* * *
Normally Elijah joined his brothers for the noon meal, which was cooked over their campfire by Gideon, and usually consisted of beans and corn bread, or if Clint had hunted, rabbit, wild turkey or prairie chicken stew. Today, though, still feeling the sting of LeMaster’s denunciation, he had gone to pay the promised visit to Asa Benton’s ailing wife and had been invited to share dinner with them. The meal had been a simple soup and the last half of a loaf of bread, but Mrs. Benton seemed to take encouragement from his company and to keep inventing reasons for him to stay longer.
He paid several other calls around the tent city after that. It appeared the community was buzzing with reaction to Horace LeMaster’s remarks, and Elijah spent a lot of time answering questions and easing their concerns as best as he could. Many would-be homesteaders came from the South, particularly Texas, and even these days—twenty-four years after General Lee had surrendered—the Civil War wounds had not completely healed between the North and the South. Some folks felt as warmly toward him as ever, while others were definitely cooler.
Ah, well, he was not called to be popular but to preach the Gospel. Perhaps this would all blow over, perhaps it wouldn’t, but he would be obedient to his calling.
Still he wondered where Miss Alice Hawthorne’s campsite was and kept an eye out for it. But he never spotted her.
Before he knew it, the afternoon had passed and it was nearly time to meet up with his brothers for their nightly trip to Mrs. Murphy’s dining tent for supper. The red-faced Irishwoman’s meals were filling, cheap and quickly served, and if her beef was occasionally tough as boot leather, her desserts always made up for it. And it made a welcome change from Gideon’s cooking.
Tonight, however, he arrived at their large tent only to be told they’d all been invited to take supper with a fellow Clint had met that day, one Lars Brinkerhoff.
“He’s a Danish fellow, Lije,” Clint said, using the name he’d called his eldest brother ever since he’d lisped his first words and couldn’t quite manage Elijah. “He’s been in this country a decade, he and his sister, and he’s lived with the Cheyenne. They taught him tracking. You’ll never believe how we met, but I think I’ll save the story till we’re there.”
“How does it happen we wrangled a dinner invitation on such short acquaintance?” Elijah asked, though he was always happy to meet new people. Reaching out to others was his job as a preacher, after all.
Clint grinned. “That’s part of the story. Let’s just say we went after the same antelope,” he said with a wink.
“Neighborly of the fellow to invite us,” Gideon remarked in his low, rumbling voice. “But I sure hope he doesn’t plan on pairing us up with that sister of his—at least, not you or me, Elijah—since we’re confirmed bachelors. Right, brother?”
Elijah knew Gideon’s light remark was an attempt to conceal the ache that had resided in his middle-born brother’s heart, losing both his wife and child to the influenza, and Elijah knew Gideon wasn’t expecting a reply.
Precisely at six o’clock—Elijah checked the time on the silver pocket watch that, as the eldest, he had inherited from their father—the men walked down one row of tents and up another to where Lars had told them the Brinkerhoff tent was located. Since Lars’s sister would be present, they’d washed, shaved and put on clean shirts—not that they didn’t do such things regularly, but the prospect of being in the presence of a lady certainly gave them additional motivation.
Their noses told them before they reached the Brinkerhoff tent that they were in for a treat, for the air was redolent with the smell of cooking meat and baking bread and some sort of additional sweet scent.
A tall, well-built man arose from a hay bale on which he had been sitting and came forward. Dressed in fringed buckskin and knee-high leather boots, he had hair that fell to midshoulder and was so pale a yellow it was almost white. “Velkommen—welcome, gentlemen. I am Lars Brinkerhoff.” He looked at Clint. “I am glad you and your brothers could come.”
The men shook hands, and Elijah and Gideon introduced themselves.
“And this is my sister, Katrine,” Lars said, gesturing. A young woman of middle height with the same sparkling blue eyes and flaxen hair—hers was confined in a long, thick braid down her back—straightened from where she had been bent over a cast-iron pot. When she smiled, dimples bloomed in each cheek, and Elijah supposed she could be considered beautiful, but he couldn’t help wondering if Alice Hawthorne had anyone to dine with tonight, or if she had to eat her supper alone.
“Sister, may I present the Thornton brothers,” Lars said, then pointed at each in turn, “Elijah, Gideon and Clint.”
“I am very pleased to meet you,” the young woman said, smiling at each. “I am happy that you could dine with us.”
She had the same thick Danish accent, but coming from her, it sounded charming.
“Miss Brinkerhoff, it is our very great pleasure,” Elijah said, stepping forward and bowing to her.
“Ah, but you won’t really know that until you have tasted my cooking, will you?” she teased. “Perhaps you will not like it.”
“But in such pleasant company, how could any food be less than wonderful?” Clint responded with a smile.
Elijah shared a look with Gideon, both of them clearly amused at their brother’s unaccustomed gallantry.
“Well, let us put it to the test, shall we?” Lars said. “Gentlemen, will you have a seat?” He gestured to a low table made of a wide, flat board set atop bales of hay. They would have to sit on the ground, but provision had been made for that, with a folded blanket set at each place.
“It is not how I would like to serve guests,” Katrine apologized, indicating the tin plates and eating utensils carved from wood, along with a crockery pitcher and wooden cups. “For now we travel light, yes? But Lars has promised me proper china and silverware once we build our house.”
“Please don’t worry about that, ma’am. Our eating utensils aren’t fancy, either, but they get the job done,” Gideon assured her politely, surprising Elijah that Gideon had spoken. He was quiet, even with his brothers, but usually talked much less when in the company of others.
“Mr. Elijah Thornton, since you are the sognepraest—the minister—will you say the blessing, please?” Lars asked.
Elijah did so, thanking God for the privilege of dining with their new friends and for the delicious food of which they were about to partake.
Lars began to carve slabs off the savory antelope haunch that had been roasting on the spit and placed them on a tin platter, which he passed to the men, while Katrine lifted the lid from the thick pot and brought out a golden-brown loaf of bread.
“This is kartoffelbrot, potato bread, so it may taste a little different from what you are used to, gentlemen,” she said as she sliced it. “I was fortunate to be able to trade for some fresh-churned butter, too,” she added.
For the first few minutes, no one spoke except to exclaim at the deliciousness of the food. The antelope had been done to a turn, and Elijah wondered about what herbs Lars’s sister had used to give it such an exotic flavor. The potato bread was hearty and satisfying.
“So
