Even though her mood hadn’t lightened, she pasted on a pleasant expression and headed downstairs to the large parlor where everyone was gathered.
“There she is.” Father held out an arm to her and escorted her to the dining room.
“We are privileged to have you with us, Mr. Briggs, Miss Briggs.” Judge Ashbury dipped his chin at her. The stately older gentleman appeared at ease and not at all stuffy. His eyes even twinkled. “George has told us all about you, Mr. Briggs, and your charming daughter.”
Charming? Eleanor couldn’t remember the last time the word had been used to describe her. But the compliment seemed sincere. And the Judge was so hospitable and congenial it was easy to relax.
“Thank you for having us.” She curtseyed.
Father pulled out a chair for her. “Please call me Stewart. George and I go way back.”
The table was set with fine china, crystal, silver, and linen. Impressive. For a moment, she wanted to giggle to herself. To think that when Father first announced they were headed to Montana, she had imagined meals at hand-hewn tables with simple dishes. Wouldn’t Marvella be shocked to hear that?
Almost as shocked as Eleanor was to realize she was the one underdressed for the occasion. How presumptuous of her to assume that Montana would be filled with backwoods, uneducated, poor people.
The footmen served the main course as conversationfilled the room. Rack of lamb with oven-roasted potatoes and carrots. A delicious sauce of cherries and currants was offered as well. Eleanor’s mouth watered. It smelled absolutely delicious.
“What about you, my dear?”
Eleanor glanced up. Uh oh. She hadn’t been paying attention. “Oh, please excuse me. I was captivated by this delicious lamb.”
“Our cook, Mr. Jefferies, has studied abroad.” Marvella’s pride at this made her cheeks glow. “He’s good, and I seldom have anything to say against his dishes, although there was that one time when the pork roast was tough. He blamed the pig, but we couldn’t be sure.” She speared a piece of roasted carrot. “We were speaking of the magnificent scenery you passed coming into and through our area. What was your impression?”
The change in subjects made her head swim. Eleanor sipped her water to give herself time to follow her hostess’s train of thought. “It was incredibly beautiful. Scene after scene of snowcapped mountains, crystal lakes, and a riot of colors in the moraines where wildflowers grew. It is a gorgeous section of the country.”
Marvella’s enthusiastic nod sent the hair on top of her head bobbing. “I agree. I agree. Such majesty. One can’t help but think of God and the radiance of His creation reflecting His beauty.”
She bit her tongue. She wasnotgoing to discuss God and matters of faith. Her hostess wouldn’t care at all for her opinion should she do so. She sliced off a piece of the lamb and took another bite, eager for the subject to change.
George Grinnell rescued her. “I’m sure that all of Americais certain to see the value in preserving more and more land for public viewing and use. We must do this now and minimize westward expansion.”
“Once the battle cry of businessmen and politicians back east ...” Apparently it was her father’s turn to put in his two cents. Eleanor withheld a sigh. She’d heard this a hundred times. “‘Washington is not a place to live in. The rents are high, the food is bad, the dust is disgusting, and the morals are deplorable. Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.’ Horace Greeley said it, yet gave no consideration to the land grabs we would see because of it.”
Mr. Grinnell tapped the table. “It was wrong to encourage a nation of dreamers to take up vast tracts of land and fence them in to keep the world out.”
“Hear, hear.” Father added his hearty approval to Mr. Grinnell’s statement. “I will only add that massive tracts of farmland or ranches disrupt the natural terrain they take over. There should be designated spots for farming and ranching. The acreage could be predetermined by the government, setting up plots for anyone who wants to take on those enterprises. Land allotment then benefits both as intrusion upon the land is kept to a minimum, and what is not claimed is able to be preserved. It would also keep harmful incidents like the Land Rush of 1889 from happening again.”
Eleanor studied her father for a moment. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were sparkling. It was the most animated she had seen him in quite some time.
Judge Ashbury cleared his throat. “Yes, the Land Rush was quite the mess. But as I recall, it was a mess created bythe federal government’s failure to create an orderly process by which people could claim their one hundred and sixty acres.”
Father dabbed at his lips with his linen napkin. Eleanor held her breath. It wasn’t often Father or Mr. Grinnell were challenged outright like this.
“The government did do a poor job in organizing the assigning of land,” Father finally said. “But the principle was sound. One hundred and sixty acres is more than enough to establish a flourishing farm and still preserve vast segments of our great nation for all to enjoy.”
“Land ownership is not the problem, as I see it.” The Judge cut into the lamb, his voice calm in contrast to the strident opinions of the men she knew and respected. “Land ownership and settlement has done wonders for isolated territories, where no one would venture if left untouched completely. There is no reason land ownership and nationally preserved lands cannot stand side by side.”
Oh dear. That went against everything her father had said for years. Eleanor had always agreed with him ... but she hadn’t considered what the Judge was suggesting.
Eleanor leaned forward. “Might I inquire why a single man needs hundreds if not thousands of acres of land?”
The Judge smiled at her and his mustache twitched. “Our world has a growing population. If men don’t own a great deal of land, they can’t produce the food that population requires.”
Even though she didn’t agree with his opinion, she liked him.
The Judge speared a piece of lamb. “Our own Jacob Brunswick owns twenty thousand acres of farmland.”
Marvella gave a firm nod. “Oh yes. The Brunswicks’ farmland simply ripples with the most impressive crops of wheat. And they are so generous. They sell their wheat at a fair price, and I know for a fact they have helped their fair share of down-on-their-luck families. I believe their farm alone supplies enough wheat for three counties. And they ship to Canada.” Marvella’s pride in her community shone through her prais—
