His Royal Highness, Prince Vincent - 20. A Pohogwe Dinner in Denmark

I can't wait any longer. The offer to help is appreciated, but I can't just sit on a chapter. I wake up, get coffee and write. That's my whole life and reason to get up. Thank you, but this won't work. I'll just have to deal with my mistakes. Hopefully, they're getting better. Here it is at last. Thanks. Love you all!  

A Pohogwe Dinner in Denmark

It was hard for me not to hover in the kitchen. Rebekka and Laura knew what they had to do. My desire was for this dinner to be more Pohogwe, but I was having to rely on a lot of spices and herbs found in Denmark and the surrounding countries. Specialty spices from the North-Western United States wasn’t going to happen until I had some sent here. There were herbs and spices from other countries here, but that wouldn’t be authentic Pohogwe. Which I told myself was impossible unless I did it like the Pohogwe did in the distant past. What I was serving tonight was served rarely because of the complication of making the key flavor ingredient. The Maple Syrup. There were difference kinds of maple trees, but the sweetest maple tree was the sugar maple found in Northern America and Canada. A hundred or more years ago or so, saplings were sent over to England, Scotland, Denmark, Norway, and Germany. There were many Sugar Maple trees here now. That wasn’t enough for good Maple Syrup. The season for tapping the sap was important. In early Spring when the nights were below freezing, and the day was above freezing was when the sap flowed the best and was the sweetest. The trees were tapped, and it took weeks to get the needed sap. It took about forty gallons of sap, boiled down to make one gallon of syrup. That was why this was so rare. It was time consuming! It was worth it. That thin, sweet syrup seeped into the meat and the slow roasting made the meat sweet. Pepper is not just pepper. There were peppercorns and how they were prepared that made the difference. Sugar wasn’t widely used by the Pohogwe. Maple sap was naturally sweet and when harvested correctly it was used often like with the snow candy. Fruits were often used for sweetening. There was honey! Sugarcane wasn’t on the main continent, but only islands in the Gulf of Mexico and Asia. Trade and shipping changed that and now sugar made it into some Pohogwe dishes. But not tonight!

The world evolved and for the Pohogwe to survive they had to evolve with it. Until about one hundred years ago or so the Pohogwe were a nomadic people. There were almost no permanent structures and no permanent village. They hunted and were very good at it. The hunters sought game and where the hunters went, so did their families and entire village. Prey was everything from elk, bear, buffalo, moose…whatever was plentiful. In the early Spring they moved to a new area…well, it was usually known to us before, but that might not have been last year or the year before. They established the village again and our hunters planned where to start the hunt. The whole village would be involved with this. A hunting party was a small tribe really. They could be gone weeks on a hunt. With them came family to cook and care for the hunters. The hunters weren’t all men. Those that cooked and cared for the hunters weren’t all female. Cooking and caring for the hunters wasn’t the only job. What prey was caught was processed, smoked, and prepared to return to the whole village. There could be as many as three or four hunting parties sent out, all going in different directions to increase the yield for the whole village. Back at the main village those that didn’t hunt established farms where various staples such as the squash, corn and beans were raised. Herbs and medicinal plants were also grown. After harvesting, the Pohogwe would relocate normally to a more southern area to weather the Winter and then did the same the next year. It happened for a long, long time. The idea of owning land was almost impossible for them. Land was where you lived, you couldn’t own it.

Trade. That was usually done in a limited fashion before. Normally, just with other tribes. Most tribes were pretty self-sufficient. The Pohogwe weren’t the only tribe in the area. A wandering hunting party from the Cheyenne, Comanche, Pawnee…and others that weren’t always that nice like the Crow and even those Comanche could be very aggressive. Yet, over several hundred years we had learned to deal with this aggression. Gifts were given to ease relations between the tribes. It worked. Now that the Pohogwe were done with the constant traveling they needed an export. Okay, what would that be? There are plenty of things when you think about it. Those who worked the fields weave these wonderful baskets! Really! They were tough and could hold a lot of heavy things and weaving different colored strands and created art. They were pretty and watertight. And that is not all. They made pottery. They raised prized horses that could keep up with your prey and knew to respond quickly to what command. Jewelry! Yes, with jewels of Nephrite Jade (Wyoming Jade), the rare yellowish green Peridot Wyoming had in abundance, Opal, Gypsum (A cloudy white mineral we associate with the moon for hundreds of years), Agate, and don’t forget the occasional diamond. All these were always there, but we didn’t know others would think they were valuable. Trade was always that. A trade! No currency, you have something we want, what do you want for it? A trade.

We mined limitedly before to use metals for arrowheads and tools. Before we used chipped rock and bone, but metal was better. From our eastern ocean along the shores, the wonderful Vikings I’m fond of brought their knowledge of metal workings and those “superior” Europeans did, too. Where did they learn it? From the Romans and Greeks? From our western ocean people from Asia came from China and Japan long before my Vikings and the Europeans got here. Who taught us what to do to make arrowheads of metal, axes of metal that wouldn’t break? Who knows? And before everyone gets mad, yes, there were settlements of both Japanese and Chinese on the continent. They found a stone tablet in the Northwestern United States with Chinese writing. One tribe in the Midwest was clearly descended from Japanese and native peoples. It was in their very language if not in their very physical features!

Oh, yeah. If anything, most tribes, including the Pohogwe, followed many of the Marxist’s ways. Natives owned nothing. They shared everything. No tribe member worked for a wage and just for their family. They worked for the tribe! Prey caught during the hunt were brought back and distributed through the entire tribe. Crops raised and harvested had the same thing happen. No one tribe member made money just for them. It never occurred to anyone to do that before! We just weren’t raised that way. I was only a little Native American. Mom was only Native American by her mother, but I was Pohogwe. I was born from a Pohogwe mother, who was born of a Pohogwe mother. I am Pohogwe. I am an American.

Where was I? Cooking the dinner for tonight. Right. It was Pohogwe! The recipe was Pohogwe that had evolved over the course of hundreds of years. The friends coming tonight had never had what we were eating, I bet. It was delicious. The two chickens were different in that the were not as dense kind sort of meat, so required less time to cook. And the sweet maple syrup was heated with honey. Both the venison and chicken would be basted with the sweet stuff, but the chicken would also have it inside the chicken where you could add stuffing after the unwanted organs were removed. That maple and honey liquid would heat up and fill the inside of the chicken. Basting them made the sweet seep in and you get the flavor from inside and from outside. Wild mint, onions, and love root (osha or ligusticum porteri) which we had in Denmark but that was also from the United States and Mexico and were stuffed inside makes for a complex sweet and savory flavor.

Returning to the kitchen I saw a new person. A young man about eleven or twelve with dark hair. He was sitting by the fireplace and rotating the spit slowly by it’s handle. The venison was about eight inches to a foot above the coals. The clay oven kept most of the heat in. A bowl of liquid with a big spoon to bast the meat with every so many turns.

“Drej langsomt, Dan,” Laura reminded him to turn it slowly.

“Jeg ved det, jeg ved det,” the young man said, obviously having said it before and bored with having to say it. “Hvis jeg går langsommere, kan jeg lige så godt stoppe!” He said he knew and if he turned any slower he might as well stop!

I snickered at what I heard. No matter what country or culture, a bored youth entering their teens and well into the teen years knew to sound put upon.

“Who is this?” I asked pleasantly.

Laura looked up suddenly, “I asked Rebekka, and she said you probably wouldn’t mind.” She said in a hurry.

I smiled at Laura, “I mind if he doesn’t have a name.” I grinned at the young man. “You do have one.”

The young man stood and held his hand out to me, “Danbjartur Christensen officially. I go by Dan.”

I shook his hand, “I’m David Richards.” I looked mockingly cross at Laura, “And why assume I’d object, Laura?”

Laura smiled a little embarrassed, “The Queen had a limited tolerance of children in the workplace.”

Dan looked annoyed at her, “I’m not a child, Aunt Laura!”

“Forgive him, David,” Laura said tolerantly to me, but more to her nephew, “He’s always looking to make some money, so I hired him to help tonight and if you don’t want the venison over cooked on one side, Dan has a job to do,” She waved at the clay oven. “Keep turning…slowly.” She instructed Dan. “Langsomt.” Slowly.

Dan rolled his eyes and sat to resume the job. “Langsomt.” He repeated glumly.

He was funny! I liked Dan. I waved my hand at him, “The comment about you being Aunt Laura answered part of my question. Your sister’s or brother’s child?” I chuckled as I asked. “He said himself; he’s not a child! Problem solved.” I shook my head. “And the Queen’s not here.”

Laura hung her head a little, “No, she isn’t.” She waved at Dan, “This is my sister’s eldest. She’s dealing with his sick nine-year-old little sister Darby and an infant. One less at home is to help her.”

“That makes perfect sense,” I said worrying he might carry whatever his sister had with him. “I hope the illness is not too serious.”

“Nah,” Dan assured casually and grumbled. “The dumb, dumb broke her wrist and leg while on the ice.”

Laura looked at Dan firmly, “Now tell him why.” She placed a fist on her hip.

Dan looked guilty now, “We were short a man in hockey!” He said helplessly. “She’s a good skater! She could do it, so she did!”

I had to laugh, “Oh, I see.”

“She was good!” Dan explained why it was wise to include her. “By the second period she’d scored three goals and…” he hesitated, “three guys collided with her when she had the puck.” Then he looked up defiantly, “She never cried!” He said proudly.

“How many games has she seen?” I asked.

“A whole lot of them!” Dan said. “She knew how to play and the rules.”

I nodded, “And she saw the tendency for injury.” I wanted to confirm.

Dan nodded, “Something always happens. A lot of blackeyes, cuts, bruises and blood.”

“Then she agreed to have that possibly happen to her,” I said logically. Looking at Laura’s frown. “I know that sort of behavior isn’t encouraged in girls for some reason in this part of the world.” I shrugged. “It’s in her blood. Was she any good playing the game?”

“I told you! She scored her third goal of the game right before her break!” Dan bragged.

“Girls playing sports!?” Laura asked. “That’s such a violent sport!”

I shrugged, “If she can and wants to, why not?” I waved at Dan. “Dan even said she did it well.”

“She’s a girl!” Laura objected again.

“Because she’s a girl she should not,” I nodded. “But she apparently can.” I shook my head. “I can’t undo the generations of teaching you’ve been raised in by parents, grandparents and great grandparents.” I looked at Laura. “You know I was raised differently, and I’ve seen the evidence. Genders don’t define what can and can’t be done.”

Dan grinned, “Aren’t you a cowboy? Yet, you’re an Indian?”

I chuckled, “One, being a cowboy is more of an occupation and lifestyle. It’s a choice. Two, we not really Indians. Just because some guy said he was in the West Indies…he called everyone in the new world Indians, and it stuck. I am born Pohogwe from a mother that is Pohogwe. I am Pohogwe and I am a cowboy.” I pointed at Dan. “At least you didn’t call us Injins. We’re not that, either.” I smiled at Dan. “You’ll see more about me tonight. I’ll even introduce you to the first real friend I made in England that wasn’t related to Prince Vincent or Wentworth Academy. She’s a very impressive and very smart lady; very capable.”

Basting the meats would be ongoing and there was the sizzling drip as the juices began to drop on the coals. It added fragrance to the air. The kitchen smelled awesome!

I was right. Changing how people saw rolls people would play in life had been taught a long time through the generations would be difficult. Men went to work, and women stayed home. He earned the living and she cooked and cleaned. That’s just how it was, right? Wrong. You may be tired of hearing about the wonderful Pohogwe…Well, I think we are! Working for a wage is new for the Pohogwe. They worked for the tribe! Everyone was part of the whole and no one “bought” anything in the tribe. There were now the makers of the jewelry, the baskets, and raising of the horses they received a wage from the profits made for the Pohogwe. The ranch was almost the same way! The family worked for the ranch. My father didn’t run the ranch alone. My mother didn’t run the ranch alone. I certainly didn’t run the ranch. We ran the ranch together. My father worked hard with the cattle in the fields. Mother worked hard in the house. When Dad came back to the house, he didn’t put his feet up and do nothing. Mom did cook but not for just us. She cooked and cleaned for us, the hired hands, that was fifteen to twenty hungry men three times a day, and all the guests that stopped over by stagecoach. Gender had little to do with their roles. My mother could ride and rope as well as any hired hand. My father could cook…sort of. You could eat it. Cookie, the elderly man at the ranch had been a cook…on the drive. He would also help Mom at the ranch, but she was in charge of cooking. Dad had help and Mom had help. After Dad died she relied heavily on cousin Jacy who was being groomed taking over. Dad made it clear to me, if I wanted to take the ranch and keep it in the family he was fine with that. But he knew I could be so much more and do what I wanted. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have tried so hard to get me in the best school to give me those choices. That wouldn’t be so bad as Jacy was family, too.

It was an hour before my friends were going to arrive and I was finishing getting ready. Vincent was slipping on his shoes and Thor was watching rather intently on the floor near Vincent’s feet. You had to wonder what was going through that little mind. We didn’t have fur and put this extra skin over our real skin. A shoelace dangled and Thor zeroed in trying to stop it. He was playing.

“Thor,” Vincent chuckled scolding lightly giving Thor a light shove backwards causing Thor to roll back. “This isn’t playtime, and you are not helping me.”

Thor didn’t understand as his tail was going again, but a much slower pace. Undeterred, Thor came right back and his tail increased speed. The soft puppy growl came out. Even if he could comprehend Vincent’s words, he wouldn’t understand. When was it not playtime!?

I came out of the bathroom pretty well dressed. Vincent had on a nice pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt with a bright red necktie over which was a suit vest of light grey tweed-like material. His black dress pants were a sharp black. Black shoes and looked every inch the Royal Prince. He was his father’s heir. I looked at him and smiled. I have known him a decade! That length of time you often don’t notice change unless it’s drastic. I noticed the change now. Vincent was very handsome. That really wasn’t the change I really noticed. What I noticed…he had matured! We were teenagers when we met at Wentworth. Now we were in our late twenties and that time had seasoned his looks very well. He was no longer a boy. He never was to me, but now I saw a handsome man!

“When did this happen?” I demanded shaking my head in a little annoyance.

“When did what happen?” Vincent looked up at me and when he saw me, his eyes widened a little bit and his eyebrows rose, “You are a cowboy.” He rose smiling.

“You know I am,” I knew why he said that. It’s a sad but the heavier fabric wool was hard to add color to. They were getting better at it, but the clothing made for winter were dark. Mostly blacks, greys, and dark tans were the colors of most men’s clothing. Cotton and silks were much easier and were brighter. Vincent’s dark clothing was accented by that wide red tie. It was as red as a glowing red wood ember in the oven. Not the flame of the fire, but that red glow. It was dark in Winter, so adding color made sense! The difference was the cut of my black pants that covered my shiny black leather cowboy boots; boots that would never see a field, walk through mud or anything else. They were so shiny the polished leather reflected the light. My wide black leather belt was held by a large belt buckle that had the snorting longhorn bull head on it and shined as bright as gold. My leather vest was red, too. A dark red. My father’s pocket watch was in the little pocket as the gold chain came from a vest buttonhole to the unseen watch. I wore a black leather cord tie called a bolo tie with gold tips. Dreams were very important to the Pohogwe, so I wore a Pohogwe Dream Catcher that held the tie together on my chest. Usually, the Dream Catcher looked like a sort of net to catch dreams, of course. The center of this one was a pebble sized polished green stone that was Wyoming Jade. There the five small feather shaped metal Eagles Feathers. Eagles were couriers that brought messages from the Spirit World to those asleep and awake. They were majestic birds and we agreed with the wisdom that the people of the United States made their national symbol for the new country. I also wore Wyoming Jade cufflinks. I am a citizen of the United States, I am Pohogwe, and I am the Ambassador from the United States. “You’ve always been a great guy and very good looking,” I shrugged. “I just noticed you grew up. You look a lot like your father." I touched his hair, “Without the blond hair.”

Vincent looked very serious for a change, “I see your father in you. I was right to give you that Ring of Trust.” His arms went around me. “I guess you know I could have taken that ring off anytime.”

I chuckled, “Yes, I knew that.”

“I’ll never take it way,” Vincent promised.

“I hope you never have a reason.”

“I’m amazed you haven’t handed it back,” Vincent said softly. “You’ve had reason to in the past year with my marrying…”

I kissed him suddenly, “Stop! I knew that was coming.” I pointed at him, “You tried to talk me out of it several times over the years. I couldn’t leave you. I love you.” I sighed. “I wish we could talk with your father and mother.”

Vincent gave me an uncertain look, “We talk to them all the time…but I don’t think you mean just talk.”

“You know what I mean,” I said as I held him closely. “I mean talk and in complete honesty. And with Christian…” I looked at Vincent. “What about your mother? She had a child with that Russian Ambassador! They’ve already gone through a lot of this.” I pushed Vincent away a little. “She conceived a child a man, did he have a Ring of Trust from her? Have there been others?” I waved my arm as I paced away from him. “There had to be emotions and feelings involved here.” I turned to Vincent. “Your father is in a room with Christian on the same floor as your mother’s! She knew they were having sex!!” I waved that off, “And your mother got pregnant in her room?” I nodded and held my hand up, “I know, Angelica and Harald were together doing whatever; she knew we were down the hall doing our whatever…”

Vincent grabbed me, “Stop.” He held me to himself. “You overthink these things.”

“I would just like some guidance,” I urged. “They have to have insight! Angelica and Harald will be living in Copenhagen at times. Where? In the palace? Here?”

“We’ll work it out,” Vincent assured me as he hugged me.

I held him tighter, “Hear me.” I said quietly. “I regret nothing, Vincent. I’m living a charmed life.” I waved at the surrounding mansion. “I was given this to live in before I became ambassador. Why? Because I am your friend? Does any other ambassador live like this? I know they don’t. I don’t like when I feel restricted that I can’t touch you out there,” I complained, “but that isn’t because you are a prince and soon to be king; it’s because we are in a relationship people wouldn’t approve of and could get us killed. I was raised in a part of the world where it isn’t, but Europe has invaded our world and began squeezing that out.”

“Not everyone,” Vincent pleaded lightly. “People are changing.”

I nodded, “Yes, and your family has managed to find and keep some very good ones to work at the palace. That’s great, but…”

“It’s changing!” Vincent said. “To have the Human Race change takes time and education. You are educating people now!”

“I am?” I asked unsure.

“Absolutely!” Vincent smiled. “You started with me when we got to Wentworth. I had never met anyone like you. Your father was a great man and I meet your mother…I go to where you were raised, and I meet wonderful people there that shaped you! People hear where you are from and assume you are less intelligent because you are from the wild, wild West! You meet and charm a British Lady that’s coming in a few minutes.” He bounced. “You charmed my mother! You believe people should be judged by what they do, not by race or gender.” He reached over and took my watch from my pocket and opened it and showed me the time. “That British Lady will be here in a few minutes.” He put my watch back and embraced me. “We’ll talk to Dad. He can talk to Mom and Christian. We can go from there.” He held me back. “A well-dressed professional cowboy lawyer or doctor. I like it.” He looked down. “What do you say, Thor?”

Glad to be part of the conversation or if he understood and agreed, Thor’s tail resumed it’s happy speed and he barked once.

“We tell each other every day,” Vincent said. “I’m telling you now. I love you, David Richards. I’d be a mess without you in my life.”

We slipped on our suit jackets, mine was a western cut. We went downstairs where there were a few people setting the table in the dining room to serve dinner. Aunt Benedikte’s great house has been modernized in a limited fashion over the decades. Lighting was done in the past by candlelight. Those beautiful crystal chandeliers had been all candles. The grand chandeliers here were now powered by gas. They were elegant and custom made. I don’t know who commissioned them but knowing a little of Aunt Benedikte’s history she wanted things better than the palace. Some of those things got passed to her granddaughter Matilda. Aunt Benedikte’s husband made a lot of money. She had no job, instead she spent! Even the lights on the wall were gas. There were electric lights in the bedrooms and the men’s smoking den (now Thor’s playroom). The office her husband had back in the manly rooms was wired for electricity and being wired for the telephones. I was having a phone put in the men’s smoking den and the billiard’s room. Unlike many of the building in this part of the world, rooms frequented by people the most were smaller and therefore easier to heat and hold that heat in. That was true in England in Windsor Castle. The Danish Palaces were a little bigger, but the smaller rooms were used the most. Aunt Benedikte’s rooms were bigger, taller, and more opulent. The bedroom Vincent and I used was the smallest of the elegant bedrooms. When my mother came, it would be early Spring, so I was going to give her a choice of any other room she desired. The worry of keeping it warm would not be a concern as much. It would get cold at night, but the heat would be easier to maintain. Jacy was supposed to be coming with her and I would do the same for him. The entire bottom floor was brightly lit now.

We went in the kitchen, and I smiled at all of the familiar smells. It reminded me of home at the ranch. The Honey and Maple basted chicken that was being finished and the venison was “resting.” It was covered to remain warm. If cut too soon all those delicious juices would ooze out and make it dry. That would have been a crime! Laura and Rebekka working to get things ready to serve my guests and me. Dan was getting the serving trays ready and even wore a clean white shirt on and dark pants.

He looked up as we came in the kitchen, instantly bowing to Vincent, “Your Royal Highness! It’s an honor. Hello.”

I elbowed Vincent who was carrying Thor, “This is Laura’s nephew Danbjartur Christensen. He goes by Dan.” I grinned at Dan. “You know him,” I waved Vincent off, “but this,” I touched Thor. His tail increased speed and licked my hand, “is our friend Thor.”

Vincent grinned at me, “Thanks, David.” He held his hand out to Dan, “It’s nice to meet you, Dan.”

“He’ll be serving tonight,” Rebekka smiled at me. “I told you. We won’t let you down. You’ve checked things out and it’s fine. Hot dishes will be hot, I promise.”

There was the echoing pound on the front door.

“I’m surprised Aunt Benedikte didn’t have a buzzer or bell,” I said to them. “It’s a big place!”

Rebekka shook her head, “I’m told she didn’t want that sharp buzzing noise.”

“Or the sharp ring of a bell,” Laura added. “It was…” she thought for the right word, “crass.”

I rolled my eyes and nodded, “Typical.” I turned to the others, “We’ll get the door.” As we walked through the foyer, I looked at Vincent. “I couldn’t have known your great aunt, but I’m getting an impression of her. Shallow, vain, and self-centered…”

Vincent shrugged, “She was the king’s daughter. Of course, she was.”

“So, how did you and Annabelle escape that?”

Vincent gave a puzzled look, “We know who we are. There is no need to be rude or so obvious about it.” He smiled, “You’re the same way.”

At the foyer’s entrance were Beverly, Lord Percival, two other adults and the other woman carried an infant in her arms. Two young women were taking coats and wraps from them. The eldest of the two taking the coats was in her mid-twenties, the other was in her late teens. Unlike many houses, I did not ask any of the people working for me to wear uniforms. It was my house to use and my rules. They didn’t mind. They were employees, not just servants.

Beverly turned and threw her arms out as she saw me, “David!” She greeted happily and walked toward me. “It’s wonderful to see you!”

I gathered her in a swinging embrace, “As it’s wonderful to see you!” I looked at her husband, Lord Percival, and he was never threatened by my relationship with his wife. Now that Vincent’s and my relationship was know to him, figured out by Beverly, he was even more relaxed. I was no threat to them. As of Beverly’s and my first meeting, I was her favorite dance partner. “Percy!” I greeted happily, bypassing his hand he’d put out for me to shake and hugged the man. He was still the stuffy aristocratic Brit at times, but not with me! “How are you?”

Lord Percival chuckled, “I do well, David.” He looked at the surrounding foyer. “This is quite a house you’re using.”

I nodded, “It is! Too much sometimes, but it was close to the palace and King Fredrik’s allowing me to use it as the American Embassy.”

Beverly smiled and waved at the young woman by her, “Did I ever introduce you to Francesca? My eldest?”

Francesca took after her mother a great deal, except for the hair. Francesca’s hair was a dark blonde with a touch of Beverly’s red hair. She was lovely.

“You told me over the years about her,” I took Francesca’s hand and did the formal bow and kissing the knuckle. “How honored I am to meet you, Francesca…if I’m allowed to call you Francesca.”

Francesca smiled and giggle softly, “I prefer Fran with friends. That means you.”

“Fran it is,” I grinned and looked into the face of the awake infant in her left arm wrapped in blankets and well padded against the cold outside.

“This is Emma,” Fran introduced her daughter who was calm. She was warm and secure in her mother’s arms. Fran turned and waved to the tall, blond man to her right. “This is Mads Mortensen, my husband.”

He was probably as tall as Vincent, King Fredrik, or my father! He was military and wore his dress uniform. He was about Vincent’s and my age and handsome but carried that military stiffness in his bearing. “It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Ambassador.” He bowed slightly and shook my hand. I saw the three stars on his lapel. They used stars for all officer ranks from Lieutenant to General. It was the size and arrangement of the stars that told you what rank he was. He was a Kaptajn (Captain).

“Do I refer to you as Captain?” I asked.

“Mads is fine, Sir.” He smiled.

“I’m David,” I said and waved at Vincent and knew what would happen. It happened all the time! “You know Vincent.” I said with no doubt.

Now Mads seriously bowed instantly, “Your Highness!”

Vincent grinned, “You heard David. He introduced me as Vincent. That’s what you can call me now.”

I waved Vincent off grinning, “Yes, yes, he’s the Crowned Prince and future King of Denmark, but often just Vinnie to me.” I bumped Vincent lightly in the side. Vincent gave the low growl. “We were roommates at Wentworth Academy and Cambridge, so we’re good friend now.”

Vincent raised my right hand, “And he earned the royal Ring of Trust by saving my life. He’s a part of the family now.”

Thor was interested in all the new people and gave a quick bark from Vincent’s left arm.

Beverly’s hands covered her mouth as she crooned, “Oooh! He’s so precious!” She cupped Thor’s head in those hands and stroked him, “Hellooo, Little One!” Her voice had a light singing tone. Thor was a baby.

I laughed, “I haven’t forgotten you.” I said to Thor. “This is Thor, and this is his home now.”

Even Lord Percival’s face changed to one of loving compassion, “We always had a dog! We’ve had a few Corgis and a few Beagles. There’s nothing quite like the unconditional love of a dog.” He pointed at Thor, “He’s part Beagle.”

Vincent smiled and nodded, “His father is a Beagle. His mother is a Terrier.” He nodded in my direction, “David rescued him from freezing to death.”

Beverly frowned hearing that, “But he wasn’t a stray. You know his parents.” She reasoned as I had. “He wasn’t lost?”

“No,” I agreed. “He was tossed into the river to drown. He escaped and we found him and brought him here.”

Lord Percival frowned with his wife understanding, “Bred for Christmas?”

“Yes,” Vincent nodded.

“And the discarded after the Holiday was over,” Beverly concluded. “They do that in England, too. Often brutally. There are protection laws in place, but it still happens.” She laughed as Thor was trying to get to her to lick and get to know this new friend. Vincent released Thor and Beverly took him in her arms and hugged him, never once attempting to stop the licks. “His temperament is good and he’s very happy. You’re taking excellent care of him.”

“We try,” I enjoyed watching Thor happily wagging his tail. “His father is still available.” I looked at Vincent. “How old is his father?”

“He’s six,” Vincent answered. “His mother is three or four and also available. His father has no papers.”

“Papers,” Beverly was annoyed by that. “Oh, pish tosh. Papers doesn’t tell you enough about a dog. The expression and stress-free life will tell you more. This is a happy puppy. He’s well-loved and secure.”

“You say the father is available?” Lord Percival asked. “Can we visit him? We are between dogs now.”

“You sure can!” Vincent smiled and then looked at Francesca. “His mother is a mix of Norwich and West Highland Terrier and don’t shed much.”

“I guess you’re asking us to take her,” Mads said with a smile.

“I was just thinking of Emma,” Vincent defended his logical motivation. “Her not shedding is better for Emma! Children can have breathing difficulties!”

I chuckled, “And every child deserves a pet!” I waved into the house. “We’ve got a room warmed up and more comfortable.” I bowed slightly, “Shall we go? Or do you want to visit right here?”

Beverly laughed and we all strolled into the house’s interior. I did a victory dance inside. Thor’s parents may have found homes. Annabelle will be thrilled!

We took them to The Smoking Den. Beverly put Thor on the ground, so he was free to make his rounds to everybody including Emma. Thor put his front paws on Fran’s legs wanting to play with Emma. Emma was also fascinated by Thor! Like Thor she was very happy. She was sitting up on Fran’s lap where she was held securely leaning against her mother. Thor had his mouth hanging open with that smile beagle’s would have and he made soft noises that was almost a whine, but happy as he panted with his tongue curled trying to get a response from Emma. Emma’s response was a happy noise, as well. Under the blanket was rapid movements as her feet kicked with delight.

The reaction of Beverly and Percival made me glad I included Thor. He and Emma were now great friends! Fran had been raised around dogs so didn’t mind Thor being here. A baby knows a baby and spoke the same language.

“Can I get you drinks?” I asked. “We have the traditional Scotch, Bourbon, or…” I smiled looking at the window where the curtains were now shut, “It’s cold out there, I can offer a Hot Buttered Brandy or Toddy.”

“I love a Hot Toddy,” Beverly said. “A Hot Buttered Brandy sounds delightful. I’ve not had too many of those.”

Vincent grinned, “My mother got it from Russia. Vruca Rakija is what’s called. She got it from the visiting Russian Ambassador, I think.”

My eyes shot over to Vincent, but I schooled my expression. He said it so innocently, I almost bought into it. He was joking about his half-sister’s father. There was only the slightest twinkle in his eyes I knew. “Wherever it’s from, it will warm you up all the way to your toes.”

“I’d love some!” Beverly told me.

“Give me a moment,” I went to the bar…yes, there was one. I didn’t drink that much, but I would have guests that did. I took the needed glasses and put them on a tray to take to the kitchen and warm them up and to get the necessary butter, brown sugar, cloves, and add the vanilla. Oh, yes, and the cinnamon stick!

Vincent got up and lit the wick for the gas powered warmer. It didn’t need to be long to warm the brandy. “I got this.”

I shook my head at him, “Aw, thanks. We should thank that Russian Ambassador.”

Vincent chuckled with a nod, “I hear he’s doing fine!”

It didn’t take long, but I needed to do something about the distance between the kitchen and the smoking den. I needed to have the things needed in the den available there. This was my first time! I’ve been to parties, but now I was giving one. Naturally, I was told by Rebekka they would be happy to do that.

“You could do it,” I nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with my legs. I can do it, too. You’re busy!”

Coming back into the den I caught Fran’s discussion with her mother, “…but I don’t want her to be cold.” She pulled Emma’s blanket to secure it more.

“Are her feet cold to the touch?” I asked and the saw some questioning looks from the others. “Sorry, I wasn’t asked.” I knew a lot, but no one liked a know-it-all. There were things I didn’t know.

Beverly smiled, “But he’s right.” She looked at her daughter, “If her hands and feet are warm, she’s fine.”

I shrugged and decided to explain, “My Grandmother was the healer for the Pohogwe and the ranch.” I chuckled, “It was just passed on.”

Vincent nodded, “He picked up a lot having been raised on that ranch. It saved my life a few times.”

I made their drinks with the brandy. Handing one to each I warned them each, “This will warm you up, but it will make you comfortable and sleepy.”

Fran was questioning her mother often. It was what mothers were supposed to do, offer guidance and advise to her daughter who was a new mother. Fran hadn’t had any alcohol in over a year. She didn’t want to harm the baby. Beverly told Fran if she didn’t want to, fine; but one small drink would not harm the baby by nursing.

“This is delicious!” Mads claimed holding his feet out in front. He probably was wiggling his toes, but we couldn’t see that. “I feel it in my toes!” Yep, he felt it in his toes. “Show me how to make it.”

The door opened again, and Dan rolled a cart in with two silver domed covered platters. I imagined his Aunt Laura had insisted on the cart in fear he was drop the platters. “These are Mr. Richards mother’s creation,” he said dramatically and raised a cover and let steam rise. “These are Asparagus Papooses, a flavorful greenhouse garden raised vegetable wrapped in fry bread.” He went to the other tray and lifted it, “And these are venison sausages, also in fry bread and very flavorful.” He raised his hand, “Not hot spicy, but full of flavor!”

I chuckled, “You’re a natural showman, Dan.” I told Dan who was very pleased to hear that.

“Just bringing them in here are saying, here, eat…is boring.” Dan grinned with a shrug.

“That was not boring!” Vincent laughed lightly.

“Keep it up,” I added. “I’ll officially hire you! You’re in school, but I know we can use you here part time.”

Dan smiled even bigger and bounced once.

True compliments are not always given in words. There were four “mmhs,” and “oohs” said in reverence. Of course, Thor could smell and wanted some, too. I would have let him have something, but the spicy meat and even asparagus could upset his little tummy. The chicken could be okay, maybe. I’d ask Rebekka later. There were spices in the chicken, but not too much. It was mostly sweet.

The conversation flowed easily; even as we went to the dining room. Fry bread served, there was even corn soup with bits of venison, carrots, and beans. Not in chucks, but that added flavor. The Three Sisters vegetable dish was delicious. The venison was sweet, as was the chicken. Then desert came. Like a piece of cake layer cake, the Indian Bread Pudding had Indian Fry Bread in it and glistened with moisture. The fry bread we made yesterday and torn into bite-sized pieces, with nutmeg, raisins, walnuts, cinnamon, and shredded cheese on plates. Also, in small, chilled bowls were these hardened globs of maple syrup that sat on small piles of snow. Rebekka and Laura had the bowls were wrapped in ice on a plate to keep the snow from melting too fast.

My friends loved it.

“Dinner was wonderful,” Mads said putting his napkin aside, “but you need to know…a young woman came by the other day…” He began, “but it was sort of odd.”

“Why?” Vincent asked.

“She has money,” Mads said simply. “You saw that in her clothes, and it was just her. She was asking about our neighborhood and said she was looking to buy.”

“Oh?” I asked, but I knew who she had to be.

Mads shrugged, “At first, I didn’t think too much about it. There could be a number of reasons she was buying this time of year.” He had puzzled look. “Then her questions became…less about the house and area and more about you.”

“Me specifically?” I asked to be sure.

Mads nodded, “Pretty much.”

Vincent’s left eye narrowed, “Did any of you see her?” He asked Beverly and Percival.

“No,” Percival answered.

“I believe I know who it was,” I said softly. “If you came to the Christmas party at the palace, you would have probably seen her.”

Mads bent his head forward a little in embarrassment, “I hate to say it, but my mother is jealous of Beverly.”

Beverly shook her head at her son-in-law, “She can’t help it. She’s your mother.”

“And you’re Fran’s mother! Both of you are Emma’s grandmothers,” Mads argued irritated.

Percival smiled and explained further, “We were invited to the Christmas Party at the palace as I am of nobility and from the House of Lords.” He shrugged.

“We had our own party with my parents and friends,” Mads explained. “Then this woman began to ask what I thought of the new Ambassador from the United States. But then she started to ask about who you were dating...”

Matilda had to have seen how close Beverly and I were and traced her to Francesca and Mads.

Fran nodded, “We didn’t know. I thought perhaps she wanted to date you.”

“I sensed a threat,” Mads said in a low voice. “To you.”

I snickered, “She is no threat to me.”

“She’s trying to be a threat to the Danish Crown,” Vincent growled. “To my father, to me…”

“We’re dealing with it,” I assured. “King Fredrik has things in hand.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Vincent smiled.