16. The Great Outdoors #3
Clem nodded and lifted the pail full of fish.
“Then I’ll meet you at the wagon after I clean these and bury the leavings.
” She started away but stopped, put the pail of fish on the ground, and pulled Kizzy into her arms, holding her close.
Kissing the top of her hair, Clem murmured, “You’re a beautiful woman, and there’s a type of man who thinks they have a right to use you because they are aroused by you.
They will hurt you if given the chance.”
Kizzy peered up into her concerned face. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“That’s my girl,” said Clem, nibbling her earlobe, raising a chill along her spine.
“My very,” the tip of her tongue teased Kizzy’s smile, “good,” their lips grazed as they stared into each other’s eyes, “girl.” She deepened the kiss, running possessive hands up and down Kizzy’s body.
“Go gather your greens, little woman.” Clem released her with a playful slap on her bottom, then picked up the fish and started into the trees toward camp.
Kizzy watched her tall lover stride away. She turned back to the lake, avoiding the bathers, retracing their steps to the fallen log. Ten minutes later, arms full of greens and onions, she headed back for camp, but hesitated when she reached the spot where they’d spied on the men.
One more peek? When would she ever get the chance again? She laughed at herself, but pushed into the sheltering brush down to the waterline to peer at the frolicking men.
More were in the water now, splashing and jumping on each other.
Several stood up to their knees in the lake, swishing, rinsing, and wringing out clothing after weeks of travel.
With avid curiosity, Kizzy examined one man’s privates after another, comparing them, her artist’s eye noting similarities and differences.
It struck her that men’s chests were breasts, only small and flat.
After looking her fill, she hurried back to their wagon. Clem had already lowered the chuck box, brought down the cast-iron skillet, and set their three-legged cauldron in the center of a fire ring, ready to light. She was so thoughtful.
Kizzy fetched the water for her. Taking their bucket to the stream above the camp, she started filling the cauldron, then lit the fire and tended it until it caught.
It would be an hour before the large vessel would heat the water to boiling.
After another four trips, crossing on stones out to where the swift water ran, taking care not to fall in, she managed to half fill the cauldron.
Whenever they had a source of clean water, they used up what was in their cistern, either on themselves, the mules, or laundry, then refilled it after the boiled water cooled.
Clem warned her they’d run into dry times when the trail veered from the rivers; they’d need to ration what they carried and take extra precautions.
“But until then we should enjoy the luxury of plenty.”
Kizzy sliced a piece of pork belly in the heavy cast iron pan.
While it rendered, she chopped the spinach, wild onion, and lemongrass, mixing them in with the bits of crumbled bacon until they wilted.
By the time Clem and the fish arrived, the water was steaming, and she was ready to dredge the filets through seasoned cornmeal and pop them in hot grease to fry.
She made coffee and served the fish on top of week-old cornbread to use the last of it.
“I saw Mr. Cushing, gave him a couple of fish, and asked him to take a look at Molly when he can,” Clem said, sitting down to their meal.
“He says we’re camping here through tomorrow to give the fellow with the broken shoulder a day of rest and, since it’s a Sunday, he’s holding a prayer meeting at sunrise if you want to attend.
I said I’d tell you, but he already knows I won’t. ”
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.”