have is looking for something, all right. But I'd wager its the wrong company you seek, and not your clothes! Is that not so, Mrs. Harrison?"
"Oh, the scandal to our dear honest town. To swim like this, as you were born, so that any prying eye may see how God made you! Or is it merely prying eyes you seek to expose yourself to? Mrs. Carstairs, how shall we repair the damage done by this shameful wanton?"
"Mrs. Harrison and Mrs. Nolan are well aware of what must be done. Why, if this gets out, we will lose control of every young male in the county. Perdition shall follow, mark me well! This speaks poorly of your parents, young Sarah. Why, you'll all have to leave this state, just so order can be restored and morality upheld."
Again, Sarah summoned her courage. But it was harder this time.
"Ladies Of The Church. In my time, I have gone from seeing you as upright defenders of decency to catty gossips who must destroy someone for their pleasure at least once a month. Your words haunt me, truly. But for good or ill--you are not here."
As she expected, the Church Ladies were a bit more stubborn than the boys, but still they faded away.
"Oh, you fickle brain. I know what must follow, so bring them forward, and let me feel yet more pain."
But Sarah's mind truly was fickle, for her parents did not appear. Later, she would realize that this was in part due to her knowledge that her parents would have something for her to wear, ending this nightmare. Their appearance would be more comfort than anything else. Instead of seeing her disappointed Mother and Father by the shore, she instead saw the reenactment of her predicament's origins.
Chapter Two - A Summer Swim
She really was a classic beauty. No one feature defined her, or told the real reason why all the boys came to court her. She did not have Henrietta's gifts, which had certain boys begging a glimpse of her open blouse, a glimpse Sarah knew her good friend was perhaps a little too willing to allow. She did not have Janice's long red hair, a distraction to many males, no matter what their age. She did not have Clarice's long legs, nor the shapeliness of those legs rear terminus. Clarice was no more of a wanton than Henrietta, perhaps even less so.
But those same crude boys often said that there was a short path to Henrietta's opened blouse, and a slightly longer one to Clarice's raised skirt, depending on the day of the week. One shocking day, Sarah found Clarice with a boy she herself had fancied-and on that day, her skirt was not raised, but absent without substitute. Sarah never told of her friends' foibles, in part out of loyalty, but also due to her jealousy that she was not anywhere near as daring as they. She didn't want a boy groping her, or at least, not just any boy, but she wished she had the apparent freedom of movement they did. Sarah lived her life in fear, from her standpoint. Fear of consequences. When her grandmother had been alive, it seemed that her life was a series of tsk's and for-shames. The family loved her, but her wake had an odd calm about it, especially for Tara, her mother.
As the Centennial Summer Of 1876 started, she had already told her friends that she intended to make a change. Their words in reaction were less than encouraging.
"Sarah, dear, you know what they say about leopards and spots."
"I am not a cat, Clarice. I'm going to be more like all of you, move more certainly, more surely."
"Unless the Lord above changes his mind rapidly, Sarah, you are as you are. And you do not move like me--few do."
Sarah held back a comment about Henrietta's third front button, which was missing, and about how it perhaps came to be missing. To her sorrow, she found this restraint on her part was seldom shared by her friends.
"I am sorry that you do not have faith in me, Henrietta. But I will show you. When this summer is done, I will have a story to rival or even exceed the wild times you often brag of."
Janice smiled, but it was a dismissive smile, and not at all a friendly one.
"Of course you will, Sarah. Of course you will."
The summer came, and it was a hot one, and only became more so as July the 4th approached. 100 years after her nation found its freedom, Sarah would try and find hers. Be it a contest, or a dance, or even a commemorative speech, she would break the mold of the girl everyone expected that she should be. The pretty blonde girl with green eyes, medium-long hair, soft skin, an agreeable disposition, and a slender but complete figure would at long last evaporate like the waves of sweat she felt through her battalion of clothing. When the dust cleared, people would speak of Sarah, and that would mean something at last.
Suddenly, Sarah's remembering was interrupted by the sound of a stagecoach in the distance. Each time one rolled by- and they seemed to roll by a lot - the cold water bit into her bare skin just a little harder, and she felt just a little more afraid. The sound having again passed, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to earlier in the day.
Sarah's Aunt lived on the outskirts of a town one hour away. While her father commiserated with Army friends at their home, Sarah, her mother Tara, Clarice, Janice and Henrietta would go there to attend one of the bigger Centennial celebrations in all of the state. While Mrs. Tara went ahead with supplies for the trip, Henrietta and Janice took a separate coach, hoping to see some early fun. Clarice stopped by a favored small lake, quite remote and known to them all since they were children. She drank some water and dabbed her face against the heat. Sarah soaked her feet , and briefly dipped in her whole lower leg, but only briefly. To her shock, Clarice pulled at her own blouse-collar, lowering it to wet her now-visible chest. While she quickly re-set herself, Sarah's eyes were still quite wide.
"Clarice! What if the coach-driver should see?"
"Oh, he'll see nothing, and I was hot. You must not always feel eyes upon you, Sarah. Hmm. Do you like soaking your feet like this?"
"It is pure Heaven for me, no question there."
"Well, I must away for an hour, for I've left something at home. The driver and coach are ours, hired for the full day. Why not stay here and continue to soak, while I do what I must?"
"If you don't mind. Say, why are you staring at the water like that? Is there something out there?"
"Well, I'm really not at liberty to say anything about it, but alright. Why, earlier this Spring, Janice, myself and Henrietta swam at this very spot, stripped down to our skivvies. When we came out of the water, our skivvies clung to us, showing off our shapes. More, Sarah--there were boys present. Boys that saw us swim, and saw us emerge. We even invited them to join us, but they were too timid for that."
Sarah looked skeptical.
"I might be willing to believe the swim part, Clarice. You are all quite daring, as I have told you I wish I myself could be. But to wear skivvies only, and no petticoats? As to the boys, why, there are so very many boys in your stories, that I wonder sometimes why I am not a godmother to my friends' many children."
It was not something one would expect Sarah to say, but Clarice took note of it, for it meant she had to once again take stock of her stories, that they could retain their believability.
"Very well, I will concede there were no boys. But we were in our skivvies, make no mistake. Why, dear Henrietta's endowments came loose so often, we considered giving up the ghost and stowing the skivvies on shore, for they rapidly became an encumbrance to us."
Sarah's jaw dropped, and she spoke in an unneccesary whisper.
"Clarice, please tell me that you did not go---skinny-dipping!"
Feeling herself back in control of the conversation, Clarice smiled.
"Swimming's a sport, enjoyed by great and small; The best swimming suit, its known, is no suit at all!"
The limerick repeated itself to Sarah, with the words, 'no suit at all', hitting her like a thunderclap. It was the unthinkable and the alluring, summed up in four words that would come to haunt her. Clarice seemed to note her shaken aspect, and continued.
"Of course we didn't do it. We challenged each other to try. We said that whoever truly had the nerve to ditch their skivvies and stand up in the water would forever be considered the bravest of us all. We found, though, that we just could not do it. No one, I think, is that brave. Each of us, in our time, returned here alone, but still could not find our brave hearts. I suppose no one ever would be that daring. Oh, well."
"But, Clarice. What of the boys that I myself have seen you all with? You've allowed them such liberties."
"Posh. I retain my blouse, and Henrietta her skirt. Janice goes where she will. And if you refer to Gregory Lester, for whom you saw me wear neither skirt nor petticoat, he did a very foolish thing to me."
"Oh, Clarice! He tore at your skirt?"
"No. He bet me that I had not the nerve to remove it, rather than just to raise it. So off it all came, in one quick stroke, and Gregory Lester ran like a scared rabbit, his pants an utter ruin he could not dare show his mother. I always win."
Sarah said nothing, for it was true. Clarice always did win. She had til now considered it odd that a braggart like Gregory Lester had not spoken of his viewing at school. For the first time, she felt more sympathy for one of her friend's suitors than for her friend.
"You stay and soak your feet, Sarah. I'll be back soon enough."
"Thank You, Clarice. I will be here, since the heat gives me no will to wander."
Clarice chuckled.
"What is so very amusing, Clarice?"
"Oh, nothing. An odd, foolish thought not worth mentioning. I mean, really. After all, we all know what you, of all people, will most certainly not be doing while I'm gone. Some girls are just a certain way, and if we three lacked the courage....but I delay. See you in a while, Sarah!"
As her friend left, Sarah sat and stewed. She had been taught it was not ladylike to mimic a person after they left the room, but Clarice's words were razor-sharp, cutting her badly where she hurt the most. Even caught in a lie, Clarice was bright and airy, holding to her wild story. Janice and Henrietta were of no help to Sarah when she spoke of her desire to grow bolder. No, the only boldness about was in their many stories, tales Sarah was seemingly destined never to be a part of. At that moment, with tales tall and true echoing in her head, her confidence and self-worth in tatters, and what she felt was a somewhat dirty limerick playing on her lips, Sarah grew quite sick of her friends' attitudes concerning her, sick of the baking heat and sick of fate and destiny.
With sure hands that knew their mark and their purpose, she removed every single layer of clothing that a young woman in the Victorian Era was expected to wear, even in this killer heat. She was amused as she removed her skivvies, staring first at them lying on the ground then at her own unclad form. Smiling, she uttered four words.
"I am the bravest."
She entered the water and felt better than she had in months. She really was free. Free of her fear, free of the need to be what everyone expected of her, and , best of all, free of ten to twenty pounds of prostrating clothing. Parts of her reacted to the warm/chill parts of the water, and even though these reactions were no more ladylike than what she was doing, she found that she couldn't care less.
Her plan was simple. When Clarice returned, she would make sure they were alone, then emerge from the water. The look on her friend's face, seeing that Sarah had done what she could not, would silence her mockery, perhaps forever. Janice and Henrietta never uttered their own remarks, but only seconded Clarice's. Even if Clarice should deny her acknowledgement of victory, they would both know it was true. Meek Sarah had been nude in the water, while Bold Clarice had been too afraid to do so. The smell of victory was even more exhilarating than the bracing water.
But a while passed, and Clarice did not return when planned. Sarah decided to be happy with knowing that she had bested her friends, at least once. As she made for the shore, though, her heart sank. The stones she had used to weigh down her clothes against a stray breeze had been tossed aside. Her clothes were gone.
Despite common sense, Sarah ventured around for 15 minutes, finding to her frustration that dried-out shrubbery provided her with no suitable cover. Home was three miles away, and filled with drunken men telling tales of war and glory. As fear retook her heart and mind, she went back to the water, and mentally cursed the quick thief who had not only taken her clothes but was nowhere to be found. After a time of terror unlike any she had ever felt, there came a voice from the shore. It was real, and it belonged to Clarice.
"Sarah? You decided to go swimming?"
"Yes, Clarice. Are you alone?"
"The Driver is taking a short nap, and is over the shrubbery ridge, in any event. Come out, Sarah. We have to go."
"I can not go, now."
"Whatever do you mean, dear?"
Resigning herself, Sarah emerged from the water. Slowly, Clarice's eyes grew wide. She covered her mouth, seemingly in astonishment, but also almost as though to suppress laughter.
"Oh, my! Sarah! You did it! You went skinny-dipping."
Sarah wondered if it her embarrassment was clouding her mind, for Clarice didn't sound impressed at all. She saw her friend looking around.
"But, Sarah. Wherever are your clothes?"
"They were stolen from me, Clarice. I have nothing to wear. Nothing at all!"
Sarah was no longer alone. But, she was still cold, still quite naked, and was fighting back tears. Worse, the look on Clarice's face was neither shock nor admiration. It was pity.
"Oh, Sarah. What will I do with you? Our clothes were sent ahead with your mother, the shops are all closed, and both our homes abound with men right now."
If the person speaking were anyone but her best friend, Sarah would swear she heard undertones of amusement. But this was Clarice, so such nervous thoughts were unworthy of her, a result of her predicament no doubt.
"Help me, Clarice. I cannot be left here, or else I will freeze or be discovered."
"Or both, I think. We have no choice, Sarah. Make for the carriage. I will take you to your Aunt's house, and to our clothes there."
"Clarice, No! That is an hour away. I cannot ride like this, unless you at least give me one of your petticoats for cover."
"Oh, and my things should be ruined for your newfound boldness? No, Sarah. Just get in the Coach, for it is all we have. Rather, it is all you have-for now."
With Clarice calling away the drivers, Sarah gave in to the harsh logic and made for the coach. Nervously, she stood in the doorway, til she felt a playful slap on her bare bottom. Angrily, she went in, with Clarice after her. The shades were drawn, and would not provide a silhouette. The door was locked, though Sarah wondered about the security it truly provided.
"Clarice, that slap was uncalled for!"
Again, that same smile.
"Myself, I thought the situation invited such a thing, and I would have been rude not to respond."
The Coach started moving, and Sarah slipped off the leather seats as it did. She got back up, and was genuinely irritated at how calm Clarice was. But then, Sarah reasoned, she had clothes on.
"Oh, Sarah! Such a beautiful day for an hour's ride!"
Understandably, Sarah somewhat disagreed with this sentiment.
Chapter Three - Ordeal The First - Locked In
A lock, by its very nature, is supposed to provide security. It is a way at the very least of telling a would-be entrant that they should find somewhere else to go. No lock is perfect, though. Since locks were first made, it has been widely acknowledged that they are merely an inconvenience to any who seek to go past them. Some locks are for protection of hearth and home, and some hide grand treasures indeed.
The one that Sarah saw on the inside of the stagecoach door hid a treasure that Sarah wished desperately to hide. That treasure was her own naked body. To many a boy and man in her town and in the two towns that lay between her and her aunt's house, the image that Sarah's mind's eye saw tumbling out of the carriage would be the talk of many a town for many a year.
If that happened, it would not matter if she was twice as endowed as Henrietta or Clarice, nor twice as thin as Janice. At that point, she would be merely a young woman in a state that a young woman should never be in. For this, she would surely be marked. In her heart, she knew this unfairness would be compounded by almost no punishment for the thief of her clothes.
In fact, certain of the men and boys would congratulate the thief, and begin telling similar tall tales of their own, exaggerating the situation much the way Clarice often did. Sarah found that she did not think very much of becoming the basis for a campfire legend that would likely eventually include her seduction of the thief. These events ran in that way.
The lock bounced around as though it were Henrietta on the day she forgot her upper corset. The boy who sat across from her on the hayride that day was her own cousin, a fact which he, a young gentleman, reminded himself of verbally and quite often. Sarah hoped that what kept that lock secure had more reliability than Henrietta's willpower in keeping the contents of her blouse to herself.
Sarah, uncomfortable on the creviced leather seat across from Clarice, looked over to her almost supernaturally calm friend. She was quite surprised that Clarice was not lecturing her on her foolishness to swim as she was born. Of course, while Sarah swam, someone unknown took all her clothes, leaving her cold, alone, and naked in the remote pond. That no one besides Clarice had found her seemed a blessing, but Clarice's behavior made Sarah feel no joy at her rescue.
For Clarice had no clothes for her, except those an hour and two towns away. So she rode, with only a lock to protect her modesty. While that lock never did give way, it shook often as though it were determined to expose her. At times it seemed as if the thief would get their way--again--and the lock was trying to help all it could in this regard.
"Clarice? Will that lock remain secure? I am fearful of it coming open, and exposing my shame inside this carriage."
"You worry overmuch and, in any event, needlessly, Sarah. That lock, though it shakes, will never pop open. Though if it did, and your wares were up for public display, why then, I should think my friend Sarah would be the most asked-after girl in this County, or certainly our town. Say, why do you sit with your backside turned to me? I fear you're treating your rescuer quite rudely, to turn and show me that!"
Sarah huddled in the corner away from the suspect door, arms across her chest, legs crunched under her, making certain to keep her most private of all concerns completely out of possible accidental view.
"I do not have my back to you, Clarice. Rather, I am bunched in this corner as a guard against that door coming open, for I do not seek the popularity you so callously spoke of. If eyes should see me, let them view only that part of me that could in fact belong to any other."
"The door will not come open. But--the shade might!"
Smiling, Clarice briefly pulled up the shade, letting the sunlight in. Sarah's heart jumped, and not for the first time this awful day.
"Oh, look, Sarah. We are in Pinkcentown, in the main square!"
"Clarice! Keep the shade down, or I am completely undone. Please, do
not play your cruel games with me now, I pray you. I have no stomach for
them, and even less patience." 
Clarice frowned her famous possessive frown, the one that was known to defeat everyone from Sarah up to Clarice's stern grandfather.
"Again, you prove to me, Sarah, that you have no real love of fun. We passed Pinckentown 15 minutes back. There are no houses, nor indeed, any living souls in these parts. You let your panic rule you far too often. As to the other things that you have said, I say these things in return to your odd comments. One, the part of your body you think so mundane is far from that, as many a boy I know has commented. It could not belong to just anyone. That tender spot is uniquely marked off as belonging to my friend Sarah. Also, your words to me are ill-advised. But for me, you would be shivering in the lake, awaiting who-knows-what horrid fate? I ask truly, when have I played such awful games as you describe? I ask this, for I recall no such incidents during our very long friendship."
Clarice was impossible to talk to when she was in this state, so Sara acquiesced, as most people did, and as she seemingly always did. It was easier than punching one's hands to bloody stumps against the brick wall of Clarice's pride, mortared well with her over-indulged sense of position.
"I apologize for my words, Clarice, but I am quite agitated, I fear. If I am not clothed soon, I do not know what I might say. I will, however, keep my backside to the door, for safety's sake, even though you say it marks me as clearly as does this whole untoward adventure."
"Again, I must ask why you choose this. To a gawker, an unclad girl will be an unclad girl. Not that this door shall come open. After all, that's hardly part of--the pl-the Lord's plan for an unfortunate such as yourself."
"The Lord's wisdom, I will not question. The path his plan takes is, though, more of a mystery to me on this day than on any other I can recall. But an unclad girl is not quite simply an unclad girl. If my behind is seen, there will be giggles for months. If my bosoms are showing, there will be whispers for years. But if that which defines my femininity is exposed, then I am marked for life. It might even be impossible for me to ever marry. Suitors and their families will say that Sarah as a young wanton let everyone know her business, and some will say far worse than that, all because they spied something they should not."
Clarice looked somewhat indignant, as though Sarah's words were aimed at her.
"Spied something they should not? Is that a comment made to get under my skin? I told you before all this began, I showed Gregory Lester my own unclad backside to prove that I would. Am I marked? Is Henrietta? For that matter, do you think poorly of Janice, whose lips lock upon the boys as they stroke her long, red hair, their fingers upon her scalp and temples? Is it only heroic Sarah who is virtuous? Is that then the way and manner of things in our life?"
Sarah actually laughed, but also thought back to finding Clarice with her bottom showing. Gregory had run off, and he did look scared, but the images were a jumble. Sarah's shock had been great that day some six weeks back, entering that old barn looking for Clarice. Now, when she was trying hard not to think of her own state of complete undress, the various states of her friends' undress was starting to become clearer. There was a puzzle here, a cipher that Sarah felt somehow tied into her predicament. As yet, though, she failed to break its troubling code. Clarice cleared her throat.
"Just what, may I ask, does a person in your shoes-which is to say no shoes or socks at all-find to laugh about, here and now?"
"Perhaps I am developing that sense of humour you say I lack, because I found the thought of you calling me heroic to be quite funny indeed. Heroes, after all, have ornate costumes and armor, and right now, I have neither to speak of. Clarice, where do you think my missing clothes might be now?"
Sarah was beginning to calm somewhat, but Clarice seemed to be losing her own calm at seeing this. Her next words served to undo some of Sarah's newfound acceptance of her circumstance.
"Why, how would I know where your clothes have gotten too? Quite luckily for you, the thief must have been contented with a glimpse of your oh-so fair form, and not moved to destroy you. I must wonder what the thief saw. Eh. They probably saw nothing, unless you were foolish enough to float on your back. But I must imagine you kept underwater all that time, Sarah. Otherwise, your newfound boldness would definitely become utter foolishness. But you are a hero, despite a lack of armor. You must do good and make right wherever you go. Why, think upon what you did for Henrietta, just two weeks ago. You were surely her rescuer, then."
Sarah pushed a dark, grim thought immediately out of her mind. Granted, Clarice's tone when calling Sarah heroic was hardly one of admiration. But Sarah often wondered if offering up a pure compliment wouldn't really and truly kill Clarice, so alien would it be to her sarcastic system.
"I was not a hero, Clarice. It was a mad, desperate circumstance, and I helped one of my dearest friends find her way out of a trap that was both self-made and yet quite unfair to her."
"Who can say what is fair, and what is unfair? Life, it is said, is quite unfair."
"Life is unfair, yes. That is why a true friend must always endeavor to be twice as fair, to compensate for this lack. Henrietta deserved the lesson this incident imparted, but not the potential harm that lay down its path. Again, I am not a hero. I was glad to help her avoid that further danger."
Sarah's unflappability gained only pouty silence from Clarice, causing Sarah to think back upon the outrageous behavior of Henrietta, and what it nearly cost her.
---------------------------------------------------
Sarah was a trifle confused by Henrietta's whispered request to come to her home after school. She hadn't seen much of her friend, this past month. She was soon to discover there was a great and urgent reason for this absence.
Coming up over the hills near Henrietta's house, Sarah spied something most unusual. Parked in a line outside Henrietta's front door were five boys that Sarah knew to be her friend's suitors. She thought it unusual that they should all five be together, without a hint of scuffle or animosity.
As with all girls, all boys knew of desire. Sarah knew this, as she also knew that some boys sought decorum as they went to placate their desires. Whatever the Church Ladies might say, girls had at the very least curiosity, and some if not most boys were willing to play the game through to its reward. But some few boys knew no decorum at all. Such were Henrietta's five suitors, her beaus at different times.
They were courting her for what she had once called her "15th Birthday Gift", a shift in her physical features so pronounced that a corset merely accentuated, rather than hid, the new shape of her upper torso. Suddenly, Henrietta's blouse became not an item of her clothing but a goal in life for these boys. She drew all the boys' attentions, but for these five that blouse was counted as the gates to Paradise itself. Their determination, though, was hardly the only problem.
Henrietta, whose one-time plumpness had shifted, as they say, to all the right places, was enormously flattered by the attention. She knew the origins of this new courtesy towards her, but cared not a whit. Then, it happened. While her widowed father was sleeping off his afternoon drink in his cot in his blacksmith shack over the hill, one of the boys made a fervent plea that the blouse be opened. His words were flowery, laced with a great many promises. There were still many layers of clothing between him and his long-term goal, but he saw the shape of his prize for the first time as Henrietta gave in, smiling as she did. Lying, he did brag to his chums, but what had been opened once would be again. And yet again.
When no adult was present, every boy spoke of "the twins". Each had persuaded Henrietta to greater and greater liberties, though chiefly this consisted of a quick light rub through several layers of undergarments. The day came, though, when one suitor persuaded her to not wear her upper corset, prior to his visit. He saw nothing more than he had before. But the rubs were no longer quick, and no longer light, and Henrietta felt them ever more so, finding that she minded neither the attention nor the sensation.
A rumor had reached Sarah that these boys had reached a new level, or perhaps sank to a new depth. The story now went that while nothing new was viewed, skin touched with skin, and she saw one boy kiss the palm of his own hand. She thought and hoped that these were merely braggarts. Sadly, they were not.
Making her way in through the storm cellar of Henrietta's home, she went up to find her friend, alone and lightly crying.
"Oh, Sarah! It is you. Whatever will I do? They've never all come at once before. They wait in line like I am the clerk at a mercantile. They now think so little of me, they are content with each other's presence outside. Sometimes, they do not even look at me or offer greetings anymore before the start. Sarah, what have I wrought upon myself?"
"Calm, Henrietta. It is not the Apocalypse, at least I hope it is not. While I do not wish to judge you, it seems odd that five rivals should wait so patiently, even for an opened blouse with no corset. It even seems odd to wait for a mere touch of an unseen mystery."
Henrietta held down her head.
"This began four weeks ago. Had I realized they were in collusion, I might have thought twice about both their attentions and my own lack of attentiveness. As it started, they were each asking in their turn that there be fewer things between them and my recent new fullness. By the time the third asked, I was down to one undergarment. By the time of the fifth, I wore nothing on my upper person - nothing at all."
"Henrietta, what of your father? Surely he would make short work of any boy who he might find you with. Staring and touching as they would be, they would not hear him enter, and be tossed out bodily. Also, why did you not turn them away when your underthings were being peeled like the layers of an onion?"
"I--was not sure I wished to turn them away, then. The feelings are most pleasurable, as is the knowledge that you are the sun in someone's sky. That makes it easy to forget all you have been taught. I am not like you, Sarah. Boys court me for one reason only."
"If that is all you give them, then that is the only reason they will come around. But again, I must ask you, what of your father, a man known for strength and temper, particularly as concerns your welfare? Where is he as these liberties multiply in both number and scope ?"
"Oh, my suitors are clever. They each have a bottle at the ready, and give it to my father as he completes his day's work. How they afford it I do not know, but my father has never refused to imbibe. Never. I once wondered where my Constant Eye was. I used my father to be certain that I would not allow them or myself to stray, as a sort of safety gauge, as there are on the great steam engines. On the day that I first noticed how cold my room had become, and realized that a boy's hands were reaching from behind me, and that he was kissing my neck as he caressed his now quite-visible goals, that my Father could not solve this for me, and I dare not go to him. He might cast me out, when sober."
Henrietta caught her breath, and continued her tale of woe.
"The first week saw the loss of my cover. By the end of the second week, they were no longer content with merely touching me there, they had begun to plant kisses. Sarah, at the third week's conclusion, the boldest of them acted as though he was a newborn babe, and I his mother! With the fourth week's passing, I found I had five such children, more interested in feeding than learning speech. I am nothing to them."
"What do they wait for now?"
"They have each been saying that one so beautiful as I should show the beauty hidden by my skirts and petticoats. The last time I heard such talk, my blouse was freshly on the floor, cast aside like a banner taken in war. Sarah, I am trapped and afraid and I fear saying no to them. They sprint between charming and insistent, and in passion I usually give them whatever they request. Sarah, if you tell my Father, he will not harm you, and be less angry with me, after a time."
Sarah shook her head.
"He would tan your hide to the bone's marrow, merely for opening your blouse, corset or no corset. I believe I can rid you of these lecherous pests, Henrietta, but if I do, they will not come back. Their attentions will evaporate. Are we agreed, then, in our course of action?"
"Do what you must, Sarah. For I have never seen you lose your calm. At times, I almost wish you would, for it would make you seem more like the rest of us."
"Very well. First is a drastic measure, for a drastic situation. Have all Five of them seen you absent blouse or upper covering?"
"Sadly, I have allowed them all full view. Their flattery is wretchedly good at its job, which is the banishment of common sense."
"Then, we shall use the thing which banishes their own common sense against them, and thereby clear your father's front yard!"
Sarah's suggestion was not one Henrietta went with immediately, but she found that she had nothing left to lose. Outside, the boys waited.
"The skirt today?"
"I should think so. We've been patient long enough. I, for one, wish to see if she has Clarice's gift to complement her own."
"What of the old man?"
"Ha! At 140 Proof, even his constitution will have him out for hours."
"Fellows? Er, what do we do when the skirt is no more? My own father promised a talk with me upon this, but has never gotten around to it. He almost seems afeared to bring up the matter."
"Ah, the skirt itself is a goal. From here on in, she will await us as though she was preparing for her bath. The rest--we will figure out, somehow. My own father's talk has been delayed, as well."
"Come out, Henrietta! It so happens that we are all visiting you at the same........................................."
All five jaws dropped, as Henrietta came out. The target skirt was still
with her, but she came onto the porch with her blouse and upper underthings
already removed. She was beautiful, and they were stunned at seeing her
so outside. Peeking out through curtains, Sarah saw the one piece of quite
unmistakable evidence that said very loudly that all 5 boys were extremely
interested in Henrietta and her half-unclad state. Now, Sarah would use
their agitated state against them. Sarah, you see, was a Champion Mimic.
Still hidden away, she breathed, and concentrated, then touched her throat
muscles. The boys were still too stunned to think. For final effect, Henrietta
even held her arms behind her back. The Boys' apparent interest was at
its peak, and so Sarah struck without
mercy.
"HOOLIGANS! DESPOILERS OF MY DEAR GIRL! WRECKERS OF MY HENRIETTA'S VIRTUE! FROM NOW ON, THERE SHALL BE NO OPEN BLOUSES FOR YOU! ONLY OPEN GRAVES! YOUR PLEASURES END WITH YOUR LIVES!"
On cue, Henrietta panicked, covered her chest, and ran inside, shutting the door as she went. Inside, she quietly giggled with Sarah, and then said her next line while putting her blouse back on.
"Oh, Father! No! Not Your Shotgun! Please, I love them all."
"SILENCE, GIRL! TO YOUR ROOM WITH YOU, BEFORE THE BACK OF MY HAND FINDS YOUR FACE! I THINK I KNOW WHERE TO AIM, TOO! WHY, THOSE 5 BOYS WILL BECOME 5 GIRLS!"
There is a fate that befalls a pair of trousers in a panicked circumstance, and another fate when body temperature suddenly rises and falls. Yet another fate occurs when the panicked person is a teenaged boy whose interest has been piqued, only to have that interest threatened with quick removal. In the next few days, the local haberdasher found extra work from a sudden order for five new pairs of pants. At school, the teacher for the older students found that 5 former troublemakers now obtained high grades from excellent homework. For some unknown reason, these boys ran home like the wind every single day, and never came out except on Sundays.
To be fair, Sarah's voice was not a perfect imitation of Henrietta's father. But as 5 pairs of pants were ruined by 3 kinds of release, the imitation sounded very nearly flawless. In years to come, the boys would remember only the running, and not the vision of loveliness that preceded it. Sarah had correctly predicted this. More, the boys were not believed by a single peer. Sarah had told no to boys who wouldn't take no for an answer on behalf of a friend who seemingly couldn't give no for an answer. She chose not to hold this rescue over Henrietta's head, but still Sarah's friend deeply felt the debt.
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" Sarah, we are entering Staahlville! Oh, I do so want to look around outside. Do you mind if we stop?"
"Yes, Clarice, I do mind. What if this coach is entered, or looked into? I am still without a stitch of clothing, and still have no desire to be seen-as I believe you well know. Why does this coach slow down, here?"
"Oh, you killjoy! I wouldn't stop for long, and the coach would be locked. Lots of traffic in this town, right about now. It will take us 20 minutes more to get through. Are you sure I can't leave you alone? Here, I'll just step out for.........."
Sarah's hand clamped onto the door latch, and Clarice's hand.
"In this, I am steadfast, Clarice! This door shall not open til we are at my Aunt's house, where my late uncle built high fences against the wind."
Clarice smiled.
"Our Sarah is so very gullible. I was not going out, my dear. It was just a little fun, to cheer you up."
"Then why are you laughing, and not me?"
"You are just upset. Say, let us talk of the great favor you did for dear Janice. Oh, her gratitude!"
Sarah was caring less and less for Clarice's tone. Moreover, she didn't recall doing anything extraordinary on Janice's behalf recently. Added to all that, it seemed that the thousands of innocent conversations going on just outside the carriage-were somehow all directed at her and her ever-more maddening predicament.
