The Adventures of Dixie Dandelion

by R. H. Burkett

  Well what’ya know? Sassy revealed yet another side. Always full of surprises.

  “Lin Chow is a Buddhist. It’s a long story, but basically a Buddhist monk is very pure in heart and about as close to God as a body can get. Of course, they don’t call Him God. But what’s in a name? A cougar is just a big cat, but I don’t call him kitty, and I don’t want him lapping up cream in my kitchen.”

  Coffee squirted out my nose. We laughed till our sides ached. Sassy just kept right on smoking. Not a hint of a grin crossed her face, which made us laugh that much harder.

  “When y’all are finished hee-hawing, I’ll go on.”

  We settled down.

  “According to Lin Chow, the Buddhist pretty much think marriage is a private thing between two people. They don’t stand on ceremony that much. All that is important is love. But. A Buddhist monk will bless a marriage if so desired.”

  I knew where she was headed. “Is Lin Chow a Buddhist monk by any chance?”

  “No. But he knows of one in Six Shooter Siding.”

  All eyes turned to Cinnamon.

  “Would being blessed by a monk satisfy Inky?”

  This time Cinnamon cried happy tears. “Oui. I am sure of it.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Well, it’s settled then. Let’s go see a Chin-ee Indian.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Jackson rode with me and Cinnamon to visit with Spotted Owl while we talked with Lin Chow.

  “Spotted Owl sees me coming, he might duck and run,” I said. “Last time we saw one another, he ended up with house guests.”

  Jackson grinned. “Only you would try something that loco, but this scheme is even wilder.”

  “I had nothing to do with this. Blame Sassy.”

  “You do realize it’s dangerous? Someone will have to talk to the monk. If it’s Lin Chow, you’ll have to smuggle him into town and pray no one sees him. Then you’ll have to get this monk fella to wherever the wedding is going to be.” He cocked his head at me. “By the way, where is it going to be?”

  Hell if I knew. First things first.

  Spotted Owl greeted Jackson with a toothy grin. “Big McCullough. Has been many moons. You come. We smoke.” He shot me a suspicious look. “What favor you ask this time?”

  “Nothing for you.”

  “Hmm. This is good.”

  Cinnamon’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Dixcee? So many Indians.”

  “We’re safe.”

  I’m not at all sure she believed me.

  Something about sitting cross-legged in a teepee drinking ginseng tea didn’t ring true. Yet Lin Chow and his family seemed content.

  “Lin Chow berry happy see Missy Dixie and Missy Cinnamon.”

  I took the tea cup from his wife and smiled. “How are things here? Any problems?”

  “No problems. Red skin. Yellow skin. Same, same but different. All want peace. We together but apart. Redman stay on other side of stream. We share vegetables and tobacco. Why you come?”

  I glanced at Cinnamon. After all, this was her rodeo. She explained her idea. I expected reluctance. What I got was quite different.

  “Lin Chow most honored to do this for Missy Cinnamon. To repay for life. Indeed there is a monk who lives in the village by the railroad. Most honored friend, Chen Ping. You say I send. He will know is true.”

  “You and your family must come to the ceremony,” Cinnamon said.

  Lin Chow nodded, but his wife knelt by Cinnamon and took her hand. “This most kind. Wedding is happy day. But have no gift.”

  “Oh, cheri. No gift is required.”

  “For me, is. You have ceremonial gown?”

  “A wedding dress? No. Not yet.”

  Lin Chow’s wife rose and scurried over to an old chest in the corner. I looked at him. He shrugged.

  “Jiao berry serious.”

  “Jiao?”

  “My wife. It mean delicate, tender, and most beautiful.”

  She returned and placed a square package in Cinnamon’s hands. “For you. You wear?”

  We glanced at one another. With long, delicate fingers, Cinnamon unwrapped the package, careful not to tear the delicate paper. With a gasp, she held up the gown and pressed the dress against her.

  “It called kimono,” Lin Chow said.

  Kimono. Ever so much more regal sounding than a robe. But then again, it was only fitting seeing how the gown must’ve been sewn by angels.

  How do you explain beautiful? Mere words never quite get the job done. Freed from its cage of paper and string, bold fire-red silk burst alive and wrapped Cinnamon in a living, breathing cocoon of gentle, sweeping elegance. Long sleeves trimmed in gold thread cascaded to her waist. Deep sky blue, peacock green, and tiger-lily butterflies adorned the back and sides, so brilliant and real I expected them to flit away. The gown dripped its magic onto Cinnamon’s black hair and transformed her locks into a halo of sleek, liquid onyx.

  Jiao clapped her hands together. “Daiyu.”

  I turned to Lin Chow.

  “Mean. Black Jade.”

  Inky would be struck deaf and dumb.

  Cinnamon blinked back tears and turned to Jiao. “This was your wedding dress, wasn’t it?”

  “Shi. Yes.”

  Papa claimed women were the biggest mystery in life. Maybe that was true to men, but not to other women. Surrounded in the simplicity of tanned hide and wood, silence loud as thunder passed between the three of us. There were no words powerful enough to explain how golden this moment was. Cinnamon handed the silk robe to me, pressed her hands together, and bowed to Jiao.

  “I would be honored to wear this.”

  “Where wedding be?” Lin Chow broke the spell.

  I laughed. “Not sure yet. But you and your family must come. It’ll be somewhere safe, I promise. I’ll let you know.”

  Cinnamon and I rode in almost reverent silence back to the ranch. Jackson was at loss to explain our mood but said nothing. It would’ve been easy to explain, but the plain truth was, neither Cinnamon nor I wanted to speak. Words would muddy the water, taint the deep feeling of sacrifice, gratitude, and love that was the essence of Jiao.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The old Spanish Mission slept in the sun, a hollow shell of what it used to be. But where I could only see crumbling stones and weeds, Cinnamon saw a grand cathedral.

  “Dixcee, do not look with your eyes. Feel with you heart. This is holy ground. I feel God and all his wonders seeping through the wood and stone.”

  I tried. I truly did. I glanced over at Peg and shook my head.

  “This is all your doings, ya know,” I scolded. “Ever since you heard about this wedding, you’ve filled her head plumb full of dreams and crazy ideas.”

  “I’ve done what? Pardon me, missy, but I’m just riding on Sassy’s coattails with this one. Monks. Silk gowns. Why this old broken-down church is the only thing sane about the whole shebang.”

  “Hey, don’t blame me,” Sassy grumbled. “I was just trying to find a solution to this mess.”

  “My wedding is no mess,” Cinnamon shot back.

  “Y’all calm down,” Debbie Ann said. “Quit squabbling and accept the beauty of this place. The tall trees standing like guardian angels. Smell the marigolds and chicory. Look at the old mission all tucked-in and nestled against the stone cliff smothered by purple, blue, and white wildflowers and green grass. You wanted a safe place? A hidden spot? What better paradise than this? Just think of all the baptisms and weddings that happened here. This church was beautiful once. We can make it that way again.”

  “How?” I asked.

  Debbie Ann flitted around like a little jenny wren song bird. “Lanterns. We’ll hang lanterns from the trees. Put candles in the stone’s nooks and crannies.” She darted over to the side of the church where a peaceful stream wove through the woods. “Oh, my God. Come see.”

  Expecting to find a coiled rattler the size of my leg, I drew in a sharp breath when Debbi
e Ann grabbled Cinnamon and squealed.

  “Look at this old vine-covered bridge!” She clapped her hands together. “Cinnamon, I have a wonderful idea. We’ll line the path leading from the bridge to the church with lanterns too. Instead of walking down the aisle, you’ll walk over the bridge and up the lighted pathway.” Unable to control her excitement, she jumped up and down. “You’ll look like a fairy princess stepping out of the mist. It’ll be so romantic.”

  Cinnamon caught Debbie Ann’s fever. “Oui, cheri. Magnifque.”

  “Who’s going to give the bride away?” Sassy asked.

  “I am. Who else?” Peg laughed. “After the ceremony, we’ll head back to the ranch for the reception.”

  “Reception?”

  “Well, hell yeah. Mother of God Dixie, ain’t you ever seen anyone tie the knot? There’s always a big shindig afterward.”

  Sassy didn’t mean nothing by it, but her words hurt. Yes. I’d seen a wedding. Mama’s.

  That day still left a bitter taste in my mouth. I swallowed hard. Cinnamon’s marriage would be different. Joyous. Loving.

  “I’m bringing my fancy china and crystal I bought in Santa Fe to use at the Opera House,” Peg continued on. “Already talked with Fancy. She’s all excited. Gonna cook up a feast and I hear a big cake too. Jackson’s gonna build a large bonfire. We’ll set up a long table outside, sit by the firelight, eat, drink, and be merry. Maybe even dance if’n I can find someone to play the fiddle.”

  “I talked to the monk,” Sassy said. “He’s more than willing to bless the happy couple and see his old friend Lin Chow again. Big Mike and me will smuggle him out of town.” She glanced my way. “Think you can fetch Lin Chow and his family?”

  I nodded. Dumbfounded. Everything was moving fast. When had they planned all of this?

  “Well, that settles it then,” Peg said. “All we need now is the date.”

  All of us turned toward Cinnamon.

  “Next Saturday? Oui?”

  “Oui!”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  When things are right. Meant to be. Everything runs smooth. Saturday dawned a perfect Indian-summer day. Not too hot. Not too cold.

  Debbie Ann was up at sunrise gathering enough lanterns and candles to light the whole forest. She rode out to the church leading a packhorse loaded down with boxes and packages before I’d even washed the sleep from my eyes. Fancy had cooked up a storm all week and was busy making sugar flowers to put on the wedding cake. Jackson was gathering wood. Everyone scampered around like ants. I headed out to the Indian village for Lin Chow.

  The ceremony took place right before twilight. Everyone was decked out in their Sunday go-to-meeting best. I even shed my breeches and spurs for a mint-green dress. Big Mike wore a new vest and bowler hat.

  As grand as Debbie Ann’s vision had been, we weren’t ready for the satin and lace happy-ever-after-land she created for Cinnamon and Inky. Lanterns, hung from tree branches, threw a softening glow over the scene relaxing the sharp edges of rock and wood. Dozens of pink and white satin ribbons cascaded from the branches as well. Waving long and delicate in the gentle breeze, they reminded me of feathered angel wings in flight. Candles hid in the cracks of the old church walls. Some melted and warm wax inched down and between the stones to freeze like lacy lady-fingers on the cold rock. To add to the dreamy feeling, Mae Ling placed small wooden boats with lit candles upstream on the creek. The lazy current floated them downstream and under the bridge. Flickering candle light reflected off the water to hold hands with the star points and moonbeams skipping along the surface. Magical. A fantasy land straight out of a story book.

  “Ah, surely there be wee-folk peeking out from under every leaf and flower petal.” Big Mike sighed.

  Cinnamon glided over the ivy bridge and up the lightened pathway. So beautiful in her fiery red and gold even Mother Nature held her breath to watch. Dressed in a new starched-white shirt and tie Inky never took his eyes off her.

  Chen Ping stood where the wooden mission door had been. A tiny man, with wire spectacles and a tranquil spirit whose warm smile charmed everyone into peace and harmony.

  East meets West.

  Inky and Cinnamon exchanged traditional vows.

  “In sickness and health.”

  “For better or worse.”

  “Till death do us part.”

  Rings slipped onto fingers.

  Chen Ping’s hands joined theirs, and his sing-song blessing rang out smooth and clear. None of us understood one word. Didn’t matter. Love surrounded us and spoke its own language.

  Big Mike had his arm around Sassy.

  Lin Chow and Jiao held hands.

  All the Doves stood side-by-side teary-eyed and grinning like opossums.

  Jackson stood next to Peg.

  I stood alone and tried to breathe.

  It wasn’t fair. The groom should be the best-looking man at a wedding. Hands down Jackson McCullough shamed every man there, or anywhere for that matter. He stole my air. All I could do was gawk at him.

  Buckskin and fringe gave way to black trousers, white shirt, and a dark cutaway coat that accented his wide shoulders and slim waist. If that wasn’t enough to make my mouth water, he added a black western bow tie and Stetson. Candlelight bounced off his dress boots. If he were a peppermint stick, I would’ve licked him till my tongue fell off.

  “Cuts a fine figure of a lad, doesn’t he, lass?”

  Oh, God. Shoot me now. It was bad enough to be caught ogling Jackson by the Doves, but by another man was downright humiliating, especially when the other fella was Big Mike.

  “’Tis his going-to-court suit. Intimidates the prosecuting attorneys, turns them into blithering idiots.”

  I managed a weak smile and resisted the urge to crawl under a rock.

  Vows said. Blessing received. A kiss to seal the deal.

  We gathered the lanterns and headed back to the ranch. Reluctant to ruin the fairytale and almost sacrilegious to blow out the candles and take down the ribbons, we left them there to throw twinkling light into the night and to guide wandering spirits home.

  Jackson rode ahead and had the fire started when we arrived. Fancy placed dish after dish of food fit for a king on the lace tablecloth table. Here again, Debbie Ann’s taste was evident. Candles in canning jars sparkled against bone-thin china. Firelight touched crystal and made red wine shimmer like liquid rubies in a glass. Lin Chow brought his own drink. A rice-wine called Baijiu.

  “Tastes like kerosene and kicks like a mule, it does,” Big Mike claimed. “Any brave enough to partake might see Jesus himself sitting beside him.”

  Sometimes I fall out of myself, step back, and watch the world as if in a dream. Doesn’t happen too often. Don’t know the how or why of it. I just do. This was one of those times. Good food. Good drink. Close friends. Lovers. Each of us different, yet the same. Negro. Prostitute. Cowboy. Lawman. Irish and Chinese, all sat around one common table, laughing, joking, and sharing in a love that had been labeled sinful, taboo. As if mortal man had the right to brand anything so divine as pure love.

  “Peg, me darling. Did ye find a fiddle player?”

  “Sorry, not a one.”

  “Pity. Would like to dance a jig, I would.”

  “No worry, Big Boss Man. Lin Chow and Chen Ping bring music.”

  An ear-splitting tinny twang jarred me out of my reverie and dropped me back at the table with a thud. What was that? Sounded like a cat being strangled in a tin can. Made the hairs on my arm stick straight up. Every coyote in the county wailed and howled.

  “Saints alive, Chow. What manner of beasty be that?”

  “You no worry. You wait. You see. Berry pretty.”

  Yeah, well. Maybe. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

  I shouldn’t have doubted Lin Chow. When tuned, the strange three-stringed banjo produced soulful music. Even more so when Chen Ping played along on his bamboo flute. Of course most of the tunes were from China with only a few American songs
thrown in, but that didn’t matter to any of us. I leaned back in my chair, listened, and watched Big Mike whirl and twirl Sassy and the girls. About fell over backward when Jackson pulled out a harmonica and joined in. Who knew?

  Somewhere along the line, Cinnamon and Inky slipped off into the night. The fire died down. Mae Ling fell asleep. Jiao carried her inside, and I tucked her in on my couch. Dickens curled beside her. We cleared the table, washed, and packed up Peg’s precious china and crystal.

  Big Mike and Sassy loaded up Peg and Chen Ping in their wagon and headed back to town even though I begged them to stay until morning. “Nay, lass. Will be better for all to bring the monk back under cover of darkness.”

  I gave Lin Chow and Jiao my bed for the night. I would take them back to the village in the morning. I’d sleep in the bunkhouse instead.

  Just like that, the party was over. The clock had chimed midnight. The magic spell ended.

  I felt empty inside. Let down somehow. I’d drank just enough wine to blur the line between reality and dreams. When Jackson strolled toward me and eased down beside the campfire, it wouldn’t have surprised me to see him vanish in a hazy mist.

  “You sure look handsome tonight, lawman.”

  He tipped his hat. “Well, thank ya, darlin’.” I giggled. “Didn’t know you could play the harmonica.”

  “Just full of surprises, aren’t I?”

  He pulled makings from his pocket and rolled a cigarette. Another surprise.

  “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “Not very often.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “Seems a fitting end to a special day.”

  I sighed. Slipped from the chair to join him by the fire. “It was a grand day, wasn’t it? Cinnamon was beautiful.”

  He removed the black Stetson, put it on the log behind him. “Couldn’t say. Too busy admiring the girl in the green dress.”

  I watched the tip of his cigarette glow orange and pitch tiny sparks into the inky air. We sat quiet, listened to night, and the crackling of the fire. He flicked the smoke into the embers and reached out a hand to me.