Threads of Truth

A Transgender Coming of Age Romance

From the Harmony Aspirant Universe

Chapter 1: Reluctant Threads

By Ariel Montine Strickland

Can Matthew's love of vintage dresses and a temporary job for Grandmother Rose
give them the courage to take the plunge and live as their true self, Kiki?

Copyright 2025 by Ariel Montine Strickland.
All Rights Reserved.

Chapter 1: Reluctant Threads

Mathew stood at the threshold, clutching the brass key Rose had pressed into their palm the night before, feeling the weight of reluctant responsibility settle on their shoulders like an ill-fitting coat. The morning light filtered through the dusty windows of "Grandmother Rose's Vintage Dress Shop", casting long shadows across the carefully arranged displays of bygone elegance.

"Just until Laura gets back from her honeymoon," Rose had said, her weathered hands gentle but insistent. "The shop needs someone who understands the stories these dresses tell. You've been doing vintage dress restoration for years. The Denver Living History Club's events have stellar reviews due to your presentation of the dress and the original woman who wore it. All that I'm asking in addition is that you maintain a woman's gender expression all the time instead of just when you are wearing vintage dresses. Can you do that?"

"I think so. I think it would teach me a lot to fully live a woman's life for a while, just like I am for a weekend at the Living History events where I get to really try on her life. I want to do this, so I'll be a girl for you for as long as you need me. I have everything that I'll need at home, so I'll start then. Is that okay, Grandmother Rose?"

Mathew looked with anticipation to Grandmother Rose. She seemed like she was Grandmother to everyone in Denver, but she had taken over that role in their life by the personal interest she took in their life. Grandmother Rose had filled a need in their life left when both their grandmothers had passed. Grandmother Rose always had Mathew's best interest at heart, and they fully trusted her.

"Of course, Mathew. I'll help you with your professional presentation as a shopgirl when you arrive tomorrow. Like your peers say, I've got you. See you tomorrow."

Mathew pushed open the door, the familiar chime announcing their arrival to an audience of silent mannequins draped in decades of dreams. The Baker neighborhood hummed with its usual morning energy outside—coffee shops opening, dog walkers navigating the tree-lined streets, the distant rumble of traffic heading toward downtown Denver. But inside Rose's sanctuary, time moved differently, measured not in minutes but in the careful preservation of memories sewn into silk and satin.

The shop smelled of lavender sachets and old wood polish, with an underlying hint of the vintage perfumes that seemed to cling to the garments like whispered secrets. Mathew had been coming here as a customer since childhood, drawn by Rose's patient explanations of construction techniques and historical context, but working here felt different. More permanent. More like stepping into a role they weren't sure they were ready to fill.

Rose emerged from the back room, her silver hair pinned in its customary elegant chignon, wearing a perfectly tailored 1950s day dress in navy blue with tiny white polka dots. At seventy-three, she moved with the grace of someone who had spent decades understanding how clothing should flow with the body, how fabric should fall to create the most flattering silhouette.

"Good morning, dear," she said, her voice carrying the warmth that had made her a beloved figure in the neighborhood for nearly fifty years. "I've laid out some pieces that need attention today. Nothing too challenging for your first official day."

Mathew nodded, hanging their jacket on the vintage coat rack near the door. They wore their usual uniform of dark jeans and an oversized sweater, clothing chosen more for concealment than expression. The contrast between their deliberately shapeless attire and the carefully curated femininity surrounding them felt stark in the morning light.

"I still don't know why you think I'm the right person for this," Mathew said, running their fingers along the edge of a nearby display case filled with vintage jewelry. "I know you've been teaching me about restoration, but actually running the shop..."

Rose's eyes crinkled with something that looked suspiciously like knowing amusement. "Oh, I think you understand these dresses better than you realize. Come, let me show you what we're working with today."

She led Mathew to the restoration area in the back, where natural light from a large window illuminated a workspace that looked like a surgeon's operating theater designed by someone with exquisite taste. Magnifying lamps, specialized tools, and spools of thread in every conceivable color were arranged with military precision. On the central table lay a 1940s cocktail dress in emerald green silk, its beaded bodice catching the light like scattered stars.

"This beauty came in yesterday," Rose explained, her fingers hovering over the fabric with reverent care. "The beadwork is original, but some of the silk lining has deteriorated. The owner's grandmother wore it to celebrate V-E Day in 1945. Can you imagine the joy that dress has witnessed?"

Mathew leaned closer, studying the intricate pattern of the beadwork, the way the silk had been cut on the bias to create that perfect drape. Without thinking, they reached out to touch the fabric, then stopped, hand suspended in mid-air.

"Go ahead," Rose encouraged gently. "You can't understand a dress without feeling how it wants to move."

The silk was cool and smooth under Mathew's fingertips, and they could almost sense the ghost of its original owner—a young woman dancing in celebration, the dress swirling around her legs as she spun in her lover's arms. The image was so vivid it made Mathew's chest tighten with an emotion they couldn't quite name.

"The construction is incredible," Mathew murmured, examining the hand-finished seams. "Look at these French seams, and the way they've reinforced the stress points without compromising the line of the dress."

Rose smiled, settling into her chair at the workspace. "That's exactly what I mean. You see what these dresses are trying to tell you. Now, the question is—how do we help this one tell its story again?"

For the next hour, Rose guided Mathew through the assessment process, teaching them to document every detail before beginning any restoration work. They photographed the dress from multiple angles, noted areas of damage, and researched comparable pieces in Rose's extensive library of fashion history books.

"The key," Rose explained, threading a needle with silk thread that perfectly matched the dress's original color, "is to honor the original maker's intention while ensuring the garment can continue to be worn and loved. We're not just fixing clothes—we're preserving the dreams and memories they carry."

As they worked, Rose began sharing stories about the dress's era—the rationing that made silk precious, the way women saved for months to afford a single special dress, the skill of seamstresses who could create magic with limited resources. Her voice painted pictures of a time when clothing was treasured, when each garment represented not just fashion but hope and celebration and the determination to find beauty even in difficult times.

"You know," Rose said, glancing up from her delicate stitching, "I've been thinking that Kiki might be a better name for someone working in this shop. Mathew feels so formal for someone with such gentle hands and an intuitive understanding of what these dresses need."

The needle slipped in Mathew's fingers, pricking their thumb. They sucked in a sharp breath, more from surprise than pain. "Kiki?"

"It suits you," Rose said simply, as if she'd been thinking about this for much longer than the few hours since they'd arrived. "Strong but feminine. Classic but with a modern edge. Like the perfect vintage dress that looks just as stunning today as it did seventy years ago."

Mathew—Kiki—stared at the emerald dress, their heart beating faster than seemed reasonable. The name felt like trying on a piece of clothing that fit perfectly, something they'd never dared to reach for but had always secretly wanted.

"I don't know," they said quietly. "I mean, I'm just helping out temporarily."

Rose's smile was patient and knowing. "Sometimes the most important changes start as temporary arrangements. Why don't you try it on for size? Just for today."

The shop bell chimed, interrupting the moment, and Rose rose gracefully to greet the customer. Kiki remained at the restoration table, staring at the emerald dress and feeling something shift inside them, like tumblers falling into place in a lock they hadn't even realized existed.

Through the doorway, they could hear Rose's warm greeting and the customer's response—a woman looking for something special for her daughter's wedding. Rose's voice carried the particular tone she used when helping someone find not just a dress, but a piece of themselves they'd been searching for.

Kiki picked up the needle again, this time holding it steady as they began the careful work of reinforcing a delicate seam. The name Rose had offered seemed to settle around them like the perfect vintage coat—unexpected but undeniably right. For the first time in longer than they could remember, the reflection in the shop's antique mirrors didn't feel like a stranger wearing their face.

It was time to really embrace being Grandmother Rose's shop girl, not only with the carefully made-up face and sophisticated updo that she'd done from mother's vanity with her full approval early this morning, but also to wear clothing that matched. Umm, she would surprise Grandmother Rose by going through the door leading not into the shop but to the changing area. With the proper vintage foundations, and a dress from the shopgirl's rack, one of the many that Laura always modeled, she could quit hiding herself.

Kiki's hands touched the material on each dress after she walked into the dressing room, confident that she could do this and standing in front of the shopgirl's rack. Laura was generous to Matthew when they had visited this shop as a customer looking for a dress they could wear during a Living History Club weekend event. She had cleared space for Matthew to store the vintage undergarments that they owned in this employee dressing room. With the proper undergarments worn, Matthew and Laura discovered that they were exactly the same size, and from that moment Matthew, like Laura, made the sacrifices to stay that size.

It wasn't until Matthew had joined their mother at breakfast this morning in the pink satin babydoll nightgown they had slept in covered by the beautiful matching robe that Matthew's mother, June, knew for sure that they had not chickened out like had had happened many times before.

"Who are you today, sweetheart?" asked June. June knew that her sometimes son Matthew, sometimes daughter Kiki totally immersed herself in the person they would be portraying outside their home and went by their name until the event ended.

"Just your vivacious Kiki, Mother. I really don't know what name will be on my shopgirl badge, yet. Thank you for supporting me, always as I sometimes blindly feel my way to be myself. I really appreciate you taking time out for Grandmother Rose to interview you on my behalf. Even with me being a favorite customer, I feel like your conversation made me be the person selected for this great chance to do what I love. "

"Always Kiki, always. Remember that Grandmother Rose selected you for you, so whatever name is on your badge just be my mischievous and lovely Kiki in your heart no matter what unexpected challenges come your way today. Please go put on your vintage undergarments and outfit and meet me at my vanity so i can witness my Kiki getting herself ready for the day."

What a joy that I can be the person who I'm being increasing convinced is my true self, and i even get to be called by my own name thought Kiki as she selected the just restored sophisticated black silk evening suit worn by Mary Florence Lathrop, Colorado's first female attorney, at the 1910 Bar Association Gala. The ensemble reflected the growing influence of menswear on women's fashion while maintaining feminine details appropriate for formal evening occasions.

The jacket featured a high-necked design with a small stand collar trimmed in white silk, creating a dignified yet elegant appearance. The jacket's construction followed the newly popular straight-front silhouette of the era, with subtle darts creating a tailored fit without excessive corseting. Long sleeves were fitted closely to the arm with white silk trim at the cuffs matching the collar. The skirt was cut in the fashionable narrow line of 1910, falling to the ankles with a modest flare that allowed for graceful movement. Delicate white silk embroidery in scrolling patterns adorned the jacket front, while small pearl buttons provided closure. This ensemble perfectly balanced the authority required for her profession with the elegance expected at society functions.

Kiki went to the vanity in the room and touched up her hair and makeup after adding her name badge with her name Kiki on a silver medallion suspended on a silver chain around her neck. Admiring her reflection in the mirror, she summoned her confidence and proudly as Mary herself, walked into the showroom floor. Grandmother greeted Kiki with a sideways hug as she presented her to Mary Washington, a great customer.

"Mary, please meet my newest shopgirl, Ms. Kiki. Kiki, please meet my dear friend Mrs. Mary Washington." The two introduced greeted each other with a side hug and air kisses.

Mary said, "I am so glad to meet you, Kiki. Whose dress are you modeling, today? Who are you portraying?"

"I am wearing the ensemble that another Mary, that is Miss Mary Florence Lathrop, wore to the 1910 Bar Association Gala, so for today I'm also Mary." replied Kiki.

Grandmother Rose asked, "So Miss Mary Florence Lathrop, for today, please tell me about yourself?"

"I achieved numerous "firsts" as Denver's first female attorney and the first woman to practice before the U.S. Supreme Court. As a successful lawyer who received many awards including an honorary doctorate from the University of Denver, I would have required professional attire suitable for court appearances and formal legal proceedings. My prominence in Denver's legal community and the preservation of historical markers in my honor suggest that some of my professional wardrobe has survived in legal or family archives." replied Mary as portrayed by Kiki.

"Well, fellow Mary, what can you tell me about how your lovely outfit came to grace us in this wonderful shop?" asked Miss Washington.

"This outfit made its way here by way of an estate sale and was restored by Laura before her wedding and honeymoon." replied Kiki who broke her method acting to answer the question.

Grandmother Rose, "Miss Lathrop, you may take your leave of us and mingle with my other guests present here today."

"I am very joyful to have made your acquaintance here today, ladies. May you find the courage to pursue your own path, whatever that may be. Good day to you both," said Miss Mary as she dropped an elegant curtsey leaving them to go help another of the shop's guests.

Outside, Denver continued its morning rhythm, but inside the shop, surrounded by decades of carefully preserved dreams, Kiki began to understand that some stories could only be told through the patient work of restoration—both of vintage dresses and of the people brave enough to wear them.

Threads of Truth

A Transgender Coming of Age Romance

From the Harmony Aspirant Universe

Chapter 2: Museum Pieces

By Ariel Montine Strickland

How will Kiki's work with Rose on former Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir's dress go, as Rose initially meets Julian, who works for the museum to preserve history in dresses?

Copyright 2025 by Ariel Montine Strickland.
All Rights Reserved.

Chapter 2: Museum Pieces

Kiki bounded into the kitchen with loads of energy early in the morning. She had already gotten ready to travel to work with her hair and makeup already done to be modeling another Denver historical icon woman's outfit today. She had plenty of time to surprise her mother with her favorite breakfast, honeydew melon with banana pancakes and syrup and a strawberry smoothy just the way she liked it. She wanted her mother in a great mood because she was ready to make a big ask of her.

Her mother was surprised and delighted to find both her, already ready for the day, daughter Kiki, that she found out yesterday evening would have her own name due to Grandmother Rose's selection, and her favorite breakfast presented on the table.

"Sweetheart, I'm delighted that you are so happy this morning and I can't wait to eat this wonderful breakfast. What can i do for you today, Kiki?"

"Mother, everything clicked for me yesterday and it just came to me that I truly am Kiki. Could you find out what it would take for me to physically transition? Once I let myself out of hiding for real and not just hiding behind a persona, I realized that what I unleashed could not be contained ever again. Please Mother." said Kiki with a look on her face that showed her that this was Kiki's heart's desire."

"Do you remember when after you asked about being different from other boys or girls and you demonstrated that you were mature enough to know the whole answer that I took you to see Dr. Jacinda Ford who explained everything about you being intersexed and that in your case you would have to make a choice of being either Matthew or Kiki for the rest of your life to avoid cancer?"

"Yes, Mother, I remember, I started hormone blockers then and Dr. Ford told me that I would need surgery no matter who was my true self to set things right. I appreciate how wonderfully both of you have helped keep me healthy and buy me the time needed for me to know without a doubt, my true self."

"I'll call her office first thing today to set things in motion to you becoming Kiki. We'll get you in for all the tests Dr. Ford ordered this morning and hopefully a physical. I'll confirm our standing 9 AM appointment for the tests and see if you can also get the physical. I'll call Grandmother Rose with the good news and to let her know you'll be coming in after lunch to work."

"That's fantastic, Mother. Thank you for your unconditional love and your exceptional care that you take of me." said Kiki and wrapped her up in a hug and kissed her cheek.

"After Dr. Ford has the information, we'll meet with her to see what the next steps will be. We'll call Judge Lathrop to set in motion the process to unseal and publish your Kiki birth certificate and have the Matthew birth certificate sealed. I'm so glad that my daughter Kiki is here to stay. I love you, sweetie!" said June with tears of joy as she kissed Kiki as they embraced.

"I love you too, Mother! You are so good to me!" said Kiki as she broke the hug to sit down with her mother for breakfast.

June pulled out her phone and made the calls to start her daughter on the path toward her new life.

Ally in the Making
The morning light filtered through the vintage dress shop's front windows, casting golden rectangles across the hardwood floors as Julian Martinez adjusted his camera strap and checked his documentation equipment one final time. The Denver Art Museum had entrusted him with cataloging historically significant pieces for their upcoming exhibition on Colorado fashion history, and Grandmother Rose's shop had been recommended as a treasure trove of authentic vintage garments.

Julian pushed open the door, setting off the gentle chime of brass bells that announced his arrival. The shop's interior embraced him with the familiar scent of aged fabric, lavender sachets, and something indefinably comforting that reminded him of his grandmother's attic. Rows of carefully organized vintage clothing hung from wooden racks, each piece positioned with obvious care and respect.

"You must be Julian," came a warm voice from behind the counter. Rose emerged from the back room, her silver hair pinned in an elegant chignon, wearing a perfectly tailored 1950s-day dress in navy blue with tiny white polka dots. Despite being in her seventies, she moved with the grace of someone who had spent decades understanding how clothing should flow with the body.

"Mrs. Rose, thank you for agreeing to work with the museum," Julian said, extending his hand. Her handshake was firm, her eyes bright with intelligence and something that looked remarkably like mischief.

"Just Rose, dear. And the pleasure is entirely mine," she replied, gesturing toward the racks of clothing. "I've been waiting years for someone who would truly appreciate what these pieces represent. They're not just fabric and thread—they're stories, dreams, the courage of women who wore them through extraordinary times."

Julian felt his professional excitement building as Rose led him deeper into the shop. His doctoral work in fashion history had focused on how clothing served as both personal expression and social documentation, particularly for marginalized communities. The museum project represented everything he'd been working toward—preserving stories that might otherwise be lost.

"I understand you specialize in documenting pieces that tell stories of underrepresented communities," Rose said, as if reading his thoughts. "That's exactly what we need. Too many collections focus only on the wealthy and famous, missing the real history of how ordinary women used fashion to claim their power."

She stopped before a rack of 1940s dresses, her fingers trailing along the fabric with obvious affection. "This section holds some of our most significant pieces. Working women's clothing from the war years, when fashion had to be both practical and beautiful. Each dress tells a story of resilience."

Julian pulled out his digital camera and began photographing the overall collection, making mental notes about lighting and angles. His external goal was straightforward—document these pieces thoroughly for the museum's consideration. But something about Rose's passion and the obvious care she'd taken with each garment stirred something deeper in him.

"The museum is particularly interested in pieces that demonstrate how fashion reflected social changes," Julian explained, adjusting his camera settings. "Your collection seems perfect for showing how women's roles evolved during the 1940s."

Rose nodded approvingly. "Exactly what I hoped you'd understand. Fashion isn't frivolous—it's how women have always negotiated their place in the world. During the war, these dresses had to work in factories and offices, but still help women feel feminine and powerful."

As Julian began his detailed documentation, Rose proved to be an invaluable resource. She knew the provenance of nearly every piece, sharing stories about the women who had owned them. A burgundy wool dress with clever pleating had belonged to a riveter at the Martin Marietta plant. A navy suit with hand-embroidered details had been worn by one of Denver's first female bank tellers.

"How do you know so much about these pieces?" Julian asked, genuinely impressed by her encyclopedic knowledge.

Rose smiled mysteriously. "When you've been in this business as long as I have, you learn that every garment carries its history in the seams. But more than that—I make it my business to know. These women deserve to have their stories remembered."

Julian found himself drawn not just to the clothing, but to Rose's obvious dedication to preservation and storytelling. His internal need for genuine connection, something that had been missing from his purely academic pursuits, began to stir as he recognized a kindred spirit.

"The museum will be thrilled with this collection," he said, photographing a particularly stunning evening gown in emerald silk. "These pieces perfectly illustrate the intersection of practicality and beauty that defined 1940s fashion."

"I'm glad you see it," Rose replied, watching him work with obvious approval. "Too many people look at vintage clothing and only see old things. But you understand—these are artifacts of courage."

As the morning progressed, Julian felt increasingly comfortable in the shop's atmosphere. Rose's warmth and expertise made the documentation process feel more like a collaboration than a professional assignment. She anticipated his questions, provided historical context he hadn't expected, and seemed genuinely excited about the museum's mission.

The Restoration Process
Kiki approached the restoration with the reverence of an archaeologist handling ancient artifacts. She began with a thorough evaluation, examining every seam and fiber under magnification to understand the garment's construction and condition. The dress bore the telltale signs of its era: hand-finished buttonholes, French seams throughout, and the particular weight of wool that could only have come from early twentieth-century mills.

The fabric had yellowed slightly at the collar and cuffs, evidence of countless evenings spent leaning over tea glasses while passionate discussions filled the small rooms of the Korngold home. Small tears along the hem revealed the dress's journey through Denver's unpaved streets, from North High School to the cleaning and pressing shop where Golda worked part-time.

Using techniques passed down through generations of seamstresses, Kiki began the delicate process of cleaning. She mixed a gentle solution of white vinegar and water, testing it first on an inconspicuous seam before applying it to the stained areas. The restoration required weeks of patient work—hand-washing sections in lukewarm water, pressing with weights rather than heat, and carefully mending the frayed edges with thread she had specially dyed to match the original color.

The most challenging aspect was repairing a small burn mark near the right sleeve, likely from standing too close to the coal stove during those long Denver winters. Kiki used a technique called invisible mending, carefully weaving new threads into the existing fabric until the damage disappeared.

Kiki Collaboration
"I should mention," Rose said as they paused for tea, "I have a young assistant who helps with the restoration work. Kiki has an extraordinary gift for understanding these garments. You might find her insights valuable for your documentation."

Julian nodded, making a note in his project folder. "I'd appreciate any additional expertise. The more context we can provide, the better the exhibition will serve its educational purpose."

Rose's eyes twinkled with what Julian was beginning to recognize as her characteristic knowing look. "Oh, I think you'll find Kiki's perspective quite illuminating. She has a way of bringing these dresses to life that's truly remarkable."

As Julian packed up his equipment for the day, he felt a satisfaction that went beyond professional accomplishment. The shop's atmosphere, Rose's passion, and the obvious care taken with each garment had awakened something in him—a sense of purpose that his academic work alone hadn't provided.

"When would be convenient for me to return?" he asked, already looking forward to continuing the project.

"Tomorrow morning would be perfect," Rose replied. "Kiki will be here then, and I think you'll find the combination of documentation and restoration work quite fascinating."

Julian left the shop with his camera full of images and his mind full of possibilities. The museum project had begun as a professional assignment, but Rose's mentorship and obvious wisdom suggested it might become something much more significant. For the first time in months, his work felt connected to something larger than academic achievement—it felt like preserving the courage and dreams of women who deserved to be remembered.

As he walked back to his car, Julian found himself already planning his return, eager to meet the assistant Rose had mentioned and to continue documenting what was clearly one of Denver's most significant vintage collections. The project was off to an excellent start, though he had no idea how much his life was about to change.

Wearing History
When Kiki finally slipped the dress over her head, she felt the weight of history settle around her shoulders. The wool was heavier than modern fabrics, substantial in a way that spoke of permanence and purpose. The dress fit differently than contemporary clothing—higher waisted, longer in the torso, with sleeves that extended precisely to the wrist.

As she fastened the small pearl buttons that Golda's fingers had worked countless times, Kiki could almost feel the presence of that determined young woman who had fled Milwaukee to pursue her education. The dress carried within its fibers the essence of someone who refused to accept the limitations others placed upon her, who chose learning over an arranged marriage, who dreamed of building a homeland while serving tea to tubercular immigrants seeking Denver's healing air.

Living Stories in the Shop
When customers entered the vintage boutique that day, they encountered more than just a woman in an old dress—they met history walking among the clothes racks. The dress transformed Kiki into a storyteller, her voice carrying the cadence of someone channeling another era.

"This belonged to a girl who would become a prime minister," she would tell curious browsers, her hands smoothing the wool skirt as Golda might have done while contemplating her future. "She wore it to meetings where they planned to change the world, one conversation at a time".

A young college student, drawn by the dress's simple elegance, listened intently as Kiki described how Golda had worked in her brother-in-law's cleaning shop by day and attended political discussions by night. "She was just seventeen," Kiki explained, "the same age as you, when she decided her own path".

An elderly woman touched the fabric gently, her eyes misting as she recalled her own immigrant grandmother's stories. "The weight of it," she murmured, "clothing meant something different then. It had to last". Kiki nodded, understanding that the dress served as a bridge between generations, connecting personal memories to historical narratives.

Throughout the day, the dress drew people into conversations about courage, determination, and the immigrant experience in early twentieth-century America. Each interaction became a moment of connection, as if Golda's spirit lived on in the fabric she had once worn while dreaming of the future. The dress had become more than a garment—it was a vessel for preserving and sharing the story of a remarkable woman whose Denver years had shaped not just her own destiny, but the course of history itself.

Threads of Truth

A Transgender Coming of Age Romance

From the Harmony Aspirant Universe

Chapter 3: Silk and Serendipity

By Ariel Montine Strickland

How will Kiki's medical and legal appointments go in the morning? With modeling the vintage dress in her process, how will her encounter with Julian go?

Copyright 2025 by Ariel Montine Strickland.
All Rights Reserved.

Chapter 3: Silk and Serendipity

The phone rang just as Kiki was spreading strawberry jam on her toast, the morning light streaming through the kitchen window catching the vintage glass jar that had belonged to Grandmother Rose. Her mother Ginger looked up from her coffee with that particular expression she wore when she sensed important news approaching.

"This is Ginger," her mother answered, then straightened in her chair. "Yes, we can be there in an hour. Thank you so much for calling."

Kiki set down her toast, her heart beginning to race. They'd had the standing orders for labs they would take today from Dr. Ford, the specialist who would finally provide answers about her intersex condition. The cancellation that had just opened up felt like destiny.

Two Hours Later - Medical Center
The ultrasound gel was cold against Kiki's skin as Dr. Ford moved the transducer carefully across her lower abdomen. The older woman's face remained professionally neutral, though Kiki caught glimpses of what might have been satisfaction in her expression.

"Well," Dr. Ford said finally, cleaning the gel away with gentle efficiency. "The imaging confirms what the blood work suggested. You have a complete female reproductive system - ovaries, fallopian tubes, and uterus. Everything is there, just waiting for the right hormonal environment to fully mature."

Ginger reached for Kiki's hand. "What does that mean for her future?"

Dr. Ford pulled up a chair, her manner shifting from clinical to warmly explanatory. "Kiki, your body has been preparing for this conversation your entire life. You already urinate through a properly configured female opening, which tells us your external anatomy is more developed than we initially realized. What we need to do is create a vaginal opening that connects with your existing reproductive system, allowing for normal menstrual function."

The words hung in the air like a promise Kiki had never dared to make.

"After the surgery, we'll start you on estradiol hormone replacement therapy. Your ovaries are already producing some estrogen, but the HRT will provide the boost needed to complete your physical development. You should expect to begin menstruating within six months of starting treatment."

Lunch time - Judge Lathrop's Chambers
Judge Mary Florence Lathrop reviewed the medical documentation with the same careful attention she'd once brought to pioneering legal cases. Her chambers, lined with law books and historical photographs of Denver's legal community, felt like a sanctuary of justice.

"Dr. Ford's recommendations are compelling," Judge Lathrop said, her voice carrying the authority of decades on the bench. "The medical evidence clearly supports correcting your birth certificate to reflect your biological reality."

She signed the court order with a flourish that seemed to echo through time. "I hereby order the vital records office to unseal and publish the birth certificate for Kiki Rose Martinez, and to permanently seal the document filed under the name Matthew. Your true identity deserves legal recognition."

Walking out of the courthouse, Kiki felt the Colorado sunshine on her face differently than she had that morning. In her purse, she carried court orders that would make her legal existence match her biological truth, and in her heart, she carried the knowledge that her body had been preparing for this moment all along.

The vintage dress shop suddenly felt less like a temporary job and more like a place where she could finally become who she'd always been meant to be.

Kiki's New Connection
The afternoon sun streamed through the vintage dress shop's front windows, casting warm golden light across the carefully arranged displays as Julian returned for his second day of documentation. He'd spent the previous evening reviewing his photographs and making notes, but found himself thinking more about Rose's mysterious assistant than the museum project itself.

"Right on time," Rose called from behind the counter, her eyes twinkling with what Julian was beginning to recognize as her characteristic knowing look. "Kiki should be here any moment. She's been working on something special in the back room—a restoration project that I think will fascinate you from a historical documentation perspective."

Julian adjusted his camera equipment, feeling an unexpected flutter of anticipation. Rose had mentioned her assistant's remarkable gift for bringing vintage garments to life, and his academic curiosity was thoroughly piqued. The shop felt different today, somehow more alive with possibility.

The brass bells chimed as the back door opened, and Julian heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching through the workroom. Rose's face lit up with obvious pride and affection.

"Kiki, dear, come meet Julian properly," Rose called, her voice warm with encouragement. "He's the museum documentarian I mentioned, and I know you two will have so much to discuss about the historical significance of our collection."

Julian turned toward the workroom entrance, expecting to meet another vintage clothing enthusiast, perhaps someone Rose's age who shared her passion for preservation. Instead, he found himself looking at a young person about his own age, with shoulder-length auburn hair and an uncertain but genuine smile.

Grandmother Rose picked up from Kiki's demeanor that her morning was eventful, "Kiki, dear, we must have tea later to tell me your news but work beckons for now."

Kiki nodded her agreement as she composed what she would say to the young man, Julian, about her work and process.

What stopped Julian's breath entirely was the 1940s dress Kiki wore—a stunning creation in deep emerald silk with intricate beadwork that caught the afternoon light. The garment fit perfectly, as if it had been made specifically for her, and she moved in it with a natural grace that spoke of deep familiarity with vintage fashion.

"I was just trying to understand the construction," Kiki said quickly, a flush rising in her cheeks as she noticed Julian's obvious surprise. "Rose always says you can't properly restore a dress unless you understand how it moves, how it was meant to be worn. I hope you don't mind—I know it might seem unusual."

Julian realized he'd been staring and felt his own face warm with embarrassment. "Not at all," he managed, his voice slightly hoarse. "Actually, that's exactly the kind of historical authenticity the museum values. Understanding how garments functioned in their original context is crucial for proper documentation."

Rose watched the exchange with obvious satisfaction, moving between them like a graceful conductor orchestrating a delicate symphony. "Kiki has an extraordinary intuitive understanding of these pieces," she said, her voice filled with pride. "She can look at a damaged dress and somehow know exactly how it was meant to drape, how the original seamstress intended it to move."

Kiki's uncertainty seemed to ease slightly at Rose's words, and Julian found himself genuinely impressed by her obvious expertise. "How long have you been working with vintage restoration?" he asked, pulling out his notebook to give himself something to do with his hands.

"Rose has been teaching me for about six months," Kiki replied, smoothing the silk skirt with reverent hands. "But it feels like I've been waiting my whole life to learn these skills. There's something about these dresses—they hold so much history, so many stories of the women who wore them."

Julian felt a spark of recognition at her words. "That's exactly what drives my documentation work," he said, his academic passion overriding his nervousness. "Fashion history isn't just about clothing—it's about preserving the stories of people whose experiences might otherwise be lost."

Rose's smile widened as she watched them discover their shared interests. "I knew you two would understand each other," she said, moving toward the front of the shop. "Julian, you simply must document Kiki's restoration process. The way she works with these garments is truly remarkable."

As Rose busied herself with other customers who had entered the shop, Julian found himself alone with Kiki in the workroom area. The emerald dress seemed to shimmer in the changing light, and Julian couldn't help but notice how naturally Kiki inhabited the vintage aesthetic.

"The beadwork on that dress is extraordinary," Julian said, raising his camera. "Would you mind if I photographed it? The museum would be fascinated by the construction techniques."

Kiki nodded, though Julian noticed a slight tension in her posture. "Rose found it in terrible condition," she explained, turning slightly so Julian could capture the intricate details. "Half the beads were missing, the silk was water-damaged, and the internal structure was completely compromised. It took weeks to research the original techniques."

Julian began photographing, but found himself more interested in Kiki's obvious passion than in the technical documentation. "How did you learn to work with such delicate materials?" he asked, adjusting his camera settings.

"Rose is an incredible teacher," Kiki replied, her voice warming with affection. "She doesn't just show you the techniques—she helps you understand the intention behind each stitch, each design choice. She says every dress holds the dreams of the woman who wore it."

Julian lowered his camera, struck by the poetry in her words. "That's a beautiful way to think about historical preservation," he said. "Most academic approaches focus on the technical aspects, but you're talking about preserving the emotional significance."

Kiki's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Exactly! When I'm working on a restoration, I try to imagine the woman who first wore the dress. What was she feeling when she put it on? Was it for a special occasion? Did it make her feel confident, beautiful, powerful?"

Julian felt something shift in his chest—a recognition of kindred spirit that went beyond professional interest. "That's exactly what I try to capture in my documentation," he said. "The human stories behind the artifacts."

Rose appeared in the workroom doorway, carrying a tea service on a silver tray. "I thought you two might enjoy some refreshment," she said, her eyes dancing with obvious pleasure at their animated conversation. "Kiki, dear, why don't you show Julian the restoration techniques you've been perfecting? I think he'd find them fascinating from a historical perspective."

Kiki's face brightened with genuine excitement. "Would you like to see how we reconstruct damaged beadwork?" she asked Julian. "Rose taught me to research original patterns and recreate them using period-appropriate materials."

Julian nodded eagerly, pulling out his notebook. "The museum would love to document traditional restoration methods," he said. "So much of that knowledge is being lost."

As Kiki began explaining her restoration process, Julian found himself captivated not just by her expertise, but by the obvious love and respect she brought to her work. She handled each vintage piece with reverence, speaking about the garments as if they were living things with their own stories to tell.

"The most important thing Rose taught me," Kiki said, carefully adjusting a section of beadwork, "is that restoration isn't about making something look new again. It's about honoring what it was while helping it continue its story."

Julian felt his heart skip at the wisdom in her words. "That's exactly what good historical documentation should do," he said. "Preserve the authentic story while making it accessible to new audiences."

Rose watched from across the room, her expression filled with quiet satisfaction. "Kiki has such natural instincts for this work," she said to Julian. "She understands that every dress is a collaboration between the original designer, the woman who wore it, and the person who cares for it now."

As the afternoon progressed, Julian found himself increasingly drawn to both Kiki's expertise and her obvious passion for the work. There was something about the way she moved in the vintage dress, the reverent way she handled each garment, that spoke to a deeper understanding of fashion as personal expression.

"I should probably change back into my regular clothes," Kiki said eventually, glancing at the clock. "I don't want to risk damaging the dress."

Julian felt an unexpected pang of disappointment. "Of course," he said, then added impulsively, "but you wear it beautifully. It's clear you understand how it was meant to be worn."

Kiki's cheeks flushed pink, and Julian realized his comment had been more personal than professional. Rose, observing the exchange, smiled with obvious approval.

"Kiki has such a natural gift for bringing these dresses to life," Rose said warmly. "It's rare to find someone who understands vintage fashion not just intellectually, but intuitively."

As Kiki disappeared into the back room to change, Julian found himself looking forward to their next meeting with an intensity that surprised him. The museum project had become secondary to his growing fascination with Rose's remarkable assistant and her obvious talent for restoration work.

Rose approached him with her characteristic knowing smile. "She's quite special, isn't she?" she said quietly. "I've been in this business for fifty years, and I've never met anyone with such natural understanding of these garments."

Julian nodded, still processing his unexpected attraction to someone he'd just met. "Her expertise is remarkable," he said. "The museum would be lucky to have her insights for the exhibition."

Rose's smile widened. "I have a feeling this collaboration is going to be very good for both of you," she said, her voice filled with gentle certainty. "Sometimes the most important discoveries happen when we're not looking for them."

As Julian packed up his equipment for the day, he found himself already planning his return. The vintage dress collection was certainly worthy of museum documentation, but his growing interest in Kiki's restoration work—and in Kiki herself—promised to make this project far more significant than he'd originally anticipated.

Rose walked him to the door, her expression warm with approval. "Same time tomorrow?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

"Absolutely," Julian replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I'm looking forward to learning more about Kiki's restoration techniques."

Rose's knowing smile suggested she understood exactly what he was looking forward to. "I think tomorrow will be very interesting indeed," she said, holding the door open for him. "Very interesting indeed."

Tea and Revelations

The afternoon sun streamed through the vintage lace curtains as Grandmother Rose prepared her special Earl Grey blend, the ritual as comforting as it was familiar. Kiki settled into the worn velvet chair beside the shop's small kitchen table, her purse clutched tightly in her lap, containing documents that would change everything.

"Now then, dear," Rose said, settling carefully into her own chair with the grace of someone who had performed this tea ceremony thousands of times. "Tell me about your morning. I can see in your eyes that it was significant."

Kiki reached into her purse with trembling fingers, withdrawing the crisp legal documents. "Rose, I have something to show you." She unfolded the birth certificate, her voice catching slightly. "Look at the name."

Rose adjusted her reading glasses, her weathered hands gentle as she took the document. Her eyes moved across the official text, and then she looked up with a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire room.

"Kiki Rose Martinez," she read aloud, her voice warm with wonder. "Oh, my dear girl. We're both Rose now."

"I chose Rose as my middle name because of you," Kiki said, tears threatening to spill. "Because you've been more than a mentor - you've been like a grandmother to me. You helped me find who I really am."

Rose reached across the small table to clasp Kiki's hands. "And you, sweet child, have brought such joy to these old bones. To share a name with you is an honor I never expected."

Kiki took a steadying breath. "There's more news from Dr. Ford. She said that with the surgery to create the vaginal opening and the estradiol hormone therapy, my reproductive system will fully develop. Rose, she said I'll be able to have a baby someday. A biological child of my own."

Rose's eyes filled with tears of joy. "Oh, Kiki. What a gift. What an absolute gift."

"And Judge Lathrop," Kiki continued, her voice growing stronger with each revelation, "she signed the orders. The Matthew birth certificate is sealed forever. This one - the real one - is published and legal. I'm officially, legally, completely Kiki Rose Martinez."

Rose stood slowly, moving around the table to embrace her protégé. "My dear Kiki Rose," she whispered, holding her close. "Today you didn't just get legal recognition. Today you claimed your birthright - the right to be exactly who you were always meant to be."

As they held each other in the golden afternoon light, surrounded by decades of vintage dresses that had witnessed countless transformations, both women understood that this moment marked not just a legal victory, but the completion of a journey that had begun the first day Kiki walked into the shop.

The tea grew cold on the table, but neither woman minded. Some conversations were too important to interrupt for anything as mundane as temperature.

Threads of Truth

A Transgender Coming of Age Romance

From the Harmony Aspirant Universe

Chapter 4: Barriers and Boundaries

By Ariel Montine Strickland

How will Kiki and Julian hold up under the attack of Margaret Thornfield from the Historical Preservation Society? Can Kiki and Julian's budding relationship survive her displeasure?

Copyright 2025 by Ariel Montine Strickland.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Mondays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love

---

Chapter 4: Barriers and Boundaries

The morning air carried the scent of autumn leaves and fresh coffee as Julian approached Grandmother Rose's vintage dress shop for what had become his daily ritual. Three days of documentation work had established a comfortable routine, but today felt different—charged with an undercurrent of tension he couldn't quite identify.

Rose greeted him at the door with her usual warmth, though Julian noticed a subtle shift in her demeanor. Her silver hair was pinned in its characteristic chignon, and she wore a stunning 1950s suit in deep burgundy that spoke of quiet authority.

"Good morning, Julian," she said, her voice carrying a note of gentle determination. "I'm afraid we have some complications to navigate today. Nothing insurmountable, but it will require some delicate handling."

Julian set down his camera equipment, immediately alert. "What kind of complications?"

Before Rose could answer, the brass bells chimed with unusual force as the front door opened. A woman in her fifties entered, her posture rigid with barely contained disapproval. She wore a contemporary business suit that seemed to armor her against the shop's vintage charm, and her eyes swept the interior with the calculating gaze of someone looking for flaws.

"Mrs. Thornfield," Rose said smoothly, moving forward with practiced grace. "How lovely to see you again. Julian, I'd like you to meet Margaret Thornfield from the Historical Preservation Society. Margaret, this is Julian Martinez from the Denver Art Museum."

Margaret's handshake was perfunctory, her attention already shifting back to Rose with obvious skepticism. "I've come to discuss some concerns that have been brought to our attention regarding the authenticity of your collection and business practices."

Julian felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. Rose's smile never wavered, but he caught the slight tightening around her eyes that suggested this was not an unexpected visit.

"Of course," Rose replied with unflappable courtesy. "I'm always happy to discuss our commitment to historical accuracy. Perhaps we could sit down with some tea?"

Margaret remained standing, pulling out a leather portfolio with the efficiency of someone accustomed to wielding authority. "I've received reports questioning whether this establishment truly serves historical preservation or merely profits from costume play. There are concerns about the appropriateness of allowing people to model historical garments without proper training or respect for their significance."

Julian felt his protective instincts flare, but Rose's subtle hand gesture warned him to remain silent. Her decades of experience in handling difficult customers was evident in her calm response.

"I appreciate your dedication to historical preservation, Margaret," Rose said, her voice warm but firm. "Perhaps you'd like to observe our restoration process and documentation methods? Julian has been thoroughly impressed with our attention to historical accuracy."

Margaret's gaze shifted to Julian with obvious skepticism. "Museum documentation is one thing. But I understand you have an assistant who treats these historical pieces as dress-up costumes. That's hardly appropriate stewardship of cultural artifacts."

Julian felt his jaw clench at the dismissive tone, but Rose's presence reminded him that this required diplomatic handling rather than defensive anger.

"Kiki has an extraordinary gift for understanding these garments," Rose said, her voice carrying quiet pride. "Her restoration work demonstrates both technical skill and deep respect for historical authenticity. She approaches each piece as a collaboration with the original seamstress and the women who wore them."

Margaret's expression suggested she found this explanation inadequate. "Collaboration is a romantic notion, but these are historical artifacts, not opportunities for personal expression. The Historical Preservation Society has standards that must be maintained."

The back door chimed softly, and Julian heard familiar footsteps approaching through the workroom. His heart rate quickened with anticipation mixed with concern—Kiki was walking into what had clearly become a confrontational situation.

"Good morning," Kiki's voice came from the workroom entrance, warm but cautious as she sensed the tension in the room. She wore her usual jeans and vintage blouse, but Julian noticed she'd chosen particularly conservative clothing, as if anticipating judgment.

Margaret's attention focused on Kiki with laser intensity. "You must be the assistant I've heard about. I understand you model historical garments as part of your work here."

Julian watched Kiki's posture shift slightly, her natural confidence wavering under Margaret's scrutiny. "I study the construction and movement of vintage pieces to better understand their restoration needs," Kiki replied carefully. "It helps me preserve their original integrity."

"Preservation requires professional training and institutional oversight," Margaret said crisply. "Not amateur experimentation with irreplaceable historical pieces."

Rose stepped forward with the protective instincts of a lioness defending her cub. "Kiki's work has been exemplary. Her intuitive understanding of these garments surpasses many formally trained professionals I've encountered."

Margaret's skepticism was palpable. "Intuition is not a substitute for proper credentials and institutional accountability. The Historical Preservation Society exists to ensure that cultural artifacts receive appropriate professional care."

Julian felt his professional integrity being questioned along with Kiki's expertise. "I can vouch for the quality of restoration work being done here," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "The techniques and attention to historical detail are exceptional."

Margaret's gaze shifted between Julian and Kiki with obvious suspicion. "Museum documentation requires objectivity, Mr. Martinez. Personal relationships can compromise professional judgment."

The implication hit Julian like a physical blow. His growing feelings for Kiki were apparently obvious enough to be used as ammunition against both their professional credibility. He felt his carefully maintained boundaries crumbling under public scrutiny.

Rose's voice cut through the tension with steel wrapped in silk. "Margaret, I've been in this business for fifty years. I've worked with museums, collectors, and preservation societies across the country. My commitment to historical accuracy is unquestionable, and I won't have my methods or my protégé's expertise dismissed without proper evaluation."

Margaret straightened, clearly prepared for this resistance. "Then you won't object to a formal review by qualified preservation professionals. The Society can arrange for proper assessment of your collection and practices."

Julian watched Kiki's face pale at the prospect of formal scrutiny. Her fear was evident, and he realized that Margaret's challenge threatened not just the shop's reputation, but Kiki's fragile confidence in her own abilities.

"That won't be necessary," Rose said smoothly. "We welcome professional evaluation, but it will be conducted through proper channels with appropriate notice and preparation. Julian's museum documentation provides excellent third-party verification of our standards."

Margaret's smile was thin and triumphant. "We'll see about that. The Society takes its responsibilities seriously, and we won't allow historical artifacts to be treated as costume jewelry."

After Margaret left, the shop felt like a battlefield after the smoke had cleared. Julian watched Kiki retreat into herself, her earlier confidence replaced by visible anxiety about professional judgment and public scrutiny.

Rose moved between them with her characteristic grace, but Julian could see the strain in her posture. The confrontation had cost her energy she couldn't spare, though she maintained her composure with decades of practiced dignity.

"Don't let her rattle you," Rose said gently to Kiki. "Margaret means well, but she's forgotten that preservation requires both technical skill and emotional understanding. You have both in abundance."

Julian felt torn between his professional obligations and his personal feelings. Margaret's implications about compromised objectivity had struck too close to home, forcing him to confront the reality that his growing attraction to Kiki was affecting his work.

"Maybe I should maintain more professional distance," Julian said reluctantly, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "I don't want to compromise the museum's documentation or create problems for the shop."

Kiki's face crumpled slightly at his words, confirming his worst fears about the situation. Rose watched the exchange with obvious concern, recognizing the damage that fear and outside pressure were inflicting on the relationship she'd been carefully nurturing.

"Professional integrity doesn't require emotional distance," Rose said firmly. "It requires honesty, competence, and respect for the work. You've demonstrated all three, Julian. Don't let someone else's narrow definitions limit your authentic response to what you've found here."

But Julian could see the doubt in Kiki's eyes, the way she'd begun to question whether her work was truly professional or merely amateur enthusiasm. Margaret's challenge had planted seeds of insecurity that would be difficult to overcome.

As the day progressed, Julian found himself pulling back instinctively, maintaining careful professional boundaries that felt artificial and painful. Kiki responded by becoming more reserved, second-guessing her expertise and retreating from the confident restoration work that had initially captivated him.

Rose watched their careful dance of avoidance with obvious frustration, but respected their need to process the morning's confrontation. Her wisdom told her that some barriers had to be worked through rather than simply dismissed.

"Fear makes us smaller than we are," Rose said quietly as they prepared to close for the day. "But courage isn't the absence of fear—it's the decision to act authentically despite being afraid."

Julian packed his equipment with unusual care, avoiding Kiki's eyes as he prepared to leave. The easy intimacy of their previous days had been replaced by professional courtesy that felt hollow and unsatisfying.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said formally, the words lacking their usual warmth.

Kiki nodded without looking up from her restoration work. "Of course. We have several pieces that still need documentation."

Rose watched them both with the patience of someone who understood that some lessons couldn't be rushed. The barriers that had emerged today would need to be addressed, but forcing the issue would only create more resistance.

As Julian left the shop, he felt the weight of professional expectations and personal desires pulling him in different directions. Margaret's challenge had forced him to confront the reality that his feelings for Kiki were affecting his work, but her solution—emotional distance—felt like abandoning something precious and irreplaceable.

Behind him, Rose began her afternoon routine of caring for the vintage garments, each piece a testament to the courage of women who had faced their own barriers and boundaries.

The champagne silk satin caught the afternoon light streaming through the shop's front windows, and Kiki felt her breath catch as she lifted the gown from its preservation box. The fabric whispered against itself with the particular sound of quality silk, a sound that spoke of ballrooms and opening nights and the rustle of programs in elegant hands.

"This one's special," Rose said softly, watching Kiki's reverent handling of the dress. "Mary Elitch Long wore this to the grand opening of her theater in 1900. First woman in the world to own and manage both a zoo and a theater, you know."

Kiki's fingers traced the intricate pearl beading that cascaded down the bodice in swags, each tiny seed pearl still lustrous after more than a century. The heart-shaped décolletage was framed with silk chiffon so delicate it seemed like captured breath, and the trumpet sleeves with their layers of Valenciennes lace spoke of an era when women's clothing was architecture, engineering, art.

"The S-curve silhouette," Kiki murmured, recognizing the distinctive shape that had defined the early Edwardian era. "The straight-front corset pushed the bust forward and hips back—it literally changed how women moved through the world."

"Try it on," Rose encouraged, her eyes twinkling with that knowing look she got when she sensed a teaching moment approaching. "Some dresses need to be worn to be understood."

With Rose's help, Kiki stepped into the gown, feeling the weight of the silk settle around her like liquid gold. The bodice, with its masterful construction, created the fashionable silhouette without the punishing restriction of earlier Victorian styles. As Rose fastened the tiny, covered buttons up the back, Kiki felt herself transforming, shoulders back, chin lifted, the dress demanding a certain regal bearing.

"Mary Elitch Long knew something about transformation," Rose said, adjusting the wide sash of deeper gold silk at Kiki's waist. "When her husband died just months after they opened Elitch Gardens, everyone expected her to sell. Instead, she took over everything—the zoo, the theater, the gardens. Became Denver's entertainment royalty."

Kiki moved carefully to the full-length mirror, watching how the bell-shaped skirt with its moderate train created graceful lines with each step. The embroidered silk roses in gold thread caught the light, and she could imagine Mary Elitch Long sweeping into her theater on opening night, commanding attention not through ostentation but through sheer presence.

"She had to be perfect," Kiki realized, running her hands over the silk. "Every public appearance, every event at the gardens, she was representing not just herself but the idea that a woman could run these businesses successfully."

"Exactly." Rose's voice carried approval and something deeper—understanding. "This dress isn't just beautiful, it's armor. See how the construction gives you confidence? How it makes you stand differently, move with purpose?"

Kiki nodded, feeling the truth of it in her bones. The gown demanded grace, commanded respect. In it, she could imagine greeting distinguished guests, overseeing theatrical productions, making decisions that affected hundreds of employees and thousands of visitors.

"The pearl beading alone would have taken months to complete," Kiki observed, studying the intricate work in the mirror. "And this Valenciennes lace—it's museum quality. She spared no expense."

"Because she understood that in her world, appearance was credibility," Rose said. "A woman in her position couldn't afford to look anything less than impeccable. This dress is a testament to her success, but also to her understanding of how to wield feminine power in a masculine world."

As Kiki turned slowly, watching the silk catch and release the light, she felt a connection spanning more than a century—one woman who had found her strength through transformation to another just beginning to understand her own power. The dress held Mary Elitch Long's courage in its very seams, and for a moment, Kiki could feel that strength flowing into her own spine, her own shoulders, her own carefully lifting chin.

"She would have understood," Kiki whispered, and Rose's gentle smile confirmed that some truths transcend time, held safe in silk and pearls and the enduring power of a woman who refuses to be anything less than herself.

Rose's wisdom and Kiki's resilience would be tested, but the foundation of trust and mentorship they'd built remained strong enough to weather the storm that Margaret Thornfield had brought to their door. Kiki removed the dress and with professional attention to detail replaced it in the special vault that their most prized pieces were stored when not on display. With the wearing, Kiki knew which minor restoration treatments to apply so that it could be once more put on display. It was a good thing that Rose had done for her. Wearing Mary's gown had reignited her confidence and joy for the restoration.

"Grandmother, I'm ready to go home where my mother is in the middle of a very important restoration project herself."

"Kiki, what project is your mother working on? Are you helping?"

"Oh Grandmother, the project is me! Restoring my harmony with mind and body to be my mother's daughter from this time forth, forevermore. I'm totally involved!"

"This is a project that I am very interested in, Kiki. Please keep me informed. Till we meet again!"

"Of course, Grandmother. Have a wonderful evening!"

Kiki left the shop on the way to her home. The shop settled into evening quiet, holding space for the complex emotions and difficult decisions that lay ahead.

Kiki arrived home and immediately put on her apron and began preparing tea and putting in to bake a sheet of store bought cookie dough. Not seeing her mother, she called out.

"Mother, I'm home! Where are you?"

"In the den, dearest Kiki, I'm working on well ... you, that is keeping the momentum going that we started yesterday."

"Thank you so much, Mother. I'll be with you in just a moment." Kiki made a check on both the tea and cookies then went into the den.

"How was your day, Kiki?"

"Very challenging, Mother. Margaret Thornfield did her best to rattle me professionally, but Grandmother Rose knew just what to do to restore my confidence. I'm shaken but my joy has been restored in my labor of love. What may not be as easy to repair is that Margaret attacked Julian professionally because he contradicted her, so she threatened to bring his personal relationship with me to his superiors."

"You love Julian, don't you?"

"It had not come to the surface until you asked. I know now that I love him, very much. It's going to be hard to have our relationship reduced to formal professionalism after we had become so close in such a limited amount of time." Mother wrapped me up in a hug as tears escaped from both of our eyes. I felt safe and loved.

"This sounds like something that we need to talk about. First Kiki go get the tea and cookies and then you can sit beside me and tell me all about it."

The time flew as our mother and daughter conversation over the tea and cookies started there and covered many things. At last, I took my leave of Mother, who continued to work for my good, made my preparations then went to bed.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but also new opportunities for growth and understanding.

Threads of Truth

A Transgender Coming of Age Romance

From the Harmony Aspirant Universe

Chapter 5: Sanctuary Secrets

By Ariel Montine Strickland

How will Kiki and Julian connect over the sanctuary project? Can Kiki cope with the news she receives from her mother?

Copyright 2025 by Ariel Montine Strickland.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Mondays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love

---

Chapter 5: Sanctuary Secrets

The morning light filtered through the vintage dress shop's windows with unusual intensity, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors as Kiki arrived earlier than usual. The previous day's confrontation with Margaret Thornfield had left her restless, and she'd found herself unable to sleep past dawn. Rose's wisdom about courage echoing in her mind, she'd decided to channel her nervous energy into productive work.

Rose was already in the shop, moving with her characteristic grace despite the subtle signs of fatigue that Kiki was beginning to notice more frequently. She wore a stunning 1950s day dress in deep navy with tiny pearl buttons, her silver hair pinned in its elegant chignon, but there was something different about her posture today—a careful deliberation that suggested she was conserving her energy for something important.

"Good morning, dear," Rose said warmly, her eyes brightening at Kiki's early arrival. "I was hoping you'd come in early today. There's something I've been meaning to show you, something that's been part of this shop's mission for longer than you might imagine."

Kiki felt a flutter of curiosity mixed with concern. Rose's tone carried the weight of significance, the careful cadence she used when preparing to share something meaningful. "What is it, Rose?"

Rose moved toward the back of the shop, gesturing for Kiki to follow. "It's easier to show than to tell," she said, her voice carrying a note of gentle excitement. "And I think it's time you understood the full scope of what we do here—what you'll be doing here."

They passed through the workroom where Kiki had spent so many hours learning restoration techniques, but instead of stopping at the familiar workspace, Rose continued toward a door Kiki had noticed but never seen opened. It was painted the same cream color as the walls, almost invisible unless you knew to look for it.

Rose produced an old brass key from her pocket, its surface worn smooth by decades of use. "This has been my secret for fifteen years," she said, turning the key in the lock with practiced ease. "Well, mine and Ada's. But it's time to expand our circle of trust."

The door opened to reveal a narrow staircase leading down into what Kiki had assumed was simply a basement storage area. But as they descended, the sound of soft mewing and the scent of clean litter and fresh air suggested something far more significant than storage.

The basement had been transformed into a sanctuary that took Kiki's breath away. Soft lighting illuminated a space that had been carefully designed for comfort and healing. Cat trees of various heights created vertical territories, while cozy sleeping nooks lined the walls. A dozen cats of different ages and conditions moved through the space with the relaxed confidence of creatures who knew they were safe and loved.

"Rose," Kiki whispered, her voice filled with wonder. "This is incredible."

An older woman with silver-streaked brown hair and gentle eyes looked up from where she'd been cleaning a feeding station. She wore practical clothes covered by a volunteer apron, and her face lit up with obvious affection when she saw Rose.

"Ada, I'd like you to meet Kiki," Rose said warmly. "Kiki, this is Ada Morrison, my partner in this particular mission. She's been helping me run the sanctuary since we started."

Ada's handshake was firm, her smile genuine. "Rose has told me so much about you," she said, her voice carrying the same gentle authority that Kiki had learned to associate with people who worked with vulnerable creatures. "She says you have a gift for understanding what needs healing."

Kiki looked around the sanctuary with growing amazement. Every detail had been carefully considered—from the ventilation system that kept the air fresh to the separate areas for cats with different needs. Some spaces were clearly designed for socialization, while others provided quiet retreats for more timid animals.

"How long has this been here?" Kiki asked, watching a tabby cat approach her with cautious curiosity.

"Fifteen years," Rose replied, settling into a comfortable chair that had obviously been placed there for her regular visits. "It started when Ada found a pregnant cat in the alley behind the shop. We couldn't find a no-kill shelter with space, so we made our own."

Ada nodded, her expression growing serious. "The need has only grown over the years. We've helped hundreds of cats find homes, and we provide a safe haven for those who need more time or specialized care."

Kiki knelt down as the tabby cat approached, allowing it to sniff her hand before gently stroking its head. The cat began purring immediately, and she felt the familiar sense of connection that came from caring for vulnerable creatures.

"This is why Margaret Thornfield's accusations stung so much," Rose said quietly. "She questioned our commitment to preservation and care, not knowing that we've been quietly preserving lives down here for years."

Ada's expression darkened slightly. "And now we have Harold Pemberton breathing down our necks. He's been making noise about zoning violations and health hazards, threatening to shut us down."

Kiki felt a surge of protective anger at the thought of anyone threatening this sanctuary. "What kind of violations?"

Rose sighed, her fatigue more apparent now. "Harold claims we're operating an unlicensed animal facility in a commercial district. He's technically correct—we never went through the formal permitting process because we were afraid of exactly this kind of scrutiny."

"But surely the city would support a rescue operation," Kiki said, though even as she spoke, she realized how naive that sounded.

Ada shook her head grimly. "Harold sees this as a public nuisance. He's been lobbying for stricter animal control ordinances, and he's using us as an example of why regulations need to be enforced."

Rose watched Kiki's face carefully as she processed this information. "This is why I wanted you to see this place, to understand what's at stake. The vintage dress shop is important, but this sanctuary represents something deeper—our commitment to caring for the most vulnerable."

Kiki felt the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. "What can we do?"

"We fight," Ada said simply. "But we fight smart. We get the proper permits, we document everything we do, and we build community support."

Rose nodded approvingly. "Ada's right. And that's where you come in, Kiki. You have skills we need, your ability to connect with people, your understanding of how to present our work in the best light."

Kiki felt overwhelmed by the trust they were placing in her. "I don't know anything about advocacy or dealing with city officials."

"You know about caring for things that need healing," Rose said gently. "Whether it's a damaged dress or a frightened cat, the principles are the same. You approach with patience, respect, and determination."

Ada moved to a filing cabinet and pulled out a thick folder. "We've been documenting our work for years—medical records, adoption records, volunteer schedules. We just need to organize it properly and present it to the right people."

Kiki accepted the folder, feeling its weight both literally and figuratively. "Where do we start?"

Rose's eyes twinkled with the strategic thinking that Kiki had learned to recognize. "We start by making sure Julian understands what's at stake. His museum connections might be valuable, and his documentation skills could help us present our case."

The mention of Julian's name sent a complex mix of emotions through Kiki. Their relationship had become strained after Margaret's confrontation, but the thought of working together on something this important felt both appealing and terrifying.

"Do you think he'll help?" Kiki asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Rose's knowing smile suggested she understood exactly what Kiki was really asking. "Julian cares about preserving important things, and he cares about you. I think he'll want to help once he understands what we're trying to protect."

Ada began showing Kiki around the sanctuary, explaining the daily routines and the specific needs of different cats. Some were recovering from medical procedures, others were working on socialization, and a few were permanent residents who would never be adoptable but deserved a safe, loving home.

"The key to running a sanctuary," Ada explained as they watched a group of kittens play, "is understanding that every creature has its own timeline for healing. You can't rush the process, but you can create the conditions where healing becomes possible."

Kiki felt the wisdom in Ada's words resonating beyond their immediate context. "That sounds like what Rose has been teaching me about restoration work."

"Same principles," Rose confirmed from her chair. "Whether you're working with vintage silk or a traumatized cat, you need patience, skill, and respect for what came before."

As the morning progressed, Kiki found herself falling in love with the sanctuary and its mission. The cats seemed to sense her genuine care, approaching her with increasing confidence. Ada shared stories of successful adoptions and challenging cases, painting a picture of dedicated work that had saved countless lives.

"Harold Pemberton doesn't understand what we do here," Ada said as they prepared to head back upstairs. "He sees problems and violations, not the lives we've saved."

Rose stood slowly, her movement careful but determined. "That's why we need advocates who can help others see what we see. Kiki, you have a gift for helping people understand the value of preservation and care."

Kiki felt the weight of expectation, but also a growing sense of purpose. "And the next steps?"

"We document everything properly," Rose said. "We prepare a presentation that shows our impact and our commitment to proper procedures. And we build a coalition of supporters who understand our mission."

Ada nodded enthusiastically. "I've been keeping detailed records, but we need someone with your communication skills to help us tell our story effectively."

As they climbed the stairs back to the shop, Kiki felt a fundamental shift in her understanding of her role. She wasn't just learning vintage clothing restoration—she was being prepared to carry forward a legacy of compassionate care that extended far beyond fashion.

Rose locked the basement door carefully, then turned to Kiki with an expression of quiet satisfaction. "Now you understand why this work matters so much to me. The dresses upstairs tell stories of women who found courage, and the cats downstairs represent our commitment to protecting the vulnerable."

Kiki nodded, feeling the connections between all aspects of Rose's work becoming clear. "It's all about preservation and care."

"Exactly," Rose said warmly. "And now it's time to teach you how to fight for what matters."

The brass bells chimed as the front door opened, and Julian's familiar voice called out a greeting. Kiki felt her heart skip at the sound, but also a new sense of purpose. The sanctuary had given her something concrete to focus on, a mission that transcended her personal anxieties.

Rose's eyes twinkled with obvious satisfaction. "Perfect timing," she murmured to Kiki. "Some conversations are easier when you have a clear purpose."

As Julian approached, carrying his usual documentation equipment, Kiki felt the weight of the sanctuary folder in her hands and the responsibility Rose had entrusted to her. The vintage dress shop had become more than a workplace—it was the center of a mission that required courage, advocacy, and the willingness to fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves.

Rose watched the interaction between Kiki and Julian with her characteristic knowing smile, recognizing that the sanctuary's revelation had provided exactly what both young people needed—a shared purpose that transcended their personal uncertainties and professional boundaries.

The morning light continued to stream through the shop windows, illuminating not just the vintage dresses but the beginning of a campaign to protect something precious and irreplaceable. Kiki felt herself standing at the threshold of a new kind of courage, one that would require her to step forward not just for herself, but for the vulnerable creatures who depended on the sanctuary's continued existence.

Kiki felt good about the time that she and Julian had spent together in the sanctuary. With the mews of cute kittens filling the space where they were working brought a calming effect. This project didn't have anything to do with vintage dresses, historical preservation or 'Margaret'. Their personal connection deepened here in the basement away from being observed. Kiki felt hope that their connection was still there, but also trepidation that it was born in secrecy with their isolation separated by a few stolen moments together. For now, it would have to do but Kiki, wanted more.

In the afternoon Kiki and Julian parted ways since he had to go back to the museum for a meeting and to perform needed work there. As they parted at the shop's front door with Julian assuming again his professional distance, Kiki could barely hold back a flood of tears to see Julian off. Rose's touch on her shoulder brought her after the door closed and they were left alone was all she needed in the moment, a shoulder to cry on.

"There, there, Kiki. let it all out. You've come all the way over to the feminine as those hormones course through your body and release your ability to fully express yourself". Kiki finally cried herself out and the shoulder to cry upon changed into a loving hug.

"Does love ever get easier, Grandmother?" Kiki asked as the two broke the hug and she stood looking at grandmother's eyes for the pool of wisdom within.

"Love is never easy but always worth it with the thrill of small victories and the agony of imagined defeats. The truth is somewhere in the middle between those two extremes."

"Thank you, Grandmother, you always know the right thing to say that I need to hear. I feel better now."

"Kiki, I want you to take the rest of the day off. Your mother phoned moments ago, and she has some news that she said was best shared in person. You deserve some time to take care of yourself. You know you must take care of yourself in order to take care of others. Kiki, go now."

"I will Grandmother, thank you." Grandmother Rose picked up from a table, Kiki's purse that she had retrieved after the phone call and handed it to her. Kiki started out for home, walking with a purpose, The scenery around made an impression as her smiling face showed her anticipation for the news that Mother would share with her when she came home.

~o~O~o~

"I'm home, Mother" said Kiki as her mother greeted her with a hug. "What's the news?"

"All good, darling daughter. I've made tea. Let's sit down in the kitchen and I will explain everything."

Kiki followed her mother into the kitchen and sat down to their mugs placed where they usually sat. Kiki's mother poured the tea from the kettle on the hot pad on the table and filled a mug for each of them.

"Kiki, the initial surgery to put right which once went wrong, is a simple outpatient procedure your vagina is already there connected to your uterus. All that needs to be done initially is to snip that layer of skin off that covers it. That will open things up so that any discharges have a place to exit without causing problems for you. You can kickstart your development by starting HRT then. Later on, there will be another surgery to create your labia and make your vaginal area like any other woman's, they'll also work on your clitoris to restore it to the way it should be."

"That's wonderful news, Mother. I'm already having hormone surges from my ovaries so the sooner the better."

"You left in such a hurry that you didn't have breakfast at all, did you get anything at work?"

"No, Mother, I spent the morning with Julian. I came right home after Grandmother Rose said you wanted to see me. So, no, nothing to eat at all since we had that snack watching that movie last night before I went to bed."

"That's my girl! When Grandmother Rose told me that she would send you home, immediately, I called the hospital, and they scheduled your surgery for 3 pm. I've laid out some scrubs for you to wear after your shower with the antibacterial beauty soap in the box by the sink. Once you do that it will be time to report to the hospital at 2 pm so they can get you ready for the surgery."

"Thank you, Mother, for always taking such good care of me. I'll go up and do as you instruct."

It didn't take long for Kiki to do the things to get ready for her surgery. She received a phone call from her mother after getting ready.

"My daughter come out and get into the car with me. I've just been out to the drugstore to get something you'll need."

"Of course, Mother." Kiki went out to the care and joined her mother in the front seat. In between them was a bag from the drugstore which Kiki looked inside to find out what she would need. Out came a plastic packaging bag of hospital maxi pads.

"You'll need those to protect your clothes from drainage after the surgery. It's also what the hospital recommends you wear for your first period."

"Thank you, Mother. You are so good to me." The grin on Kiki's face showed her mother just the way she felt.

~o~O~o~

Kiki woke up from the surgery in the recovery room.

"Welcome back, sweetheart. Everything went perfectly and you'll be able to go home, soon"

"I'm hungry, could I get something to eat."

A nurse with Janice on her name tag brought Kiki a tray of soft foods and beverages. "Hi, I'm Janice your surgical nurse back again. The Doctor says that you are to eat these things and be under observation for an hour after you finish eating. If all goes well, you can go home afterward. Your mother has your post-surgical care instructions and will be taking care of you. In the morning, you'll be able to resume normal activities with a ten-pound wight restriction. Any questions?"

"I'm good... and hungry. This tray is just what I need now. Thank you, Janice"

~o~O~o~

As her mother tucked her in bed wearing her favorite silk nightgown accompanied by matching panties with the hospital maxi pad attached to them, she kissed her forehead and whispered, "Good night, Kiki, my good girl."

The sleepy girl was able to catch hold of a burst of energy with a huge grin on her face, "Congratulations, Mother. I'm a girl!"

"Oh, you! Sleep tight, sweetie. Don't let the bed bug's bite!" Kiki's mother turned out the light and sat in the darkness in the big comfy chair in the room watching over her darling daughter who had such a monumental day. Soon she saw Kiki's cute, relaxed smile as she slept. She thought, " I live for days like this."