Every Mackenzie household set an empty place at the Samhain feasts, but that was a symbol of the welcome they extended to the beloved dead who might visit on the day when the Veil was thinnest. The problem was that other things might stray into the world of men on such a day; if someone actually came through the door and seated himself he had to be fed and entertained with everything of the best, but matters could get very tense indeed. Such an outsider might be anything-or possessed of such. The world held many beings who were not of humankind, some friendly, some playful in ways heedless of men and their lives and loves and needs, some not friendly at all.
Ingolf Vogeler had come into Sutterdown as just such a stranger on Samhain eve, and deeds bloody and terrible had followed; they were here now because of them.
The head table held the Sheriff and his immediate family, and his chief officers and their families-they included the head of his deputies, the field boss and stock boss who managed the Sheriff?s own farmland and beasts, the old Ojibwa Indian-Pierre Walks Quiet-who was chief forester and game warden, the fair-haired woman named Samantha who was housekeeper under the Sheriff?s wife, and a few others. Wanda Vogeler hung her apron over the back of her chair and wiped her hands on it before she sat down and beamed at them. ?Everything ready-at last!? she said.?Und Jenny sleeping-at last. Woof! Children! No wonder people get old!? ?There?s nothing you ever enjoyed more than laying on a big feed, Wanda,? Ingolf said teasingly.?Unless you?ve changed more than I think.? ?Nothing I enjoy more except eating it myself,? she said.?And talking while I eat. And dancing afterwards. Both with people who aren?t the same ones I see every day, and I know everything they?re going to say before they say it.?
Her husband cleared his throat and rose. The noise in the hall fell off and then vanished; faces turned towards them, some already chewing on rolls or pieces of cheese from the rounds and blocks and wedges that were set out on cutting boards down the tables, alternating with tubs of butter and jugs of milk, beer and cider. ?Well, folks, you all know my brother Ingolf is back for a visit.?
There was a cheer and a ripple of raised mugs; Edward Vogeler looked surprised, and so did Ingolf. ?We all heard how well Ingolf did in the Sioux War,? Ed went on. ?How the Bossman of Marshall gave him that medal and offered to make him a general.?
Rudi and his party looked at Ingolf in surprise; the only tales he?d told them about his part in that conflict had been things comical or tragic, mostly reflecting badly on himself. ?And how his salvage team got all the way to the East Coast after that, chosen by the Bossman of Iowa because he was the best. First people from the Midwest to do dat since the Change!?
Family pride rang in his voice as the folk of the steading cheered again. Then he went on: ?With him is his intended and her brother Rudi Mackenzie, the guy he?s ramrod for now, who comes all the way from the west coast-that?s a first, too! They?re our guests here, and so are their people. Let?s show them hospitality, and how the Free Republic of Richland, and we Readstowners, treat guests. They?ve got a priest with them, good Father Ignatius, and I?d like him to lead us in saying grace.?
He bowed his head, and Ignatius rose: ?O Christ our God, bless?-he signed himself-?the food and drink of Your servants for You are holy always, now and ever, and forever. As Jacob greeted Esau his brother, may we all be as brothers to one another, in Your love. Amen.?
There was a murmur of Amen from up and down the tables. Rudi and the others of the Old Religion waited in respectful silence with their heads bowed-courtesy, and also duty to their host-and then signed their plates with the Invoking Pentagram and quietly murmured: ?Harvest Lord who dies for the ripened corn Corn Mother who births the fertile field Blessed be those who share this bounty;
And Blessed the mortals who toiled with You
Their hands helping Earth to bring forth life.?
He didn?t think Edward Vogeler noticed what they were about, or perhaps he very thoroughly chose not to. Several others-the housekeeper among them-did, he thought.
A girl carried around a tureen of the soup; Wanda Vogeler wielded the ladle for the table, and Rudi accepted his gratefully. Baskets held half a dozen types of bread-fine white loaves with a crackling glaze, black rye, rich coarse-textured pumpernickel, round rolls with crosses cut in their surface, squares of slightly sweet cornbread. He cut a slice of the rye because it was rare at home and wielded the spoon with gratitude. The soup had a deep savory smoky richness that was just what you needed after a day?s hard work in brisk fall weather.
The bratwurst were sizzling on the grills, and a team split crusty rolls, buttered them and set out mustard and sauerkraut and sauteed onions to go with them. Rudi took several when they were borne around. His brows went up a little as others pulled back the cloths on tubs of honey-glazed chicken breasts and steaks kissed with garlic, pork chops, racks of ribs and skewers of venison and lamb and onions ready to go on the coals, and it became apparent that the brats were merely the introduction.
My Southsiders will be happy, he thought; they had a carnivore?s idea of food.
Then the vegetable dishes came in, on wheeled trolleys. ?Yah hey, scalloped potatoes with bacon,? Ingolf said, rubbing his hands as a heavy ceramic pot was lifted to the table and plopped on an oakwood coaster; it bubbled under its brown-gold topping of grated cheddar.?My favorite!? ?Topped with cheese,? Mary Havel said.?It?s good cheese, all of it… but… don?t you ever get tired of cheese here??
Ingolf grinned at her.?Tired of food?? he said.
Edward Vogeler called this his study. They seated themselves in big comfortable chairs around a table of polished dark wood; a desk stood in the shadows of a corner, and books lined the walls. Rudi had a chance for a quick glance at them. You could tell a good deal about a man by what he chose to read. These seemed mainly practical-tomes on agriculture and stockbreeding, war and building and metalworking, along with rows of account books.
A few were recent titles, their printing and binding less machine-perfect-one read Salvaging Gears For Millwork, and another Modern Body Armor.
And up in a corner were a few tales he recognized, well read but looking dusty and neglected now: Joris of the Rock, one of Mathilda?s favorites and her mother?s before her, and Sir Guillame, by Donan Coyle, one of his own beloved since boyhood that he?d been given by Sir Nigel. He suspected those had been Ingolf?s, along with the Tarzan and the Wizard of Oz series.
Wanda bustled in behind them and set out a tray with a pot of hot comfrey-chicory so-called coffee and oatmeal cookies rich with walnuts and raisins. Then, a little to Rudi?s surprise, she seated herself near her husband, taking up a half-finished sweater from a basket and setting to work. A white-bibbed black cat took up station beneath her chair, occasionally darting a paw at the skein of wool as it jerked upward to the click of the knitting needles. ?Drink?? the Sheriff asked.?We do a good applejack, if I say so myself. Und I do.?
Rudi accepted his with a murmur of thanks. It was a comfortable room, smelling of polish, old tobacco smoke and leather and lit by good alcohol lanterns, with a couple of comely if worn rugs on the floor. A brick fireplace held a pleasant crackle of burning oak. On the mantelpiece above it were two black-bordered photographs: one of a thin hard-faced woman in late middle age, and another of a man who looked enough like the Vogeler brothers to be their father and probably was. Unlike the woman?s it was a pre-Change piece, with sharp edges and bright colors; he wore dark glasses, a khaki shirt and an odd peaked cap, with a metal star on his breast that Rudi recognized.