Finding Hope in Texas (11 page)

“Yes,” we both agreed and headed towards the
door. I looked back to see Mags and Mr. Peet still continuing their
conversation.

“And Margaret, would you like to join
us?”

Mags looked away from him and laughed, her
face reddening. “Me? No, thank you. I wouldn’t be caught dead in
something like that.” She motioned to Lizzy. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Very well, then, perhaps another time.” They
smiled again and their gaze was unbroken. Slowly, all three of us
made our way to the door, followed by Mags who stood watching us
load into Mr. Peet’s SUV.

“Y’all be careful,” she yelled, as we were
just about to shut the doors, Lizzy pulling her hoop in around her.
Mr. Peet let out a sigh as he buckled his seat belt, Lizzy and I
being in the second seat. He pulled away from the curb and made his
way towards I-30. It would be a direct shot to Ft. Worth from
there.

“I brought this for you.” Lizzy leaned over
the seat and pulled up a gorgeous sky-blue dress. “I’m pretty sure
it will fit, but we can tweak it if we need to.” I nodded, not
knowing what to say. I was going to march in the world famous Stock
Show Parade with a bunch of Confederate soldiers and southern
belles. Were there any words that I could say?

“Thank you for letting me do this with
you.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. I enjoy having
someone my age to talk to. It’s better than hearing the history of
the Civil War over and over again from the guys.”

“Were you referring to me, honey?” We could
see him smiling at us in the rearview mirror.

“Just a little, Dad.” Lizzy leaned forward.
“So what kind of extra credit are you going to give Hope for doing
this?”

“Oh, probably ten extra points on her first
test, and an extra hundred for putting up with you all day.” There
he was, the Mr. Peet that I recognized from my classroom, throwing
out a quick-witted comment even at his own daughter.

We wound around downtown DFW, passing the big
sparkly ball that made up Dallas’ skyline. There was very little
traffic, being so early on a cold Saturday morning. Lizzy and I
both yawned a few times as we continued on our journey. Mr. Peet
silently drove, listening to our little conversations while sipping
on some coffee. Ft. Worth was a good thirty-five minutes away, as
Texans seemed to measure all distance by time, but it went by
quickly. We passed the baseball and football stadiums, Six Flags
and Hurricane Harbor all within five minutes of each other in
Arlington, the suburb of both cities, which was quickly becoming a
metropolis in its own right, or so I was told.

Mr. Peet eased off the interstate and bounced
through a few construction zones in the Ft. Worth area before
coming to a stop in the large parking lot next to the commuter rail
station. This was where those in the parade lined up and waited
their turn to walk the downtown streets. Bands lined up in front of
horse organizations, and cowboys lined up down the line from wooden
wagons pulled by longhorn teams. There were no motorized vehicles
allowed, being the largest parade in the country without them.
Hearing that the route was about two miles long, I began to wonder
if they would allow me at least a Segway to use.

“What’s wrong, Yankee?” Mr. Peet smirked as
we got out of the car, popping open the trunk compartment in the
back of the vehicle, “Don’t y’all walk everywhere in New York?”

“Well, we have these things called taxis,
buses, and especially subways. Or as you rebels might call them,
‘those underground train thingys,’” I returned his derision.

“Touché! Here, take this.” He pulled a long
wooden rifle out of the back and placed it in my hands. It was
heavy and I didn’t know what to do with it, but stared at Lizzy,
who took it from me.

“Dad, quit being a jerk,” she scolded to his
laughter and my embarrassment.

“My bad. I meant to give her this dress.” He
carefully pulled it out and laid it across my hands. The fabric was
heavy, being weighed down by the round hoops at the bottom. Again,
I looked at Lizzy for the answers.

“Come on. We can change you over here. We
will be a few minutes, Dad.”

“All right, honey. I’ll be down here grouping
everyone together.”

We walked across the parking lot until we
entered some public restrooms at its far side. I was hoping for
something a little more private, and clean, but I wasn’t going to
complain. Besides, I had seen worse in New York. She escorted me
over to the handicapped stall and gave a push on the door to make
sure it was empty. “You’ll have plenty of room in here. Just don’t
drop anything in toilet. Oh, and I brought this little bag for you
to put the clothes in that you’re wearing. I’ll be out here. Just
let me know when you’re through and I’ll help button up the back.”
Those were quick orders, but I nodded and entered into the large
cubicle. I don’t think I had ever dressed in a bathroom stall
before and felt lucky I’d gotten an oversized one with rails.
Really, I was never one for trying on clothes with Mom back when we
went shopping; it just felt so creepy to undress in a public
location, even with a lock on the door. As quickly as I could, I
flung the dress over my head and let it settle around me. Its
weight allowed me to just give a twist and turn before the hoop
billowed out from my waist, just as Lizzy’s did on her frame. It
wasn’t a perfect fit, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to
slide off while I walked along the parade.
Boy, would that give
some poor pioneer a fright
. Then I slid on a thick layer of
pantaloons, basically 1860s underwear, over my own. I kept my own
shoes on, even though Lizzy had a pair of ugly black leather ones.
I figured Reebok would do a lot in helping me cover the two miles.
Slowly sliding the latch back, I made my way out to Lizzy for her
approval.

“Now
you
look beautiful,” she gleamed.
I smiled but didn’t respond on how I really felt, hoisting up my
front with my hands to try and hide as much cleavage as
possible.

“Is it really supposed to be this low? I just
feel so exposed.” I asked, pulling at the frilly linens on my
shoulder that wouldn’t stay on.

“It’s an off-the-shoulder cut. I thought it
would look great on you and I was right.” Lizzy was amused with
herself, flowing around me in her own hoop skirt. After buttoning
the back, she reached for my hair and pulled it up on top of my
head. “Here, hold this there. Good.” Meticulously she wrapped my
head in the same type of cotton netting that encircled her own,
each matching our dresses. “There. That is perfect. Scarlet O’Hara
would hate you.”

We looked at ourselves in the mirror for a
moment and I couldn’t help but smile. Somehow I had transformed
into someone that I didn’t recognize, someone that wasn’t me just a
few moments before. “Oh, I almost forgot. Take this wrap to shield
yourself from the wind. Are you warm enough? We can sit in the car
with the heater on if you want to.”

“I’m fine,” I responded, gladly taking the
wrap and placing it over my exposed shoulders, not because I was
that cold, as the temperature was already pushing into the forties
with the sun cutting through the eastern sky, but because I wanted
to cover as much of my bare skin as possible. How did women wear
this back in the Victorian era? It was beautiful, but didn’t they
feel exposed? I took a deep breath, maybe out of panic,
apprehension, or just to see if anything was going to fall out
anywhere as we headed for the door and back out into the assemblage
of the parade.

We made our way past the cars that now began
to fill the parking lot, with more entering every moment.
Continuing past a chain link fence, Lizzy spotted her dad
intermingling with others that were dressed in Civil War clothing.
From afar, the group looked motley. Not one man matched the other.
Hats, jackets, even pants were an assortment of mixed grays, tans,
browns, and even blues. Even their facial hair seemed to be cut in
different shapes and sizes as to match their non-uniformity. The
South had not only lost the war, but they lost in color
coordination, too. The only thing that matched from man to man was
that they didn’t match at all. Mr. Peet spotted us coming towards
the crowd.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce my daughter,
Elizabeth.” He held out his hand and she graciously accepted it,
sauntering in front of a fake army, getting a few compliments and
whistles from the men. I immediately disappeared behind a car, not
wanting to be seen by anyone, especially this rag-tag army of
rebels.

“And behind me is–”

I heard Lizzy stop and before I knew it she
was grabbing my arm. “What are you doing?”

“They’re going to see me...in this!”

“Yeah, so? They see a lot of women in
that
.”

“It’s just...not me.”

“Oh, quit being so modest. You’re a doll. And
you won’t ever meet a group of nicer men.” She quickly yanked the
shawl from around my shoulders and before I could protest gave me a
push from behind the car. “And this here is Hope!” she announced.
You could’ve heard a pin drop. The rambunctious cluster of assorted
confederates fell silent upon seeing me. I closed my eyes and
ducked my head for a moment. Taking a deep gulp, I stepped forward
with the help of a little jostling from Lizzy. She was going to
introduce me to these men, these weekend warriors, whether I liked
it or not.

“Hello,” I finally mustered waving a hand. A
few hats were dipped towards me but no one said a word.
God, did
I really look that bad?
It was if I had a third eye that was
protruding from my forehead, and had that eye come with a pair of
street clothes, I would’ve gladly accepted it.

“Miss Kilpatrick, you are...you look very
lovely,” Mr. Peet finally said, cutting the silence. I knew he just
had to be being nice. I was his student and he couldn’t say that I
was as dog-ugly as I felt.

Lizzy pushed me passed her dad and a few
hands were extended from the men as we walked down the line. It
felt awkward shaking their hands, like I was the Queen of England
or something. It wasn’t till we were nearly at the other end of the
group when someone finally yelled, “Mercy!” All at once, every
other man answered with a, “Lord, Have Mercy!” The floodgates
opened. The men began to laugh, shout, clap their hands, even Mr.
Peet grinned through his facial hair. Were we actually a hit with
these miscreants?

“See, I told you they would like you!” Lizzy
said beside me.

“Thanks, but can I have my wrap back now?”
She smiled and tossed it to me and I immediately covered my
shoulders again.

The jovial crowd began to form into two
lines, one in front of the other, as we sat there and watched. Mr.
Peet was out in front, a canteen and satchel of some sort riding on
his back left hip, held down by a large black belt that carried a
revolver on one side and a sword on the other.

“Why is your dad out front like that?” I
whispered to Lizzy.

“Oh, he’s the captain,” she replied.

“The captain? Like he gives the orders and
they all follow them?”

“Yeah, that’s what captains usually do,
silly.” It just felt strange to see the sardonic Mr. Peet leading
others, even if it was a fake army. He didn’t seem the type, hardly
being able to get the students at school to take in any bit of his
history lessons during class. How was he supposed to lead these
guys who looked like they hadn’t taken an order or a bath in some
time?

“What happened to that gun he handed me
earlier?”

“Oh, he brought that for Jason,” Lizzy
explained, glancing down the lines for the person in question. “But
I don’t see him anywhere.”

Just then, a large roar boomed across the
parking lot as a hard-driven motorcycle cut into an open space. Its
rider, dressed in a gray jacket and black pants, slammed his
kickstand into position before leaning the bike to one side. He
slowly slid his black helmet from over his head and gave a piercing
glare at the group standing in front of him. My heart skipped a
beat as he stepped down from the bike and slid an old black hat
onto his head, a canteen over his shoulder and a belt around his
waist. His facial features were masculine, not covered up by hair
like the rest of the group, but with a straight-lined chin and
darting blue eyes that seemed to try and capture everything in his
path before he reached it. His stride was broken with a slight limp
to the right side. He was everything that every mother had warned
her daughters about, probably even back in 1861, making Brad look
like a lumbering schoolboy. Stopping at Lizzy, he continued his
penetrating stare with provocative eyes.

“Jason,” she welcomed. “This is Hope.”

His gaze rested on me.

Chapter
Five

“Ma’am,” Jason said, coolly playing the role
of a southern gentleman, although I figured he was anything but
one. His eyes burned into me as I felt my mouth struggle to move,
trying to say something to this handsome young man.

“Lizzy picked out the dress,” I blurted
finally.
That’s it, Hope? That’s what you say?
His gaze cut
to her as though he was looking for some explanation. All she could
do was give a slight shrug. Maybe he just thought I had a screw
loose or something because he simply gave a nod and skirted around
us to the rest of the men, receiving a few handshakes and the rifle
that Mr. Peet had brought for him.

“What was that?” Lizzy questioned me with a
whisper.

“He...I...don’t know,” I concluded, closing
my eyes, wishing God would just let me replay the last ten seconds
of my life over again.
Stupid, stupid
. Boys had never had an
effect like that on me before. I was simply caught off guard and
now Jason probably thought I had Tourette syndrome, waiting for me
to utter some other phrase that didn’t quite make any sense or
start cursing at the winds. I shook my head in disbelief.