Page 62 of My Darling Clementine

She forked up a bite of fried fish and cornbread, licking her lips with pleasure. “You sure do know how to cook. I’ve never tasted anything like this while on the trail.”

“I had some some help from Mrs. Olson, our wedding cake baker. She tucked a jar of crushed garlic and a dozen packets of dried spices, into that picnic basket. I don’t know what half of them are, but we’ll find out.” She grinned. “And she gave us a jar of peach jam I’ve hidden for a special occasion.”

“Peach jam?” asked Clem, eyes flashing with a wicked grin, licking her lips. “What else are you hiding?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kizzy said with a wide-eyed look of innocence. Anticipatory excitement grew in her as she teased. “There is still so much you don’t know about me, Mr. Kabobblebopper.”

Clem grinned and bit her lower lip. “You’re right. I’ve a lot to learn.” She nodded and finished her dinner. Settling back in her chair, she crossed her legs and pulled out her pocket watch, squinting at it by firelight, winding it with careful fingers. “Let me see. It’s already six thirty,” She squinted at the setting sun. “It’ll be dark in less than an hour.”

Piercing eyes fixed on Kizzy with a smoldering look. “I’ll clean up dinner, bank the fire, and cover the water. You pack a basket with what we need for our baths, and fresh clothes to put on after.”

Kizzy nodded. “You know a private place?”

“I’ll find one,” said Clem with a smile. “But we need to leave in ten minutes to have time to get anywhere before dark.”

Excited by more than just the idea of a bath, she jumped up from the table. “I’ll be ready in five.”

Chapter seventeen

Cherished

It took seven, but Kizzy scurried back to the now banked fire with the packed basket in hand. “Ready,” she cried, breathless.

“Well done,” said Clem with warm approval in her deep voice, returning from the wagon with a knapsack on one shoulder. She took the basket from her and said, “What a wonderful wife you are,” hugging her to her side. “A beautiful, clever, efficient woman.”

The praise was intoxicating. Kizzy received very little approval growing up, and that in small doses dealt out by a mother afraid to be labeled ‘permissive’ by judgmental church women. A shiver of gratification ran through her, and she developed an instant craving for more.

She hugged Clem tight around her waist. “That may be, but after almost three weeks on the trail I’m a very dirty wife,” she batted her eyelashes up at laughing eyes, “with an even dirtier husband.” She grinned. “Let’s go find that private place.”

Clem chuckled, leading the way down to the lake, easing brush aside for Kizzy to pass, holding out a steadying arm as they crossed unexpected dips and rises in the landscape, guiding her as they moved around the water’s edge. By then, the noisy, carefree men had surrendered the lake, returning to their wagons to dry out and eat their dinners.

A cloudless sunset colored the still water, surrounding it with sheltering shadows beckoning from its darkened shore. As a peaceful dusk settled, they heard nothing but the loon’s haunting calls and the occasional splash of a fish.

“This is beautiful country.” Kizzy gestured around them.

“More and more farm folks are settling out here, so the U.S. is building forts along the way,” said Clem. “We should reach Fort Laramie in a week.”

“A fort,” she marveled, imagining tall wooden towers guarding stout walls enclosing a sturdy cavalry presence.

“Watch your step here,” said Clem, finding a small creek half-hidden with overgrown ferns and grass. “I can hop from stone to stone to get across, but they’re rather wide apart,” she said, looking down at Kizzy’s skirt. “Is that going to hobble you? I can carry you across, then come back and get our things.” She seemed only half joking.

“I do not need carrying,” Kizzy said with an indignant sniff. “If you can do it, I can do it.”

“Okay,” said Clem with a grin. “Follow me.”

With the light, sure steps of a dancer, Kizzy clutched her skirt above her knees and followed from rock to rock across the moving water. She hopped where Clem did and landed on the bank right behind her. “There,” she said. “That wasn’t so hard.” She took a breath. “Should we go much farther?”

“We’re already out of sight of the beach the men used earlier, but I want to go to a little bay I spotted while we were fishing. It’s up and around the bend there, see?”

Kizzy nodded, heading that way. She stopped, listening. “Oh, no. I hear splashing. Someone beat us there.” She sighed, disappointed. “We’ll have to find another spot.”

“Unless I’m very much mistaken,” said Clem, reaching a hand down from a large rock to help Kizzy clamber up, “we are alone.” She nodded at a sheltered pool at the base of a short waterfall where two tributaries joined before dropping into the lake below. “I saw this from over there,” she pointed across the lake, “where we were fishing. It’s not marked on Cushing’s map, so no one traveling with us knows it’s here.” With careful steps, she crossed a wide bed of dried river rock leading to the water.

“The sun has almost set but lucky us, it looks to be a long dusk and the air’s still warm. Let’s undress and wash, because you’re right, there’s plenty of trail dust that needs to be scrubbed off. I’ll wash your hair, and then we can sit on the rocks to towel off and dry.” She reached into a hip pocket and pulled out a flask. “I brought a little rum to ward off the chill.”

Kizzy’s eyes grew round. Drink the devil’s brew? She shuddered. I can’t do that.

Wait, why couldn’t she? Because she’d been told not to? She was a grown woman, married, and a long way from home. Kizzy could drink it if she wanted to.