Page 42 of My Darling Clementine

“Hush, you.” Her bride blushed a pretty shade of pink, nodding toward their young flower girl, all ears and eagerness. “Okay, Gabby, lead the way.”

They watched her skip across the lobby to the parlor door as Clem took Kizzy’s arm. “It was kind of you to make her your flower girl,” she whispered. “What a wonderful touch.”

“You couldn’t be expected to think of everything.” Kizzy patted her arm.

“I love a clever woman,” whispered Clem.

“Me, too,” Kizzy answered so low only she could hear. “Lucky us, we’re each about to marry one.”

Together they strolled through the lobby, stepping through the door as two singles. Half an hour later, they rushed out as a married couple, under a rain of tossed rice and hearty congratulations to accept the best wishes of strangers.

While their guests surged into the bar for finger-food and drinks, Kizzy and Clem feasted in the dining room. The Bates, including Gabby, joined them. So did Mrs. Blair and her daughters, along with jolly Mr. Blair, a short, round man with double chins. Tables filled, everyone dug in with hearty appetites as the wine flowed.

As they rose, stuffed and ready to dance, Clem asked for two extra plates of food and carried them into the saloon. She grinned and handed them to the surprised bartender. “This is for you, the other’s for the fiddler. You two are responsible for the excellent mood everyone’s in. Thank you.” She meant it and followed up with a handshake across the bar.

The barkeep grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Dennison. That’s mighty thoughtful of you. I’ll save mine, and we’ll eat during Jimmy’s break,” he said, nodding at Clem, then stashing the dinner plates out of sight. “We’ll toast you and the missus while we eat.”

“Enjoy your meals,” she said, turning to Kizzy who watched the exchange.

“You’re a kind, generous,” she hesitated for the briefest moment, “man, aren’t you?” Kizzy searched Clem’s face. “That wasn’t just for show, was it?”

“No more than adding a last minute lovesick flower girl to the wedding,” she laughed. “Fortunate circumstances should be shared.” As Kizzy nodded, Clem swooped in and kissed her while waving at Jimmy.

The opening strains of “Lavender’s Blue” started playing. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Dennison?” Clem swept off her top hat and crossed her belly with that arm, bowing low. Rising, she tossed the hat into the air without a care for where it landed.

“You may, Mr. Dennison,” cried Kizzy with a delighted laugh. “I’d do the same, but three women worked hard to get this veil to stick.”

“Let it swirl around us.” Clem pulled her beautiful bride into her arms.

The fiddler began singing. “Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, Lavender’s green ...” The newlyweds took to the empty dance floor. “I’ll be your king, dilly dilly, if you’ll be my queen.”

Clem, unsure of Kizzy’s dancing skills, shifted her feet back and forth in an easy box step, the first she’d ever learned. With a hand on her waist, she led her around the floor.

Kizzy smiled at her, keeping pace with a touch of impatience.

Grinning, Clem pulled her closer and began some serious leading, pleased to find her keeping up step for step. When Kizzy squeezed the hand she held and pinched her earlobe, Clem’s feet danced faster in immediate response. Challenge on, little missy.

Keeping up with the couple, the fiddler adjusted the tune, repeating it several times and increasing the tempo. He grinned with the rest of the guests as the two swirled around the room in their elegant clothes, the complexity of their dance steps increasing. By the time Jimmy’s song ended, he was out of breath and the dancers both clung to each other. The guests burst into applause as they ended with a kiss.

“You’re quite a dancer, Mrs. Dennison,” Clem said with a low bow.

“I’m pleasantly surprised myself,” Kizzy teased, smiling up at her from a charming curtsy.

Chapter eleven

Expectations

For an hour that felt much longer, Clem watched as men whisked Kizzy away for dance after dance. She simmered as one after another swung her around, trying to be patient as she waited.

After someone trod on the pretty leather shoes one time too many, Mrs. Blair rescued the bride, pulling Kizzy over to a table to sit and celebrate among the ladies. Lucille, Debbie, Gabby, and the two matrons formed a united feminine front, giving her respite from the men’s advances.

Realizing she had social obligations to attend, Clem approached the laughing women.

“It’s nice to see you sitting down,” she said, standing behind Kizzy, possessive hands on her wife’s bare shoulders. “It’s my turn to make you jealous, my dear, while watching me dance with other women.” She turned to Mrs. Blair. “Madam, may I have the honor?”

“Bless you, no,” cried the seamstress. “I’m too old for that kind of nonsense.” She smiled up at her portly husband as he walked over to their table with a beer in hand. “We haven’t danced in… I don’t know how long.”

“Well, that ends tonight,” said Mr. Blair, setting his beer on the table and taking his statuesque wife’s hands. “I’ve been inspired by your example, Mr. Dennison. You dance with a younger woman, sir, while your elders show you how it’s done.” He twirled his surprised wife under his raised arm, then grabbed her slender waist. “Try to keep up, young’uns,” he cried, moving his wife onto the dance floor.