storage in the morning, Giselle wondered if she would need new gowns for the next twenty years—so long as she stayed the same size! At this point, I think I have a dirndl in every color of the rainbow, she thought, patting the latest, a blue one, a bit flatter. If the last two weeks were anything to go on, she’d be needing room for more.
Rosa found these gifts terribly amusing, which Giselle understood, knowing what Rosa usually wore, as well as the fact that dirndls would probably raise amused eyebrows when she spent time in the household of her patron, the Graf. Giselle could imagine . . . barely . . . the sort of outfits that Rosa probably wore. Much more stylish and fashionable than those of the good ladies of Freiburg.
But she suspected that the ladies who gifted the two of them with these dresses fondly assumed that, for them, this would be . . . fashionable. They’d never recognize Rosa if they ever saw her in one of those gowns.
It also would have left most of the kind ladies who pressed these garments on them fainting, had they seen what Rosa called her “armor”—a set of leather garments lined in cloth-of-silver, that were, well, tailored for her but identical to what her masculine counterparts wore.
“I’ll never let our dear benefactors know,” Rosa had said after the fourth such gift, “But mine are all going to find a home with some of the other ladies. We aren’t that dissimilar in size, after all.”
Rosa had already regifted most of her gowns to the other ladies and one each to the Pawnee men to take home to their wives. What the Pawnee women would make of them, Giselle had no idea . . . but then again, Leading Fox’s idea was that they should make themselves look as much like the whites as possible once they got their land bought, so perhaps the dirndls would serve that purpose.
Certainly no one could have asked to be treated better than she and Rosa and the others were. Every gift was bestowed with real kindness and the sense that these folks were trying to offer the hospitality of their city.
As for the way the Pawnee with the show were treated when they ventured outside of the enclosure, well, all they had to do was look at something with interest, and generally someone would find a way to gift them with it. They all had at least two brand new hunting rifles each (Leading Fox had four and a shotgun), enough handsome shawls to fill three steamer trunks, and enough silver hunting badges to gladden the heart of any of them wanting to play the plains peacock.
The cooks had very little work to do, since any time one of the company wanted to eat, he could stroll out into the public areas outside the show, turn up at any of the food or drink tents, and be fed royally—either he would be treated to a meal by someone who wanted to pepper him with questions, or the stall or tent owner would give him a free meal as long as he sat there to be gazed at. This, too, was making Kellermann very happy; less spent on food meant more profit. He had, in fact, instituted a new rule, that if you intended to eat in the mess tent for a particular meal, you had to sign up on a sheet so the cooks would know how much to make. Most people attended breakfast, but when it came to luncheon and an after-show supper, well, why bother when you could get yourself stuffed at a beer hall?
It was partly a matter of the simple fact that late fall was slaughtering time. Anything that could not be preserved had to be eaten. For instance, hens too old to lay eggs anymore and all the roosters but the chief of the flock were often killed at this time. Roasted chicken had been an uncommon treat for the show folks back in America, since flocks of chickens were uncommon on the plains, and each one precious; chickens were common in Germany, and at Oktoberfest chicken was standard fare.
Then there were the sausages, using every scrap of every sort of meat available; without smokehouses, it was hard for the folk of the plains to make things like sausage, bacon and ham. For some of the cowboys, the many sorts and flavors of sausage had come as a