Johnny’s Dance Card

The silver-cased pencil tapped a journal page in thought as Scott’s focus journeyed once again out the bedroom window to the courtyard below. Even though wedding guests had left, the lanterns’ flickering flames gave the illusion their shadows had stayed behind to finish a waltz. 

In Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ Sir William Lucas considered dancing as one of the first refinements of polished societies to which Mr. Darcy replied: ‘Every savage can dance.’ 

My brother would agree.

**********

Spying Johnny seated at a table nearest the Orchestraband, Scott weaved his way around dancing couples to join him. His brother’s monkey suit coat had been discarded: flung over the back of a nearby chair. Its vest was still worn by the owner, however, unbuttoned along with the shirt’s collar. The untied silk cravat Emily had selected that day at the haberdashery hung loosely around Johnny’s neck. An empty shot glass and a snagged bottle of their father’s nectar of the gods completed the picture.

Hands went to hips in a big brother’s scrutinizing stance. “You look comfortable.”

“I am.” An upturned face revealed eyes squinting into the late afternoon sun and the beginnings of a Cheshire Cat smile. “You should try it.”

“All right.” A second suit coat was removed and tossed over the first. “Let it not be said I ignore reasonable advice from my little brother when he unknowingly offers it from time to time.” 

“A fella might have to dig around a bit to find the compliment in that statement.”

“It is a fact.” Rolling up his sleeves, Scott sat with a nod. “Might take some digging. I’m certain you’re up for the task.” 

“Yep.” The Cheshire smile spread. Crossing his arms while stretching out his legs, Johnny’s trigger finger pointed out an opinion. “Looks like the Little Minnow is up for the task with dancin’.”

An arched brow released a slow exhale of agreement. “She keeps a man on his toes.”

In the last hour, Scott discovered Emily Browning knew every damn dance step created by mankind. Waltz. Polka. Gallop. Virginia Reel. Whatever musical selection was played the little lady proved she had mastered them all. 

The question is: how and when did she acquire such a dancing repertoire? It certainly wasn’t on the Orphan Train that carried Emily from New York City to the Mid-West. And Scott highly doubted the minister who raised her taught his family the hurdy-gurdy. 

Grin. 

It would remain a mystery which Scott anticipated eventually solving with continued familiarity. For now, he appreciated a moment to relax while Seth Westcott enjoyed a spin around the dance floor with the lovely lady. “Speaking of toes, little brother -”

“Yeah. The McGuires had enough a me stompin’ on theirs; they went in search a-a new dance partner. I told’em Green River’s mayor looked lonely.” Johnny’s smile formed dimpled parentheses. “The ladies happily obliged.” Holding it up to his eye, the empty shot glass transformed into an imaginary spyglass. “I see Grape Crusher is doin’ his own stompin’ on your gal’s toes.”

Scott didn’t know where to aim his executed eyeroll: the reminder of an obnoxious Will Jenkins or Johnny’s relentless use of his nickname for Seth. The decision was made to equally distribute the expression of exasperation to both with no further acknowledgement. It wasn’t needed. Seth appeared to be a worthy hoofer so Emily’s toes were in no immediate danger. And the McGuire twins partnered with Will Jenkins proved the Muse Terpsichore had a sense of humor. Instead, a slight deviation from the current topic took hold. “Have you danced with the bride?”

“Nope.” Johnny’s makeshift spyglass turned on his brother. “You?”

“I have.” And his little brother knew it. While the two cousins had shared a reprise of Pachelbel’s Canon, Scott spotted Johnny’s solemn mien surrounded in sharp contrast by the other onlookers' happy faces. “Why ask for a woman’s scorn when it can be avoided?”

“Half-pint’s not gonna notice I didn’t dance with her.” 

The appeal of big brother jesting slowly replaced Scott’s exasperation. “Freckles isn’t the young lady I’m speaking of.”

It was a gift and he hated to brag, but in Scott’s opinion, he could spin a good yarn by mixing just enough gathered facts with a healthy imagination to contrive a believable story. He also contributed this ability of spinning to identify Kinsey’s own weaving of truth and statements of convenience - better known as her white lies. 

“Little brother, have I ever mentioned the Greek goddess Terpsichore?”

The habitual reaction? As expected. At the first hint of another one of his brother’s toga-toter tales, Johnny reached up to tug his hat down over his face. With fingers grasping only air, the hand lowered to swipe away any signs of a smirk from embarrassment.

No hat. How unfortunate. Scott grinned. “I’ll take that as a no.”

A chin dipped in silence.

“Well, let me enlighten you. Terpsichore was not only a goddess from mythology but one of the nine Muses.”

“Sweet mother-o-mary, brother. There’s eight more a these bedsheet vaquero stories down the road?”

“Confidence is high there are indeed eight more in your future, so I will try to keep this one brief.” The storyteller began. “Terpsichore: daughter of Zeus, goddess of chorus and dance.”

And with that, facts ended and the spinning commenced.

“Terpsichore, Terpi for short, enjoyed belting out a few good tunes with the other muses, but her main passion was dancing… and also true love. She was a firm believer in undeniable true love.” Pause. “With me so far?”

“I’m keepin’ up.”

“Good. And where is the one place undeniable true love can always be found?”

“Madame Josephine’s House a Hospitality.”

“I’m referring to undeniable true love lasting for more than one night.”

“Well, ya need to be a little more specific with these questions, Scott.”

“A wedding. Undeniable true love can always be found at a wedding. So naturally, Terpi, wishing to combine both her passions, decreed that at all weddings on Mt. Olympus every god must dance at least once with the goddess bride.”

“This Terpi gal can just snap her fingers and make a rule like that?”

“Her father’s Zeus. I believe we established some time ago he calls the tune. You want to tell the gent his daughter’s too bossy?”

“Guess a fella could get a lightin’ bolt up the ass for pointin’ it out.”

“Odds would be in favor of such. And although an ill-placed lightning bolt would definitely be considered bad luck, it isn’t exactly the misfortune which would apply here today.”

“Seems pretty damn unlucky to me.”

“Do you want me to keep your enlightenment brief or not?”

“Feelin’ like you’ve already passed brief.”

Slow exhale. “Finally, there came a day on Mt. Olympus when Terpi got married. Of course, all the gods lined up to dance with her… except for one. Epimetheus, the god of afterthought and hindsight. You see, Ol’ Ep lacked foresight which frequently led to his foolish decisions and awkward, problematic outcomes.” Scott’s side-eye determined if his tale was hitting the intended target. Alas, no indication of a bullseye. “Still keeping up?”

“Got to be honest, brother. Gettin’ a little winded here.”

“Noted. The conclusion is in sight. Well, Ep thought no one would notice or care if he hadn’t danced with the bride. He was wrong. Terpi noticed.”

“I’m guessin’ she had a temper.”

“Indeed she did. In fact, Terpi was so hurt and angry she imposed eternal misfortune not only on Ep for his thoughtlessness but would forever rain down bad luck on any earthly mortal man who felt it wasn’t important to dance with the bride on her wedding day.”

“The end?”

“The end.” Mirroring his little brother, Scott crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “I thought it was only fair to educate you on your fate by passing up a dance with Kinsey today. Bad horse trades. Losing poker hands.” An arched eyebrow posed the seriousness of the situation. “The McGuire twins’ cooking.”

“Well, brother, I gotta say, you make a… what do those fancy lawyers call it? A com-PELL-in’ case. Gives a fella somethin’ to think about.” Johnny grasped the empty shot glass and, instead of filling it, double tapped it on the table and rose.

Scott fully expected his younger brother to turn and walk away. Instead, Johnny’s strides carried him to the Omaha Orchestraband violinist Monroe Wilder as the musicians ended their selection. A quiet few words and shared nods hinted a request had been made for the next song.

Johnny’s steps then guided him to the bride. Standing in front of Kinsey, he removed the silk cravat around his neck and held it out. Smiling, the bride took hold of the offered scarf to unite them in a dance; a signal for the band to begin.

The music of Mexico: a diverse fusion of Indigenous, Spanish, and African influences. Commonly played for these vibrant melodies with high-energy rhythms were five-string guitars, violins, large bass guitars, trumpets, marimbas and accordions. Although the gentleman from Omaha couldn’t instrumentally fill the bill exactly, the first few notes of Johnny’s request sounded as if the band was willing to try their best.

The dance was called Huapango. Scott had seen it performed a few years earlier during a business trip for his grandfather to Abilene.

The Huapango’s footwork was rather simple: two small steps forward, then one bigger step back while alternating heel strikes. Couples keeping their knees slightly bent and bodies upright but relaxed allowed for quick movements with a bouncy step that could adjust to the rhythm of the music, making it perfect for the beginner or a well-seasoned dancer.

The Orchestraband kept the tempo moderate at first as Johnny guided Kinsey through the basic movements. A few missteps by both delivered good-natured laughs but not discouragement. Spotting them gaining confidence as dance partners, Wilder gestured for his fellow musicians to pick up the rhythm’s pace. Guests clapped along, inspiring the couple to accept the band’s challenge. 

“Who taught Johnny to dance?” 

Scott smiled at the arrival of his father’s quizzical expression and query. “Hard to say. Maybe Madame Josephine.”

“Who in the Sam Hill- ” The Lancer patriarch took a moment to reconsider. “Nevermind.”

Like the universe and its stars on a clear night, the song reached its melodious full potential as the dance partners twirled, spun and moved as one, claiming the courtyard as their own with the onlookers' presence no longer existing at the moment. 

“Who taught Johnny to dance?” Teresa squinted at the phenomenon taking place before her.

Scott crossed off one name on his mental list of possible teaching suspects.

“Didn’t know Johnny could dance.” Crawford fished out a matchstick. “Still don’t.” Chuckle.

Val? Dance teacher? Nope. Not even on the list.

The song’s final high-spirited beats climaxed and ended abruptly, leaving the dancing couple in each other’s arms, breathless, to a round of applause. Taking the silk cravat, Johnny gently tied it around Kinsey’s wrist, kissed her hand and walked away. 

“Well, if that ain’t the dangest thing I ever did see.”

Scott’s eyes lowered to his left. “Jellifer.”

“Who taught Johnny to dance?”

From the gathered guests watching, the answer came with Maria’s smiling nod of approval which bounced one on Scott. “Lancer’s Terpsichore did.” 

*********

The silver-cased pencil stopped writing, allowing its owner to pinch the bridge of his nose in slight fatigue. Whatever more needed to be written could wait until tomorrow. The hour was late.

Scott glanced at his pocket watch. Well, maybe not that late.

Soft light filtering into the hallway from under the bedroom door permitted knuckles to quietly rap which was acknowledged with muffled footsteps and the click of a turned doorknob.

“Why, Mr. Lancer.”

The soft light now enhanced Emily’s dark hair, loose and cascading past her shoulders as she stood dressed in an embroidered silk robe for evening repose. 

“Miss Browning, the courtyard is still lit and I was wondering if you would honor me with one final dance of the evening.”

“Sir, I fear the Orchestraband has retired for the night.”

“True. A dilemma, indeed.” Scott’s hand rubbed his chin in serious strategy-pondering, ending with a snap of the fingers. “I have it. I could hum a few choruses of Camptown Races… that is - ” A slight bow at the waist. “If it would please my lady.”

Emily’s kissable lips blessing a smile suggested it would please the gent’s lady just fine.