Mending Charity's gown was definitely going to be a task.  It was one she took seriously though.  The least thing she could do for the young woman still confined to the medbay.  The surgical repair of her arm had gone well, but only time would tell how much damage there might be. 

Gwen frowned slightly as she placed the golden fabric into the basin to soak. Getting the blood out wouldn't be much of a problem, not for the young doctor.  She'd had to get blood stains out on more than one occasion.  The damage from the bullet and then where the fine fabric had been cut would prove a harder challenge.

She gently washed the material by hand. Hung it up to dry once it was clean.  She already knew the sleeve couldn't be saved.  The fabric was too damaged.  Once it was dry she carefully removed both sleeves.  She'd salvage what she could.  It was her nature. 'Waste not, want not' her mother would have said.  She took some of the lacey under-material from the bottom hem of the dress where it wouldn't be missed.  A little contemplation and she was able to fashion new lacey flowing sleeves. 

She could have left the dress sleeveless but was afraid that despite her best efforts she might have left Cherry with a scar.  Not that she'd done it really, who ever had shot the young woman was responsible, but in the end, she would feel responsible for every scar and every pins and needle feeling the young woman carried with her if there was any nerve damage. She'd done the best she could though.

She'd done the best she could, for Cherry and for Mr. King both.  She couldn't believe the number of scars that man carried on his chest, wondered if the rest of his body were just as scarred. A faint smile curving her lips thinking about how his muscled chest had felt under her blue gloved hands.  Wincing, sucking the finger she'd just poked with her sewing needle into her mouth.  That is what you get Gwendola Lucille for thinking such inappropriate thoughts and about a patient no less. Besides, he seemed most concerned about Miss Cherry, he'd not give two thoughts for some back-birth, wooly-headed, ninny-muggings like you. She frowned, looked at her handiwork and took out two sloppy distracted stitches and replaced them with neat and tidy ones. A few more quick stitches and the dress was repaired to her satisfaction.

She stood from her wooden rocking chair and held the dress up in front of her.  She wondered briefly what it'd be like to own such a fine dress.  It wasn't that she couldn't.  She could sew herself a dozen dresses just as fine if she took a notion to do so.  It just wasn't her style.  She had two sets of practical dresses for every day, one go-to-church dress and a couple sets of work clothes.  It'd be like putting pearls on a pig for her to own anything so fine as Miss Cherry's dress.  She never went anywhere to wear such frippery, that wasn't her life.  She couldn't help but take a couple swaying steps as she carried the dress over to the closet to get a hanger for it though, admiring the graceful flow of the skirt.  Wondered how it'd feel to be dancing with someone, arms about her waist as he twirled her about the dance floor.

She made a soft sound of disgust, almost a snort at herself and her daydreams.  She wasn't some fancy Companion or fine lady.  She was a doctor.  That's what she'd been raised to do.  Eventually, after she got the traveling bug out of her system, daddy and mama would expect her to come back to Santo, settle down, have hundreds of fat babies and serve as doctor to the community as her father had before her.

She wasn't sure where the next stop on this journey was.  She had signed a 4-week stint to stay on the space station and that was nearly up. She had to decide soon if she'd renew her contract here or if it was time to move on.  She wasn't really sure where she wanted to go next.  She'd figure that out when the time came she supposed.  For now she took the dress and carried it carefully down to Cherry's room in the medbay, hanging it on the back of the door.

Once the dress hand been hung up in Charity's room Gwen retreated upstairs once more to her own quarters. It had been a long day and she was tired, but not quite ready for sleep.

Gwen found herself frowning as she brushed out her hair.  Normally she enjoyed brushing her hair out, it had a calming effect on her but this evening she wasn't finding it soothing at all.  The bristles pulled through the golden tresses and she forced herself to count the strokes.  Nights like this she missed her mother, her quiet words of wisdom.  She didn't know why she felt so unsettled in her soul.

She'd like to chalk it up to seeing Uncle Jed after so long and finding out about Auntie Marlena. That had been quite upsetting.  She knew there was more to it than that though.  She couldn't help but think about the young woman's arm that she'd patched up earlier or the bullet she'd taken out of Mr. King's shoulder.  Even the stitches in Mr. Amorru.  She didn't know what kind of life they were living or what kind of adventures they'd been on.  It was so outside of her comfort zone.  It wasn't like she'd never patched up a bullet wound.  Even on Santo there were accidents sometimes while hunting. Part of her craved that sort of adventure before she settled down though.

But that poor man's chest...she could still remember what all those scars had felt like under her fingers.  She winced as she caught the brush in a tangle of her own making.  She shouldn't let herself get so distracted.  She couldn't help but think he'd probably been shot other places as well. She squinched her eyes closed, forcing herself to count, but the back of her eyelids was a perfect screen to imagine his well-muscled back and bare limbs and her eyes popped open as quickly as she'd shut them. Not a bit appropriate.  Not one bit.  She dragged the brush through her hair a few more strokes, taking the last of the snarls out and then began the task of rebraiding it.

She had gone to bed one night without braiding it and there had been an emergency and she'd had to braid it on the fly and it just took too long. For bed, she braided it into two separate plaits, twisting them up and pinning them on top of her head.  The nightdress she wore was probably old fashioned with its high collar and long sleeves and hem that came down to the floor. She thought sometimes about buying something a little more modern, something store bought.

Or maybe sewing something fine like the dress Miss Cherry wore.  Not that she had anywhere to wear something so nice. Maybe someday, maybe. Instead, once her hair was finished, she picked up her sewing to work on.  Not a fancy dress, nothing like that, but the quilt she had been working on since before she left home.  She'd been piecing together squares for months.  It was time consuming work, but she found it soothing.  The delicate stitches and steady hand it required was good to quiet her mind. Eventually she'd complete the quilt and it would be the gift she'd give her future husband once they were betrothed.  A way for him to measure how good of a wife she'd make.

She wondered how good of a wife she would make. She knew she didn't want to marry Matthias.  She couldn't imagine giving up being a doctor just because she was married, and he'd want her to.  Plus, she just didn't feel anything for him.  Not like a woman should feel for the man she planned to marry.  He was nice and all, but when he held her hand all she felt was a sweaty palm.  She'd felt more touching Mr. King than....She cut that train of thought right off. She was not going there again.  Nope. No.

She set the sewing aside with a sigh.  She didn't know what had gotten into her. She was not some foolish schoolgirl to be smitten by the first man to come along with a smile and a wink.  Truthfully just a smile, a very polite smile, nothing more, he hadn't winked at all.  He'd been just appreciative of the medical care she'd provided and he seemed quite taken with Miss Cherry.  She certainly couldn't compete with a fine lady like that.  Not that she'd want to even try, for Heaven's sake, what had gotten into her.

She knew what she needed, yes, she'd just read in her bible some.  That would be good and relaxing before bed, put her mind right.  She settled herself into bed and took up the well worn bible, opening it to a random spot, beginning to read out loud softly to herself, "On the night of their betrothal, the wife shall open to the man as the furrow to the plow and he shall work in her; in and again, till she brings him to his full and rest him then upon the sweat of her breasts." She slammed the bible shut with a resounding thump and turned the light out.  It was going to be a long and restless night for the young doctor.

Location: Gwen's quarter's above the medbay : After her shift the day Charity and Emit are reunited -

Gwen made a point to remove the dress that Charity had gifted her from the room so as not to offend the woman.  It would be rude for her not to take it after all.  Miss Charity had been rather insistent and it would be in bad form to do harm to a patient by upsetting her so. 

She carried the dress tenderly up to her little room above the Medbay.  Not that she had any use for a dress like that or that she'd ever wear it.  The logical thing to do would be sell it and give the proceeds to the less fortunate or donate the dress itself. She hung the dress on the front of her closet, one hand lingering on the fine material. But it was a gift after all. Mama would tan her hide for being so disrespectful with such a generous gift.  Even if she likely wouldn't wear it. It probably wouldn't fit her anyway. The neckline was so low she certainly couldn't wear it out in public even if it did fit. And it wasn't like she had a passel of young men knocking down her door to take her out anywhere to wear such a dress.

She took a quick shower and washed her hair, then dressed in her long woolen dressing gown, hair bundled up in the towel.  It took forever to brush out and dry.  It would need to be carefully re-braided before bed, it took too long when there was an emergency.  She brushed out her hair with practiced ease and then left it loose to dry.  She'd braid it after she did her Bible lessons.

She picked up her Bible to do her studies but found her eyes drawn instead by the golden lure of the beautiful dress.  It wouldn't hurt to try it on and see if it fit at least. Certainly there wasn't any real harm in that.  Just a bit of foolishness and she'd have a good laugh at herself.

She slipped off the white night gown, her flesh goose-pimpling in the chill of the room and then began dressing herself in the elegant gown.  She could understand now why high born ladies usually needed servants to help them get into all of the fluff and foofarah.  By the time she got it on and settled she was laughing at herself.

At least until she looked into the mirror.  She had thought Charity was being true to her name, charitable, with her compliments, but if Gwen were being honest, she felt like a fine lady dressed in the fine dress. The bodice was much lower than she'd ever be comfortable in, showing an expanse of creamy bosom.  The dress itself clung to her trim figure, showing off curves that belied her youthful face.  The golden color complimented her creamy skin and her honey hued tresses. One could almost imagine her at a fancy shindig, like the one where her mother and father had met.

She could remember her mother showing her the pictures, singing the songs she had danced to with her father that night.  The dance lessons came back then, clear as the days she'd taken them, though she never knew why she'd need them. "Gwendola, head up, back straight.  Keep your elbow locked.  Stop trying to lead dear, let the man lead you.  Remember men don't want a woman who'll boss and drag them about. Pretty is as pretty does dear." A hundred such other things that had made her dread those lessons.

It seemed different now.  Maybe it was this dress.  Maybe it was being a woman grown. But she began to hum.  Her foot tapped lightly as she found her rhythm and then she stepped out, head up, back straight.  She brought her elbow up in position, locking her arm, imagining her partner's strong hands at her waist, leading her.  Her eyes drifted closed counting off the steps silently as she waltzed about the small room, the soft sound of her bare feet a whisper, though they might possibly hear the 1,2,3, 1,2,3 waltzing steps in the Med-bay room below.  The dress flowed and swirled about her and she felt every inch a princess.

She tried to imagine dancing with Mathias.  Everyone expected her to go back to Santo and marry him but she just couldn't picture it.  She couldn't imagine his arms around her. Him leaning in to kiss her.  The humming stopped abruptly and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she'd never, ever marry a boy like Mathias.

She stood a moment longer, hands folded in front of her, staring into the big blue eyes of the young woman in the mirror, wondering what sort of man she wanted to ask her to dance.