Page 20 of A Joyful Ring
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. Thethree 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 ittwice 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 thesauerkraut 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 ofkroppkakor—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.
