Lizzie’s Unforgettable Dance

Featured in the Romance Newsletter - July 16, 2009
Featured in the Romance/Love Newsletter - September 9, 2009
Featured in the Romance/Love Newsletter - October 29, 2009

Prompt – No. 5
The Old West, a small town, a box social, horse manure and a somewhat heroic gunslinger.



Lizzie Campbell was helping her mother finish the hem on her new cobalt gown.  Mid-morning sunshine streamed through multiple open windows, giving the fabric a jewel-like glow.

“You are going to look lovely, my dear,” Mama said.  “This color really brings out the blue of your eyes.”

“I don’t need such a fancy dress.  It’s just a dance.  I can wear one of my church dresses.”

“But, Lizzie, you’re seventeen now!  And this will be your first time participating in a box social. It’s time to think of marriage.  All of the eligible young men from all over the county will be there.  It’s a big opportunity.” 

“But, Mama, I don’t want to marry some farm boy!”

“Nonsense, my dear.  How about that Whiting boy?  He’s quite a nice-looking young man and the Whiting family has the biggest spread around.  He’ll make quite a good catch for some lucky girl.”

“Oh, Mama, you just don’t understand!”

“What’s to understand?  Every young woman is expected to get married and have a family, that’s what we do.  Goodness, you wouldn’t want to be an old maid, would you?”

Why can’t I make Mama see? Lizzie thought.  She doesn’t realize how rough a life those farmwomen have.  How could she when she’s always sitting here making lovely dresses out of gorgeous fabrics?  She’s never seen them come into the store with their sun-baked skin, frizzled hair and rough, calloused hands. They all look old and worn out far beyond their years.  I couldn’t live like that!

When Lizzie finished the skirt panel she was working on, she glanced at her mother.  “I’ve finished this section, do you want me to continue?”

“No, thank you, dear.  There’s only a bit more.  Finish off that part and I’ll do the rest.”

Obediently, Lizzie made three tiny stitches, bit off her thread and stuck her needle in the pincushion. 

“Lizzie, would you go to the store and ask your father when I can expect the material for Cecelia Morgan’s wedding dress.  I’ll need to get started on it soon.”

“Okay, Mama.”

“Oh, and don’t forget your parasol!  The sun is getting bright.”

“I won’t forget, Mama.”  She stood up, shook out her long, full skirt and left the sewing room proceeding down the hallway.  Retrieving her parasol from the stand, she exited the house into the bright, warm morning and gazed around the sleepy little town.  Opening her sunshade, she lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped off the porch onto the dusty boardwalk. 

Approaching the Morgan City Bank, she saw Mr. Driscoll, the sleazy teller, step out of the bank door. She slowed her pace, hoping to avoid him.  He gave her the heebie jeebies.

But Horace Driscoll waited.  “Good morning, Miss Lizzie.”  He smiled his lecherous smile and fell into step beside her.

“Morning.”  Trying to ignore him, she saw Sheriff Hayes sitting in the shade of his porch and waved.  She loved the grandfatherly man who entertained all the youngsters with tales of his earlier exploits.  “Excuse me, Mr. Driscoll, I need to speak with the Sheriff.”

Feeling the teller watching her as she crossed the dirt street, she gave the Sheriff a bright smile.  “Good morning, Sheriff.  How are you this fine morning?”

“A lot better now that you’ve come to brighten an old man’s day, my dear,” he said, lowering his chair to all four legs.  “I s’pose you’re all excited about Saturday’s big doin’s.”

“Not really.  Mama’s planning on parading me around like a prize horse at auction.”

“Ha! Ha!  Got marriage on her mind, does she?”

“I guess,” Lizzie said glumly.  She shifted her attention to a new wanted poster tacked to the wall.  “Jesse James, huh?  Ten-thousand dollars, ‘Dead or Alive’, sounds like they’re really desperate.”

The Sheriff nodded.  “You don’t mess with the railroads.”

“Sounds like it.”  She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Driscoll had disappeared.  “I guess I’d better be getting to the Store.  Mama sent me and she’ll be wondering.”

“Nice seeing you, my dear.  Tell your Ma and Pa howdy for me.”

“I will.”  With a wave, she turned back across the street.


Saturday afternoon, Lizzie put on her new gown and stood before the oval mirror.  Mama had brushed her long honey hair up and away from her face, fastening a large matching bow in the back. 

She had spent most of the day, under her mother’s watchful eye, preparing her supper.  It was packed into a basket that Mama had insisted on decorating with a ruffle of her dress material.

“But, Mama,” she had protested, “nobody’s ‘spose to know whose their bidding on!” 

Mama waved away her objections and brought out a blue cloth to cover the basket.

When Lizzie heard the first farm wagon rumbling down the street toward the church, she grabbed her basket, slipped out the back door and hurried to the church. 

After leaving her basket on the front pew, she stole back outside and went to meet the Givens family who were just unloading their wagon.

“Hi, Mary!” she called as she approached.

“Lizzie!  I haven’t seen you since when?  Easter?  By the way, what are we supposed to do with these?”  She held up her basket.

“Preacher said we’re just to leave them inside the church.  Here, I’ll take it for you.”

“Wait!  I’ll go with you.”

“That’s okay.  I’ll be right back and we can catch up.”  She hurried away. Now no one will know for sure which one is mine. 

Soon, she and Mary were sitting in the shade of a huge old oak tree, giggling as they compared thoughts about all of the boys they knew.  As more and more families arrived the group of girls continued to grow in number.  Before they realized it, the sun hung low above the horizon and their excitement increased as the time for the auction neared.

“Lizzie,” one of the girls asked.  “Who’s that guy?”

Lizzie looked in the direction she was nodding and saw a tall, well-built young man approaching from the livery stable.  He was dressed in a black western hat, vest, pants and boots.  His white shirt stood out in contrast.  “I’ve no idea,” Lizzie answered.  “I’ve never seen him before.”

Just then, the man stopped and wiped his boots in the grass.  “Glad he’s getting rid of the horse manure,” one of the girls giggled.

“Wonder if he’ll bid on any of our suppers,” another mused.

“Hope it’s mine,” said another.  “He’s really good looking.”

“Oh, he’s too old to be interested in any of us!  He must be in his twenties.”

“Well, you never know,” Mary commented, the wistful tone in her voice conveying that she hoped he bought hers.

Lizzie watched the man with silent interest as he joined a group of men and shook hands with each of them. Not from around these parts, she thought.  Wonder why he’s here. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention!”  The rumble of voices faded into silence.  Everyone turned to where Reverend Thomas stood on a crate in front of a long plank table set up on saw horses.  It was covered with multi-colored tablecloths and topped by quite a variety of decorated baskets.

“Thank you,” he continued in his booming voice.  “Before we get started here, I wanted to let you know that the proceeds of this here auction will go into our fund to buy a bell for the church tower.  Now I know these young gentlemen are anxious to share these delicious suppers,” his hand waved over the laden table, “with our beautiful young ladies.”

He turned and picked up one of the baskets.  “Now, who’ll give me a bid on this beautiful basket?  I’m sure the young lady is just as beautiful, whoever she may be.”

“Ten cents!” one boy called out, his face turning a burning red.

“Twelve!” yelled another.

Little by little the bids rose until they stalled at twenty cents.  “Going once,” the preacher called.  “Going twice,” he paused, but got no further response.  “Sold!  To the young gentleman in the brown shirt.”

The boy shyly came forward to pay his bill and accept his prize.  With a smile of anticipation, he turned to the group of girls, held the basket up and waited.  Blushing, one girl rose and went to meet him.  Together the couple walked away from the crowd.

One by one the suppers were auctioned and the group of girls thinned.

Reverend Thomas lifted Lizzie’s basket high and the bidding started much as the others before it. 

When it reached twenty-five cents and stalled, Lizzie discovered that she was holding her breath and her heart was pounding beneath the tucks of her bodice.

“Fifty cents!” called out a very smug-looking Horace Driscoll.

Oh no,  Lizzie thought. None of the other boys can afford that.  Please, God, don’t let him get it. 

The crowd stared in stunned silence at the strange Mr. Driscoll.

“One dollar!” boomed a strong voice from the fringe of the group. A shocked gasp rose as both parents and hopeful bidders turned as one toward the sound.

Lizzie’s heart skipped a beat and then rushed to catch up as the handsome stranger stepped forward and accepted the basket with a wide smile.  Locking her gaze with his, she rose as if in a trance and went to meet him.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly when they stood face to face. 

He laughed.  “I’ve been watching you,” he admitted, “and you didn’t look too happy when that guy made that bid.”

“Mr. Driscoll?”  She shook her head.  “No, I wasn’t happy about that at all.”

They moved toward a quiet corner of the churchyard and Lizzie spread the cloth on the grass.  “You’re new around here.  I mean,” she blushed, “I know everybody in town and I’ve never seen you before.”

“You’re right.  I just got in this afternoon.”  He sat down and smiled.  “This is my first meal in your fair city.”

“Well, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“I’m sure I won’t be.”

“What do you do?  I don’t see how you could afford . . . I’m so sorry.  How very rude of me!”

He laughed.  “Not at all.  I’m a bounty hunter.”

Her eyes lit up with excitement.  “Are you going after that Jesse James?  I saw the poster on him.”

“No, not this time,” he said with a chuckle.  “Actually, I got a telegram from Sheriff Hayes asking me to come.”

“Oh.” Why was the sheriff calling in a bounty hunter? she wondered. But I’ve been nosey enough.  If he wants me to know, he’ll tell me. 

“So tell me about you.  You might start with your name.”  He blushed.  “I’m Richard Taylor, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Richard.  My name’s Lizzie Campbell, but there not much to tell.” She began serving their dinner.  “I was born right here and have been here ever since.”

Getting acquainted while they ate, time seemed to fly.  The sun had set and the sky was darkening by the time they finished and Lizzie began to repack the basket.  “So are you going to the dance?” Lizzie asked, hoping she didn’t sound too anxious.

“The sheriff mentioned a dance, where is it?”

“In Landry’s barn.  It’s right over there,” she pointed, “behind the livery stable.”

“Are you going?”

“Planned on it.”

“Then I’m going.”

Richard picked up her basket and together they walked toward the barn.  As they neared, the fiddlers finished their tuning up and a lively beat poured through the wide, open doors.

Laughing, Lizzie pointed to the corner just inside the door.  Richard set down her basket and hand-in-hand they ran onto the dance floor.

As dance followed dance Lizzie found herself drowning in his warm brown eyes and thrilling to the feel of his strong arms around her.  She began feeling a giddiness that she had never before experienced.  She never wanted to leave his arms and struggled to accept the fact that, after this evening, he would likely walk out of her life forever.

At ten o’clock, the music stopped and one of the musicians stepped forward.  “Ladies and gents,” he bellowed over the noise of the crowd.  “It’s time to call it a night.  We all got an early day tomorrow.”

Everyone began gathering up belongings and drifting out into the evening. 

Richard turned to Lizzie.  “I’d like to walk you home.”

Unable to speak, she smiled and nodded.

He paused to get her basket and they stepped out into the shimmering moonlight.  “I’m so glad I met you tonight.  I guess I should thank your Mr. Driscoll.”

Lizzie could only giggle.

He stopped and took her hand.  “Seriously, you’ve helped me make up my mind.”

“What did I do?”

“Just being you.”  He paused for a long moment while they continued walking across the field.  “Sheriff Hayes called me here to see if I’d be interested in a job.”

“A job?  What kind of job?”

“Your good Sheriff’s planning on retiring soon.  Thinks he’s too old.  He asked if I’d be willing to settle down and take over.”

Lizzie could hardly believe her ears. He might not be leaving after all? 

“I wasn’t sure,” Richard continued.  “I mean I’m used to being on the move almost constantly, chasing the bad guys all over the countryside.  Staying in one place, well, I just wasn’t sure that was right for me.”

“I think you’d make a great sheriff!”

He laughed.  “Does that mean that I could be seeing you?”

“I don’t see why not.  After all, how could Mama, or Pa for that matter, object to me seeing the Sheriff?  Goodness!”

He stopped again, placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upward.  “And how about you, Miss Lizzie Campbell?  Would you object?”

Lizzie could feel the blush rising in her cheeks and hoped the moonlight wouldn’t allow him to see it.  “No,” she said breathlessly.  “I wouldn’t object at all.”

“Good.”  He slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him.  “Now, I’d better be getting you home before your pa calls out a posse.”

They soon reached the boardwalk and walked demurely toward the Campbell's.  Richard followed Lizzie onto the porch and into the house.

“Pa! Ma!” she called out.  When they appeared in the kitchen doorway, she said,  “I want you to meet Richard Taylor.”

Pa nodded his head, “We’ve met.”

Mama came forward. “Nice meetin’ you, Mr. Taylor.”  She took the basket from him.

“A pleasure meeting you both,” Richard replied with a slight bow.  “Well, I reckon I’d better be going.”

“Will we be seeing you at church in the morning, Mr. Taylor?” Mama asked.

With a twinkle in his eye, he smiled at Lizzie.  “I’m sure you will, Mrs. Campbell. I’m sure you will.”

Lizzie followed him to the door and watched him step off the porch, perch his hat on his head and stride, whistling, down the street.


Word Count:  2495