Page 64 of My Darling Clementine

Kizzy shivered, heat shooting to her center.

Clem kissed the top of her head and released her. “Let’s finish dressing before you catch cold.” She found her clean binding, and with quick, efficient movements wrapped her breasts, then pulled on fresh underwear with a brand new johnson.

“It looks different.” Kizzy’s eyes widened. “That one’s thicker, and longer.”

“I’ve been experimenting,” said Clem, pulling on her pants. “This will work better when I take you from behind.”

“Take me from behind?” Kizzy pursed her lips, imagining it. “That will be new.”

“I thought it might.” From her knapsack, Clem pulled her flask and took a healthy swig, then found a large rock. “Come sit here between my legs,” she said.

Kizzy finished putting on the only other dress she brought from Rocheport, this one a lavender plaid, buttoned to wrist and neck. Carrying her shoes and stockings, she climbed between Clem’s thick thighs, their welcome heat surrounding her, and without a word accepted the flask. Feeling the wickedness of willful sinning, a familiar, somewhat comforting sensation, she raised the rum to her lips and filled her mouth with the liquor.

It burned like the hellfire her father preached about. She held it there, refusing to give in to panic, but would not swallow, still unsure.

Clem took the flask from her hand, watching.

She couldn’t be a coward. Kizzy took a deep breath, then released a drop of the rum down her throat. It was warm, but no worse than a cup of coffee. She released another sip down her throat; again, only a warm trickle went down. Reassured, she swallowed the rest in her mouth and choked, her body racked with coughs. She spluttered.

“If you spray it on your dress, you’ll walk around looking prim and proper and reeking of alcohol,” Clem warned with a laugh, patting her back, then taking another swallow.

When she got her breath back, never one to let something get the better of her, Kizzy took the flask and held it in front of her face. “Get thee inside me, Satan,” she intoned with mock seriousness before taking a smaller swig, this time only wincing and rubbing her nose as it went down. She passed it back.

“Drink what you want,” Clem said after taking her third swallow. “Or finish it,” she said as she spread Kizzy’s damp hair across her legs. “I only filled it halfway; there’s not much left.”

Sipping the rum while Clem’s gentle fingers parted her hair in sections, she felt naughty, almost wicked, with a missing layer between her and cold stone. A tantalizing image from their wedding night played in her memory, that of Clem’s dancing eyes in the hotel mirror watching her bottom peeking from lacy pantaloons.

“I’m thinking about them, too,” whispered Clem, picking up her brush, running gentle fingers along her neck. With careful strokes, she started at the tips of Kizzy’s thick, golden-brown hair, working her way up.

Kizzy wondered at her life as nimble fingers scratched and massaged her scalp, soothing her soul. How did she get this lucky? Clem was strong, gentle, thoughtful, and generous, everything she needed in a… well, husband.

Each brush stroke eased her loneliness, untangling knots of anxiety she didn’t know she carried, soothing her into her first sense of belonging. She watched the moon rise in the sky, relaxed in a whole new way. Safe and protected between Clem’s knees, being treated with tender kindness, Kizzy felt... cherished.

This is what being cherished feels like. The thought warmed her more than the rum.

Clem is so different from anyone I’ve ever met, impressive, and fun, and exciting. She was all that, and more. So much more. She’s changed my life. I’ve never been this happy or hopeful.

An astonishing thought made her gasp. I love her.

Head and heart spinning with emotions, heart fluttering in her chest, Kizzy released a deep sigh. She wanted to say how she felt, but needed better words.

“Sad?” asked Clem, using long smooth strokes to finish the brushing. “Regretting your rash actions?” Gathering Kizzy’s hair in her hands, holding it up, she kissed the back of her neck. “Are you sorry you married me?”

“Oh, no,” Kizzy cried, turning between Clem’s legs, placing her hands on muscular thighs, and staring up at her. “The opposite. I never made a better decision.” She smiled, eyes brimming, lips quivering. “I,” She stopped, then tried again. “I think I….” But again, she stopped, looking away, hesitant to be the first to say it.

What if Clem didn’t feel the same? What had her mother said? Like salt in the soup, once Kizzy said the words, she couldn’t take them back. Clem could never unhear them and things would become strained between them.

But what if she feels the same? Kizzy wanted Clem to love her. But what if she doesn’t?

She spoke anyway. “Um, there’s something I want to tell you, but I’m having trouble saying it.”

“What, Kizzy?” Clem’s eyes held concern. “It’s all right, you can tell me anything.”

She shut her eyes, screwed up her courage, opened her mouth, and blurted out something else. “It’s okay with me you’re an atheist.” The blood rushed from her face, her hands dropped to her lap, and she swung back to face the moon, a distant witness to her humiliating cowardice.

The weight of her heavy hair settled against her back. Gentle hands landed on her shoulders, urging her to turn back around. Heart in her throat, she did.

Clem’s kind eyes held compassion as she rose, pulling Kizzy up with her. “I am relieved to know it.” She hugged her. “Thank you.”