An Improper Derailment Chapter Thirty Seven

Where Mary gets dressed…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catch up with chapter 36…

Start the adventure from the beginning.

Hand over hand, Mary hauled up the ladder.

Wrapped around a few rungs was a mass of fabric.

“Ooh,” Mary breathed out appreciatively as she shook out the wadded up skit.

It was heavy, and patch-worked. As if it had been made converted from a quilt instead of made from scraps and patched together. She ran her fingers over the fine stitching of the quilting. This had to have come from the woman’s trousseau and been made into a heavy winter skirt out of necessity. Why else would someone cut up such fine workmanship?

“Thank you, Mrs. Kessler!” Mary yelled over the edge of the gondola. “It’s lovely. But this must have been made from something very special. Are you certain you want to give it to me?”

“Now, now, your husband explained of your dire situation,” the pastor’s wife yelled back. “There is nothing so precious or special that it cannot be given to someone in need.”

“But…” Mary began to stammer. “Thank you.”
She spent another few moments admiring how sturdy a skirt made from quilting was. The colors were bright and nothing like the refined muted tones of her costly frock and coat she had commissioned for travel. Also unlike her travel ensemble, this skirt was prairie tough. It would have stood up to trekking across the plains on the back of a sauran.

As much as Mary had admired her fashionable travel wear, she had to admit, the skirt was in sorry shape by the time the spitting saurans had destroyed it. After all, it had merely looked appropriate, but clearly it had not withstood the rigors of any activity more strenuous than sitting perched on a bench in an observation car on the railway system.

Unaccustomed to getting dressed on her own, Mary struggled into the skirt. At first she attempted to step into it. But what remained of her under skirts bunched up and made locating her actual waist near impossible. After wrestling it back off, she pulled it over her head. And for a moment she was swallowed by the volume and had to fight her way back to sunlight and the open air.

The ties behind her proved to be more complicated so she ended up twisting the fabric around to fasten the skirt securely in the front.

Sucking in her stomach, she yanked on the waist band in an attempt to spin the skirt back to front, or in her case front to front. After a grunting with effort and not doing anything more than making her underskirts bunch up, Mary gave up.

She tossed the ladder over the ledge. “I’m coming down,” she announced.

“Hold on there, Mary,” Marshall called out. “Let these young men finish securing The Profound Name. They are almost done. I don’t want you on that rigging when they accidentally let go of one of the ropes.”
While she had been admiring her new skirt, there had been much activity on the ground. Mrs. Kessler had sprung into action. She had sent one of the young men off to fetch the doctor to come look after the one with the broken nose, and the one one the ground with the broken ankle. She then made sure the ones left who could stand helped to secure the airship, as it had been meagerly tethered by a single rope.

“We ain’t gonna let go,” another man called out.

But Mary wasn’t so sure they wouldn’t do something in retribution. After all, she had heard the earful the pastor’s wife had given her son, and the rest of his friends.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you tea, Mrs. Kessler,” Mary called out, determined to play the hostess, even while hanging above the ground in the airship. “When I was set upon, I believe the meal I was preparing got trampled in my hurry to find safety.”

“My dear, please do not worry about that.”

Mary was worried about many things at the moment. However the food and her ability to politely provide refreshments to what she perceived as her guests was at the forefront of her mind. If she continued to focus on the trivialities of manners, then she wouldn’t dwell on the state of undress those young men all caught her in.

It was bad enough for Marshall and Captain Forsythe to witness her wardrobe distress, but complete strangers. It was too mortifying to comprehend. So she chose not to.

“That was entirely the fault of my son and his so called friends.”

“Mama,” the one Mary now knew was Howard whined.

“As a matter of fact,” Mrs. Kessler continued. “I believe these young men not only owe you an apology, but they owe you supper. Howard!”

Mary watched as he shuffled in the dirt to stand in front of his mother. He towered over the other woman, but it was clear from his posture that he was the one being intimidated.

Mary couldn’t make out what his mother was saying.

“I don’t have any money on me,” he said clearly.

Mrs. Kessler’s brows raised as the rest of her face pinched in.

“Yes, ma’am,” Howard said. “Come on Kyle, we need to go rustle up some dinner for these folks.”

“You can climb down now, Mary. It looks like they got the ship secured,” Marshall called up to her.

Mary tossed the rope ladder, and then swung her leg over the edge. She felt shaky. She wiggled her foot around until she found a secure foothold on the rung beneath her. Her arms ached as she lowered herself. The skirt made the descent much more complicated than it had previously when she could see where she was putting her feet.

“I’ve got ya,” Marshall said from below. And then his strong hands were around her middle, and it felt like she was floating as he took her from the ladder and set her on her feet. “You all right?”

Mary gazed up at him. She felt a slight flutter in her chest. She brushed away the feeling as just the anxiety of the afternoon. “I am now.”

She spun and held her hands out to the pastor’s wife. “Mrs. Kessler, how delightful to make your acquaintance. I do so admire this fine skirt. I cannot thank you enough.”

 

Will Mrs. Kessler help Mary out of this traveling predicament? Tune in next time…

©2025 Lulu M. Sylvian