The campsite had been transformed. Instead of a bland, green area with a circle of rocks, it was full of people and color. There was a large, rather spread-out, glowing fire inside the ring of rocks, which had burned down to orange embers. Various cooking gadgets surrounded it.
There was a table set up for food preparation to one side of the campfire and a canopy-style tent covering a long table and benches on the other side. Benson was too busy to do much more than call out greetings as they gathered. His mother, his wife, and two young men were acting as helpers. Bob Rycraft must have been the first arrival and was getting in everyone's way. Jane could imagine Bob taking his enthusiasm home and digging a fire pit in his backyard. In his khaki poncho, he looked even more like a sleek, contented lion curiously exploring.
Jane was feeling enthusiastic herself. The smell was divine: a mix of pines, woodsmoke, rain, and food. Better than any perfume.
Jane and Shelley joined Al Flowers at the table. Liz, naturally, had gone to the preparation table and was no doubt driving poor Benson mad with questions. The table was laid with a flowered tablecloth with matching napkins, and while their plates were heavy plastic, the silverware was real. 'What a transformation!' Shelley said to Al.
He rumbled amiable agreement.
Eileen and John Claypool joined them. Eileen was so bundled up under her poncho that she waddled. She had on one boot, and on the other foot, a fuzzy pink house slipper with a plastic bag tied around it. 'Does this place ever smell great!' she said. 'What are those metal boxes around the fire?'
“Reflector ovens,' Al said. 'There's a cake in one of them.' His sparkling white grin against his dark face and the dark background of pines made Jane think of the Cheshire cat.
She turned a little so she could catch some light from the fire on her watch. It was only six o'clock, but it could have been midnight — or four in the morning. If you were out here without a clock and knew nothing of stars, how would you tell what time it was? she wondered. To a city person, the complete darkness was eerie. At home, dark meant no sun, but streetlights, car headlights, and the perpetual glow of Chicago filling the southern sky. Here, on a cloudy night, darkness was complete and primitive and overwhelming. It was both peaceful and frightening — a combination she wouldn't have believed could exist at the same time.
Sam and Marge Claypool were the last to arrive. They were clad in matching blue raincoats with hoods. Sam looked embarrassed, perhaps at being dressed like his wife, and they both looked cold and forlorn. Marge was a bundle of nerves. She immediately joined the group at the table and sat so she was facing the woods, rather than having them at her back. Sam went and stood by the fire with his thin, long-fingered hands outstretched to it.
“I don't think that woman looks well,' Eileen said in a surprisingly quiet voice to Jane.
“What woman?'
“Mrs. Titus. The younger one. Benson's wife.”
Jane shifted a bit so she could look at Allison. She'd only seen her once before and hadn't really paid much attention, but Eileen was right. Allison Titus was a small, frail woman and looked very pale and ill. Her movements were slow and vaguely defeated. As Jane stared, Allison, who was dicing up some vegetables, paused for a moment and put her hand to her heart. Then she scooped up the vegetables, put them in a pot, and picked up the pot to carry to the fire. Instantly her mother-in-law, Edna Titus, was at her side, apparently chiding her. Allison sighed, put the pot back down, and Edna took it to the edge of the fire and set it on a metal grill that sat above the embers.
The small scene was over in seconds, but was telling. 'How nice it must be,' Jane said to Eileen, 'to have a mother-in-law so concerned for your welfare.'
“You're telling me! Is yours a bitch, too?'
“Not as demanding as yours, but Thelma's a pretty tough cookie. She just didn't think anybody, least of all me, was good enough to marry her oldest son. But then her younger son married someone she considered even more unsuitable, and that took some of the heat off me.'
“Must have been nice, married to the favorite son,' Eileen groused.
“Okay, folks,' Benson said, coming to the table. 'We'll be ready to eat in a few minutes. Everything's almost ready.'
“What are we having?' John Claypool asked eagerly.
“A feast!' Benson replied. 'I buried a big, lean brisket in the coals this afternoon. The boys are digging it out now. While they're slicing it, I'll do some fish in one of the reflector ovens since the fish only takes a few minutes. The vegetable mix is steaming in that pot on the grill right now, and my mother is doing battered apple rings in the big fry pan. If this were summer, we'd be serving a big salad of native greens, but unfortunately it's too late in the season. There are twice-baked potatoes in a couple of pots that are buried in the coals.'
“Excuse me while I drool!' Eileen said.
They all listened like obedient students while Benson 'introduced' them to the equipment, ingredients, and methods of cooking he'd employed. Different foods were cooked at different temperatures, which meant different distances from the heat source. It was necessary to learn to skillfully manage long-handled forks, spoons, and knives, he said. Jane was astonished that he made it sound like fun. Well, it might be, if you had all the help he had.
When the dinner was finally served up, Jane decided it was probably the very best meal she'd ever eaten in her life. The brisket was so tender, it broke apart with a fork. It had been marinated in a tangy sauce, a couple of homemade, unlabeled bottles of which were set out on the table. There was a spicy cheese sauce over the steamed vegetables, and the baked, crumb-covered fish was thin, crisp outside, moist inside, and utterly delicious. She tried to eat slowly and savor it all, but found herself packing it in like a starving lumberjack and couldn't help won- dering if there was any way to conceal a few more of the fried apple rings somewhere about her person for snacking on later.
Liz even stopped her inquisition to eat. Benson's wife and mother sat down with the guests at the big table while Benson and the young helpers kept bringing more food. Edna had a healthy appetite, but Allison just picked. Jane wished she knew the woman well enough to suggest that she looked like death warmed over and should be home in bed. Instead, she said, 'This is a wonderful meal! Surely you don't eat this well here all the time.”
Allison smiled and suddenly looked much younger and healthier. 'As a matter of fact, we do, most of the time. The county junior college offers a culinary degree as part of their hotel management course. We usually have an intern here, getting credit hours for practical experience. We don't have to pay them much, but the grocery bills
