Chapter Four #2
“Hello,” he called as he walked around the corner of the shack and saw Risa bent over a grate set on top of an open fire that burned within a circle of river rocks.
The scent of something frying carried on the breeze, and despite eating enough lunch, he thought for sure he’d pop, Gunder realized he was hungry.
“Gunder! Good to see you, son,” Lars said, greeting him with a smile and a handshake. “Risa decided it would make the house far too hot to be bearable if she had to fire up the stove again, so we’re cooking dinner out here. At least the chicken coop makes a little shade.”
“It certainly does.”
Lars pointed to the blossom held in Gunder’s fingers. “You went for a walk?”
“I did. I found this and wondered if it is a flower or a weed.”
Lars took the bloom from him and grinned. “It’s a flower. One of the few that grow naturally around here. I didn’t think any were still blooming with this heat.” Lars handed it back to him, then tipped his head toward Risa. “My daughter tends to collect plants.”
Gunder grinned and motioned toward the garden surrounded by a fence that was made of a variety of scrap wood but appeared sturdy. “It looks like she not only collects them, but grows them.”
“She does. Want to see the garden?” Lars asked, then led the way to the gate without waiting for Gunder to reply.
Gunder tipped his head politely to Risa and held out the flower to her as he walked past her.
She stared at the wilting bloom, took it with a curt nod, then returned her focus to frying pieces of golden chicken.
Gunder’s best friend in school had been from Mississippi.
Jeff Jefferson’s mother could fry a chicken that would almost make a grown man weep with joy.
“Risa has a little bit of everything growing in here,” Lars said with a hint of pride in his voice.
He showed Gunder thriving tomato, cucumber, and squash plants.
There were pumpkin vines and hills of potatoes, along with the fern-like fronds topping carrots.
The far end of the garden had a row of strawberry plants bracketed on both ends by thorn-covered raspberry vines.
“The berries likely won’t produce this year, but we’re hopeful to get a crop next year. I got the starts from a friend of Mrs. Franklin’s in Baker City.”
“Mrs. Franklin seems like a very nice woman,” Gunder said, then observed as the tips of Lars’ ears turned bright crimson. So, he hadn’t imagined the man’s attraction to the lovely widow. Gunder wondered if Risa had any idea of her father’s infatuation with the woman, or if she’d encourage it.
“She is a fine woman. None finer, in these parts, except for my daughter.” Lars tossed a loving glance toward Risa as she stirred what appeared to be a bubbling pan of gravy. “Come on. If the gravy is bubbling, the grub is about ready. Let’s wash up.”
Lars led the way over to a pump near the barn, and Gunder scrubbed his hands and face, then he pumped the handle while Lars washed up.
By the time the men returned to the fire, Risa was just lifting a pan of boiling potatoes off the grate. Gunder noticed she’d tucked the droopy flower bloom in her hair, and seeing it there made him grin.
“If you bring in the gravy, I’ll mash the potatoes and we can eat,” she said, not waiting for one of them to answer as she turned and headed inside the back door of the shack.
“The screens must be nice,” Gunder observed as Lars picked up a folded towel from a nearby stump and wrapped it around the handle of the pan of gravy.
“They sure are. Best investment I’ve made this year,” Lars said with a grin as he hefted the heavy cast-iron pan.
Gunder hurried ahead of Lars and pulled open the screen door for him, then followed him inside the shack that he’d noted earlier was far nicer than he’d anticipated.
The floor was rough wood, but the interior walls had been painted.
Gunder assumed Lars had acquired cast-off paint from somewhere since each wall was a different color, but the way the colors blended in the corners almost made it seem like they’d been painted that way on purpose.
The house was basically one large room, with a smaller room he could see through an open doorway that held a bed.
He assumed by the flowered quilt covering it, the room belonged to Risa.
Before thoughts of her on that bed took root in his mind, he shifted his focus to the table in the center of the house, where a platter was piled with crispy fried chicken. A bowl held a salad, and in another were corn kernels, likely from a can since it was too early in the season for fresh corn.
“I hated to heat up the oven, so I have leftover biscuits from earlier. I hope you don’t mind,” Risa said, looking apologetic as she set a plate holding four biscuits on the table.
“This looks like a grand feast, Miss Hoffman. I wouldn’t complain about a single bite of it.”
She looked pleased by Gunder’s comment as she finished mashing the potatoes and scooped them into a bowl, then carried it to the table.
Gunder noticed she’d changed out of the pretty shirtwaist with a dark skirt she’d worn earlier into a faded calico dress covered with an apron that appeared well-used. Lars had also changed into a pair of worn trousers and a shirt.
Uncertain where he should sit, Gunder waited as Risa pumped water into three glasses at the kitchen sink and carried them over to the table.
“Please be seated, Mr. Birke,” Risa said in a formal tone. For the way she acted, he could have been visiting royalty. If she’d bowed and curtsied, it would have fit in place with the attitude she projected.
Lars moved behind the chair facing the front door, and Risa stepped to the seat next to his. Gunder mentally scrambled to recall the manners his mother had tried to instill in him and pulled out her chair.
Risa tossed a shocked glance at him, but settled into the chair with grace in her movements.
Gunder sat in the chair across from Lars, then felt his own sense of shock when Risa reached for his hand, holding her other out to her father.
The three of them clasped hands while Lars offered a simple prayer of thanksgiving for their meal.
Gunder only heard half of what Lars said, with his mind spinning like a wayward top over the way Risa’s slender fingers grasping his sent something wild and unexpected searing up his arm.
As soon as Lars said “Amen,” Risa jerked her hand away from his. Gunder silently questioned if she’d experienced the same heated jolt when they’d touched.
Lars carried the conversation during the meal, which suited Gunder just fine.
He was too busy consuming the delicious food.
When he was sure he couldn’t hold one more bite, Risa set a flaky-crusted cherry pie on the table, and then she filled their glasses half full with something he assumed she’d made from a few of the apricots, since he noticed a few were missing from the basket on the table.
“Thank you for the apricots, and the basket. Did you make it?” Risa asked as she set his glass in front of him, then dished a serving of the pie for him.
“I did. One evening, around a fire on my way here, a couple of people I was traveling with showed me how to make the baskets. They aren’t overly sturdy, but they serve a purpose.”
“It’s wonderful,” Risa said, offering him a smile that was genuine and warm. “Papa mentioned you have sisters. Tell me more about them.”
Gunder was relieved to have an easy subject to discuss since his sisters held a special place in his heart.
He took a bite of the cherry pie and thought it twice as good as the pie they’d had in Baker City yesterday. When he sipped the drink, he could only describe it as luscious nectar. It was thicker than plain juice, and slightly sweet. There was almost a creaminess to it.
“I think this is the best thing I’ve ever drunk,” he said, taking another sip.
Lars chuckled and took a hefty drink from his glass, nodding approvingly.
Risa blushed. “I’m glad you like it,” she said, daintily sipping from her glass.
“I taste apricots and something sweet.” Gunder took another drink, holding the liquid on his tongue.
“It’s the juice from two apricots, cooked down. I added a little cinnamon and stirred in cream and honey. It’s not as cold as I wish it could be, but hopefully refreshing,” Risa said.
“Thank you for sharing this with me. It is absolutely wonderful.” Gunder drank more of the nectar before he dug into the pie. The cherries were the sweetest he’d ever eaten, not to mention big and juicy. He was glad Lars had purchased a crate of them yesterday.
“It was very kind of you to bring us some of your apricots, Mr. Birke. They appeared to be popular at the picnic.”
“There weren’t any left, so I suppose people liked them,” Gunder said, secretly gratified he’d contributed something people had obviously enjoyed.
Then again, there hadn’t been much of anything left over.
He knew Risa had baked a custard pie because Lars had mentioned it, and he’d only gotten a tiny sliver of it.
He’d enjoyed the sauerkraut she’d made, along with the potato salad that was different than any he’d ever eaten.
He knew Lars was German, so he assumed the food Risa had made was something traditional for her heritage.
When he’d left home, Gunder hadn’t expected to miss the Swedish food he was accustomed to eating as much as he did.
Amalia and Anna were both good cooks, although neither could compare to his mother.
How he longed to sit down to a plate full of kroppkakor—potato dumplings stuffed with meat and onions—or cheese pie, or meatballs served with creamy gravy.
Lest he fall into the wave of homesickness about to drag him under, he took another bite of the pie and forced his thoughts back to the present. “You’re an excellent cook, Miss Hoffman. Did you learn from your mother?”
Risa nodded. “My mother was the best. I fear I didn’t learn all I should have while I could have, but she had a few recipes written down because it was easier for me to learn them if I could read them first.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Gunder said, wishing he’d brought up some less depressing topic. “Have either of you read anything about the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia?”
Lars and Risa joined in a lively conversation about articles that had appeared in the newspaper in recent weeks.
“You’re from Pennsylvania. Were you able to see any of it?” Risa asked, then forked the last bite of her slice of pie.
Gunder shook his head. “No. I had already headed west before the exhibition began. Even if I hadn’t, it was across the state, but the newspapers have been sharing details for months about the planned exhibits and visitors. I hope the attendance is close to what the organizers expect.”
“I think it would be quite an amazing thing to see.” Lars appeared wistful a moment before he rose from the table and carried his empty dishes to the sink. “Shall we sit outside where it has to be cooler for a bit and stare at the stars, pretending they are fireworks?”
“I’ll see to the dishes and be out soon,” Risa said, carrying plates to the sink.
“May I help, Miss Hoffman?” Gunder asked, carrying over his dishes and leaning around her to set them in the sink.
The sharp breath she inhaled caused him to turn his head at the same moment she shifted to look at him. With her lips looking as ripe as the cherries they’d just eaten, everything in him wanted to lean forward and press a kiss to them.
He might have found it impossible to resist the temptation if Lars hadn’t returned inside carrying a pot of water Risa had left heating on the grate to wash the dishes.
“Come on, Gunder. I’ll show you the horses and pigs before the light is completely gone,” Lars said, already halfway out the door.
Gunder gave Risa a parting look, then followed her father outside. His emotions roiled in turmoil as he tried to work through the notion that he’d just met the woman he wanted to marry one day.