Growing up, Mabel's classmates had difficulty coping with her rise to fame. She was quiet, reclusive and deemed untouchable long before her first semester at Waterford Junior High. The Autumn that she entered the sixth grade, Mabel realized that she had grown significantly taller over the summer. So much, in fact that she towered over, not only the students in her own grade, but nearly all the upperclassmen, including the entire boys' basketball team.
She was teased for this along with her tomboyish and innately antisocial behavior. Rumors were spun, some more hurtful than others and although she managed to push most of them aside, the attacks on her lack of femininity were the most prominent. By the end of the year, she had heard it whispered so often and seen it scribbled countless times on the locker room walls- that she was beginning to believe that she truly was awkward, undesirable and simply unattractive.
It shouldn't have hurt so much. God knows, she transcended those petty words as best she could- until the day that they bled over into the riding community.
"Of course, Tavington wasn't invited to the Winter Gala. Could you imagine how stupid she'd look in a dress?!" She heard a sidelined competitor say. Most of the girls from her district knew one another and would bunch up together in the front row during state competitions. Mabel spent this time in the back with Buttercup. Regardless, their shrill, nasal voices carried throughout the entire stadium.
"She'd be better off throwing a gown on her horse and sending it to dance instead!" Another girl chimed in, repositioning a large bow on the top of her friend's ponytail.
"Right!? I doubt anybody would be able to tell the difference."
One of the girl's mothers approached the group. She had always been kind to Mabel and even asked her daughter to include her in their activities when they were in riding camp together some years back. Mabel was sure that she was going to stand up for her. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. She watched, anticipating the feeling of seeing her wicked peers being put in their place.
"Now, girls," the mother said calmly, "that's a terrible thing to say." Her orange, spray-tanned face rose so that it was level with Mabel's. "Buttercup can hear you. And she is a very pretty horse!"
Not only did the group break out in laughter, but taunting chuckles arose from the entire section. Mabel's eyes dropped to her boots and they remained there, locked, until it was time to compete. She talked herself up in the back of her mind. Her appearance didn't matter, only her score. She would mop the floor with those shallow, gossiping children with her flawless routine! The microphone crackled in the silence and her entry number was announced over the loudspeaker. "Number 82. Buttercup and her horse, Mabel."
The routine progressed. Just as she had practiced it, a thousand times before. Her inner thoughts were louder than the laughter that surrounded her. Every move was textbook and undoubtedly trophy-worthy. She managed to fight through the distraction- the painful fact that the entire state of South Carolina was laughing at her until she made eye contact with the judges at the very end. Everyone at the table, young and old, were covering their mouths and eyes. Their faces were red and mocking. Her scores were withheld as they negotiated and still, their laughter prevailed. Nobody had seen her compete that day, nobody was aware of her transcendence. They had only seen the joke and Mabel was invisible.
…
"I want something pretty to wear to school on Monday," Mabel told Giselle as they pulled into a well-loved outlet mall between Waterford and Pembroke.
Giselle put the car in park and very nearly squealed behind her teeth. "Halle-friggin'-lu-jah! You know, I've been wantin' to play your fairy godmother since you were conceived, Bumblebee!? Let's break out the sewing machine when we get home… and the glitter! So. Much. Glitter."
"You wanted me to be a pageant zombie," Mabel unbuckled her seatbelt with an elaborate eyeroll, "that's not what I have in mind…"
"Tell you what, I'll go find a new waffle iron. You browse through this incredible shopping mecca and if you find something that fits the bill, we'll negotiate. Savvy?" The selection of stores was overwhelming. Every time Mabel went shopping with her godparents, she'd head straight for the newsstands and hunt feverishly for mentions of her name in the large variety of equestrian magazines. The idea of browsing was absolutely foreign to her. "I don't know where to begin! What kinds of clothes do they sell there?" She pointed to the largest storefront on the block.
"That's an Old Navy, Bumblebee," Giselle was so stunned, she almost forgot to lock her door.
"Huh. Everyone leaving the store with merchandise are around my age. Kind of strange for a place that caters to elderly veterans who served in the Navy…"
"Christ on a cracker. What kind of a child have I raised!? They sell casual attire. Comfy stuff." Giselle inevitably got lured off of her path by a large basket of discounted yarn by the entryway to a large, corporate craft store.
"I don't think pretty attire is supposed to be comfy…" Mabel followed behind her godmother, wringing her hands nervously. Giselle was a bit too preoccupied to realize just how troubled Mabel was by the mere idea of looking for clothes that weren't for riding.
"Well, Kiddo. That depends on your definition of pretty," said Giselle without looking up. "Give me some ideas and I'll point you in the right direction."
Lava rose in Mabel's chest. Her personal definition of all things feminine and lovely was polished and refined, but also very secret, like a treasure she kept hidden away from the rest of the world. The billboards and large posters that lined the street all fell flat. Women bearing too much flesh were shoved into studded heels that didn't fit and paid to look like they were having fun- frame after miserable frame.
In contrast, the images of Marigold that Giselle had scanned and saved on the family PC weren't taken to sell products. Her colorful dresses were modest and ladylike, the makeup on her face was minimal and the almost juvenile barrettes and headbands that she wore in her long, blonde hair gave her a sense of playfulness that complimented her beauty. She was always put together and never too much- she was a real lady and it broke Mabel's heart every day to contemplate how close she came to knowing and learning from her.
"Which of these stores do you think," Mabel began, treading as carefully as possible. The seriousness in her voice managed to catch Giselle's attention. "Or… better yet, where was… her… favorite place to shop?"
The roll of yarn that Giselle had been admiring was abandoned right away. "Come here," her tone was welcoming and soft. Mabel sneered as her arms stretched open, "Come here, Bumblebee." Once the young girl caved and moved in for the hug, Giselle pulled her in, practically dragging the backs of Mabel's boots across the sidewalk. "Your mother… how can I say this? Your mother was…" despite the years that had passed, the memory of her best friend renewed those old wounds. Her eyes grew weak and tearful, thank goodness Mabel couldn't see them. "… a hipster."
"A hamster?" Her voice was no more than a muted echo inside of Giselle's chest- that's how tight she was holding her!
"What? No."
Mabel's face came into view and they grinned at one another while reciting in unison, "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"
"In all seriousness, Bumblebee," the sadness returned to Giselle's eyes. Merely looking at Mabel and seeing her similarities to Marigold caused her to remember the vacancy in her heart that all of the Monty Python quotes in the world couldn't mend. "She used to drag me into every secondhand store between here and Charleston and try on vintage dresses until closing time! The only dress I ever saw her purchase new was the one she wore the day she married Fa. And even it was styled after the cutesy crap they wore in the '50's."
Mabel examined the maze of storefronts a second time, "I guess we picked the wrong outlet, huh?"
Giselle inhaled, gathering as much strength as she possibly could. "I don't know if you ever saw them. You never were one to snoop. But your father saved her dresses. Every single one of them, for you. Mercy knows you're tall enough to wear them all now! But only if you want to…"
Of course, Mabel had seen the dresses. He'd kept them hanging in the closet of the room they shared, as if Marigold still needed them- as if she had never left his side at all. The room remained very much the same throughout Mabel's childhood. Apparently, her father never had the heart to re-arrange it, either. Despite its sad history, it was the cheeriest room in the house with soft yellow curtains and brightly colored furnishings. Giselle would dust it every now and then in order to maintain its integrity, but the door remained closed for the most part.
After placing the new waffle iron in the kitchen, Mabel and Giselle headed upstairs and stepped into the space. The walk-in closet that William had so lovingly preserved was still in working order, even the drawstring light hadn't burned out after all those years. Mabel reached out and moved her hand across the soft fabrics that bore a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. A gentle breeze of lavender essential oil and Marigold's signature Tea Rose perfume swirled around them like a happy phantom.
"They're all so…" Mabel suspended her comment just long enough to look at Giselle, whose eyes were on the floor.
"Flowery, huh?"
"A little bit," Mabel replied, carefully and was relieved when her comment was met with a tiny chuckle.
"Pick one out, Bumblebee."
She slid the hangers gently, moving from one rosy, lacy frock to another. The Peter Pan collars and large pearl buttons hardly suited her taste. Neither did the line of patent leather flats or thick-soled mary janes. Towards the end of the second row, Mabel located a tidy, blue sailor dress that would fit her like a glove. It reminded her, only slightly, of her favorite jacket that was meant for dressage but she wore everyday.
"This one sort of looks like me…"
"I remember that frock!" A large smile returned to Giselle's face. "She wore it to my 25th birthday party and humiliated the stuffing out of me by reciting a poem about my lifelong crush on Garrison Keillor. I forgave her the very next day, of course."
Mabel's eyebrow arched. "Garrison Keillor!?"
"Well, she was the one responsible for getting me into Prairie Home in the first place. So, she was guilty by association…"
"No wonder Fa made make me listen to those whacky tales from Lake Wobegon every Saturday! Some of the music was good, I guess, but most of it was just… creepy," she shuddered, exiting the closet to hold the dress up against herself in the yellow-framed mirror beside the window.
"Yup, that was definitely Mare's doing. You know when your father first arrived from…"
"1781," Mabel confirmed, acceptingly.
"1781… he couldn't even flip a light switch. Let alone drive a car and browse the stations for Mr. Keillor's adorable lil' lisp-" she threw her head back and laughed at Mabel's cringe. "My point is this… he probably would have thought that Old Navy sold exclusively to elderly veterans, too. You're like both of them, Bumblebee. A glorious lil' casserole of all their best and most endearing attributes."
The dress looked strange, unnatural against Mabel's muscular body and stern expression. "His reputation as a dragoon was pretty sour," she unbuttoned her white dress shirt and tossed it to the side, leaving on her camisole and skintight riding pants. Giselle helped her slip the dress over her head and fastened the side zipper and back buttons. "Do you think he was lonely, too? Like me?"
"We all feel lonesome sometimes, Bumblebee. It will pass. Someday soon, you'll know exactly who you are and everything will just… fall into place."
Mabel gazed into her reflection. She looked awkward, incomplete. Before removing the dress for good, she pulled the elastic out of her hair, allowing her long tresses to spill over her shoulders. A beam of sunlight crept into the room, accentuating her highlights and turning her hair, if only for a moment, the color of the sun. She tried her best to imitate her mother's shy, childlike smile and was disappointed by the results. No thanks to the embarrassing notch between her two front teeth that had set the "horse" rumor in motion in the first place! As she turned to search through the closet again for a better match, the sunbeam revealed an item that she had overlooked- her father's riding boots. She raced back to the closet, picked them up and held them to her heart. Giselle was confused at first, but when her goddaughter's face came into view, she fell apart from the inside-out.
"We were both outcasts," Mabel wept, "we both didn't belong. Here. Or anywhere. But at least we had one another!" She allowed Giselle to hold her in one of her infamously tight embraces. "I want to be just like him. No matter what they say…"
…
The servant's gown was designed to cover every inch of incriminating flesh. Any trace of beauty that it possessed could be found in its corseted bodice. But when Mabel was fully dressed, her apron- the same emerald green as the walls in those humble quarters that she was now forced to reside within, covered its lace embellishments completely.
She wound her hair tightly, as tight as she could without giving in to the pain in her shoulder, and created a military-style bun at the back of her head. This would have to do. Or rather, it would have worked had the elastic not snapped and fallen to the ground in a coil.
"Damn," she mumbled, trying her best to salvage the band, only to have it snap a second time, "I guess that's the death of my ponytail, too."
The clouds that filled the afternoon sky were quickly breaking apart. As Mabel returned to her reflection, her loose strands of hair caught the light, just as it did that day in her parents' abandoned bedroom. Only this time, she found that she had grown into the features that her wavy locks framed. Her nose, once overly prominent had shifted into an elegant upwards slant, her cheekbones had defined themselves through the departure of her baby fat and her lips were full and pink on their own, without the help of cosmetics.
She had merely laughed off the term when Thomas told her that she was "beautiful". But for the first time in her life, she was beginning to suspect that she was on the path the beauty. She was her mother's daughter, after all. Mabel hesitated before tucking Marigold's silver bee pendent in her collar and attempted, yet again, to resurrect the same smile that her mother wore on her lips. Her teeth got in the way once more and pulled her out of the trance.
"You best be hiding that away fast, Missy-" a female voice with a lilting cockney accent carried across the room. "Serving girls mustn't wear anything ostentatious! Even if it is from a handsome soldier!"
"Oh," Mabel followed the command and turned, searching for the voice's source. "Right. About that. Would you mind telling me where I'm supposed to be?"
A young woman, no older than Mabel peeked around the corner. She was clothed in the same attire and very fair with rosy cheeks and a sloppy bun of hair that was blacker than the blackest crow. As she stepped forward, she gave a tiny bow before covering her mouse-like face to chuckle. "You aren't even supposed to be awake yet! Colonel Tavington requested that someone keep an eye on you and… to put it politely… I pulled the shortest straw."
This relieved her tension a great deal. "So, I'm supposed to stay here, then?"
"Until Lord Cornwallis requires you. Seems that nasty, nasty Colonel managed to get you the most sought after position in the house! He's supposed to be quite the negotiator." The girl's voice changed to an irritatingly dreamy whisper. "What is it like being courted by a gentleman of such esteem?! And with such a dreadful temper?! You must tell me everything! Miss…?"
"Uhm. Mabel-"
"Daphne!" she stuck her hand in Mabel's face and hardly seemed satisfied until it was properly shook.
"Daphne, I'm afraid I wouldn't know. Colonel Tavington is my…" she could feel herself beginning to sweat. Unsure of the kind of story she should construct over these circumstances, she spat out the first, logical word that came to mind, "employer. On the subject, we discussed that I was going to work in the stables."
"Maybe he isn't that talented at negotiating after all?!" Daphne gave Mabel a tiny wink. "He did seem concerned with you, however. Which is a rarity for our… devilish Colonel. Does this mean that I can continue to pester him for a roll in the hay?!"
Mabel blushed. As much as the dragoons disliked her father, the ladies seemed to be more than approving of him! She didn't want to respond, but forced herself to give a tentative (not to mention, nauseated) "Uhhh… sure", in hopes of moving the conversation along. After a good twenty minutes of trying to distract Daphne into discussing something other than the way Colonel Tavington's "bum" looks in his riding pants, Mabel managed to successfully garner some information about Lord Cornwallis.
"He's very decent and gentlemanly to just about everybody. Oh, and is secretly a bit of a softie, especially when dogs are thrown into the picture," Daphne stated in the lowest voice that she could find, secretly loving the opportunity to gossip, "But don't let that proper exterior fool you, he is wicked smart and I've heard him get very angry more than once. Usually at our Colonel. Which is why I'm a bit concerned for you, really. Even if you are partial to the Colonel… and I wouldn't blame you if you were… you shouldn't seem biased."
"So, remain neutral?" Mabel decided, yet again, not to argue and nodded pensively before turning to sit on her bed. The pain had returned and she was beginning to think that dressing wasn't the best idea after all. She would have been able to sneak back into her bedclothes, but Daphne's voice carried and it wasn't long before Mabel received her first summon. Although it reality, it was more Cornwallis' attempt to quiet down those corridors for a while.
She did not expect to be intimidated by him. After all, it took a lot to intimidate Mabel Tavington! Upon first glance, he seemed just as tenderhearted as Daphne had foretold. He stole a quick look at Mabel from over the top of his books, moved the clutter away and, to her surprise, invited her to sit. She managed a clumsy bow before crossing the room, just for safety.
"Do you always dawdle?" Cornwallis moaned, urging poor Mabel to move faster.
"Only when I'm not supposed to!" The blank expression that she was met with caused her blood pressure to skyrocket. "My apologies, my Lord."
"Your name is Mabel, correct?" His tiny eyes scanned her face several times. He appeared to be welcoming, at least until he gave her eyes an extended visit and found- without fully understanding the circumstances- that they were identical to William's. "Do you have a surname?"
"Casey," she said quickly, hoping that it was the correct answer.
"Miss Casey…" his expression was quickly descending into a terribly unpleasant glare, "pin your hair back next time, you look like a drowned rat."
A/N: Guest, your wish has been granted! (Or almost.) Lol. I'm working out an… interesting dynamic for Mabel and Cornwallis.