Takin' The Tin Lizzie
Marjory J. Taylor

"Why can't we hire a carriage from the livery stable?"  Bessie pouts and turns her back to Henry.

"No need to spend money on frivol'ties."  His words are strained  through teeth clenched on the stem of a cold  pipe.

"Attending a  service to honor the life and death of a sitting President is a special occasion."

Henry removes the pipe from his mouth and points the stem at Bessie.  "He only sat for two years."  He taps the residue from the pipe before slipping it into his pocket. "Didn't do very much that's good to remember either."

"Henry, that's an unkind thing to say about the poor man.  He couldn't help getting sick while on vacation, or dying as soon as he got home."

"Maybe he should've stayed home."  Henry grins,  "We'll go in our new 1923 Ford tourin' car.  It's black--that's fittin' for a fun'ral."

Turning to face him Bessie snaps.  "It's not a funeral, it's a memorial."  Her fingers toy with the clusters of pink flowers adorning the wide brim of the hat she holds.  "I don't want to crush my new hat with a traveling veil-- and wear a duster--on the way to commemorate President Harding."

"You can do as you please, Bessie, I'm takin' the Tin Lizzie.    I'm goin' out and crank her up now and soon's she starts, I'm on my way.  With or without you."

"Yes Henry," she looks ruefully at the pink petals scattered at her feet, "I'll be right there."

First published: November, 2006
comments to the writer: Knob'sWriter@iceflow.com