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While the cowboys waited in line for Rusty to dish up their plates of stew, Benteen identified them individually to her. Two of the shyer ones turned red when she was introduced to them. Shorty Niles flattered her outrageously, making her laugh, but all of them treated her with the utmost respect. They weren’t at all like the foul-talking, loud trailhands she’d seen on the streets of Fort Worth.
There was no order to the meal, no formality observed. The men sat on the ground, leaving their hats on and shoveling the food into their mouths as if there might not be another meal for days. Lorna found it difficult to appear at all ladylike when she was sitting cross-legged on the ground with her skirts billowing around her and holding the plate of stew she was eating. Rusty came around with the coffeepot to refill the cups.
“This stew is very unusual.” She had been taught to compliment the cook. Since she hadn’t eaten anything that tasted quite like it before, it seemed logical to mention it. “What’s it called?”
There was a lull in the conversation. Rusty glanced at Benteen. Everyone was fully aware of his orders about swearing in front of the women.
“It’s called … son-of-a-gun stew,” Rusty said finally, and a few of the cowboys chuckled aloud.
Lorna didn’t understand the joke and slid a questioning glance at Benteen. His mouth was slanted in a half-smile, but he kept his gaze down.
“It’s made with beef, isn’t it?” Lorna guessed.
“Well, yes, ma’am.” Rusty seemed to hesitate before admitting it. “It’s made from beef parts—the heart, liver, tongue. ’Course, it gets its flavor from the marrow gut.”
“Marrow gut,” Lorna repeated, and let her fork rest on the plate. “What’s that?”
“It comes from the tube that
connects a cow’s two stomachs.” Having spent a great deal of his life at sea, Rusty knew sailors had to have some greens in their diet to keep from getting sick and diseased. So did cowboys on the trail. Meat and beans alone weren’t enough. Since cattle ate grass, the necessary nutritious elements were in the marrow of the tube connecting their stomachs. If a cowboy ate it, he got the benefit of the greens. “Son-of-a-bitch stew,” as it was more widely known, usually contained it.
“Oh.” Lorna stared at her plate and wished she had never asked. There wasn’t any way she could eat another bite. And the food that was in her stomach didn’t feel like it wanted to stay there. She looked across the way at Mary, but she didn’t appear to have been listening.
As if she hadn’t been through enough that day, here she was eating animal guts. It was too much. She set her plate on the ground, not caring that the cutlery clattered off the side, and scrambled to her feet.
“Excuse me,” Lorna mumbled, conscious of Benteen’s frowning look.
Gathering her skirts tightly around her, she ran from the campfire area and sought refuge in the back of the wagon. She sprawled the length of the quilt-topped mattress and started to cry. She just couldn’t take any more.
A guilty look of regret stole across Rusty’s lined face. “Sorry, Benteen. I fergot such talk offends a lady’s delicate sensibilities.”
A hush had settled over the men at Lorna’s flight. Benteen was conscious that they were waiting to see what he was going to do. He was irritated at the awkward position Lorna had put him in.
He forced himself to smile. “Don’t worry about it, Rusty. There’s a lot of things she’s going to have to learn to accept.”
He put his plate aside and rolled to his feet. Crossing the camp with slow deliberation, Benteen raised the canvas flap of the wagon and ducked his head to climb inside, aware of the smothered sounds of Lorna’s crying. He struggled to control his impatience. She lifted her head from the quilt long enough to look at him, then turned it quickly away.
“What is it this time, Lorna?” There wasn’t room to stand in the cramped quarters of the wagon bed, so he sat down on the mattress.
Immediately she moved, turning and pushing herself into a sitting position. Her legs were crooked under her skirt to avoid any contact with him.
“Animal guts,” she declared in a choked voice. “How can you expect me to eat animal guts?”
“It isn’t the gut. It’s the marrow, and you liked the stew well enough before you found out what was in it,” he reminded her.
“It isn’t just that,” Lorna protested, and scrubbed away the tears with her hand.
“Then what is it?” Benteen demanded.
“It’s everything. You never told me it was going to be like this,” she accused.
“You knew it was going to be rough.” His eyebrows were pulled together in a dark frown.
“Rough, yes.” She nodded. “I can take being bounced all over a wagon until I’m black and blue. I can stand being dusty and dirty because there isn’t enough water for bathing. But it’s the rest.”
“The rest?”
“Don’t you know how humiliating it is for a woman to relieve herself where others can see her?” Lorna sobbed, turning pink again at the embarrassing memory. She buried her face in her hands. “I wish I were back home with my parents where they eat regular food.”
