“Tell him, I’m very good,” Maida insisted with a smile.

“She’s very good,” Peyton agreed with a laugh.

“Do not eat that,” the woman introduced as Sophia said to the kids, pointing at the soup. She reached into the freezer and pulled out two chips of ice. “First, stir this around the bowl, test with your upper lip, this part here,” she said, pointing. “If you need, I’ll give you another ice. Not to burn your tongue. We have much eating to do today!”

Food was being scooped from all kinds of places on to a large plate. Vegetables, salad, meat, more meat, sauce, a bowl of soup, beans and creamy potatoes. It was placed before Scott, a napkin appeared—all the napkins were cloth—utensils came out. A basket, almost big enough to be a laundry basket, was full of bread in many different shapes. Corinne tore off a large chunk of a French loaf and put it on the edge of his plate. “Just a little sampling for you, Dr. Grant.”

“Are you ever going to call me Scott?” he asked.

“Perhaps on your next visit,” she said, but her smile was very mischievous.

“All right, Mrs. Lacoumette,” he said. He picked up his fork and tried some beans. He chewed. His eyes closed. He took a deep breath and said, “Ahhhh.”

All eyes turned to him. Corinne frowned. “It’s not good?”

“It’s amazing!” he said. “Amazing!”

There was a collective sigh and smiles all around. He suspected he’d passed the first test, but it wasn’t much of a challenge as everything he put in his mouth just sent him to heaven. The meat was tenderized with spices he didn’t recognize. The greens were unlike anything he’d ever tasted. He dipped into the soup and grunted, and once again, all the eyes turned to him. “Good,” he said, relaxing their sharp stares. “Very, very good.”

He hadn’t even noticed that Peyton had disappeared, but she was back, her clothing changed. She wore rough, worn jeans, work boots and a sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves. She helped herself to a small bowl of beans and a large chunk of bread and sat down beside him.

“When we’ve eaten, get the suitcases. Jenny’s sandals will have to be replaced with tennis shoes. Will’s good, but it might get chilly in the orchard. They’ll need their sweatshirts. Can you dig out your old jeans?”

He nodded, his mouth full. Was she putting him to work straightaway?

He took a forkful of a tender fish or something. “What is this?” he asked.

She leaned close and said, “Txipirones en su tinta. Calamari. Squid. Cooked with Mama’s tomatoes, onions and garlic.”

“So tender,” he said. “I’m used to calamari being chewy.”

“Pah! Not in this house!” Corinne said. “It is el punto. Cooked the right way, the Basque way.”

He was going to like her. He tasted the soup and murmured his approval. Delicious.

“Potato and chorizo with Mama’s tomatoes,” Peyton said. She pointed to his plate and identified lamb, tenderized beef, the pinto and kidney beans and greens. “There will be lamb stew later—you’ll faint it’s so good. And some things you can try if you like. Oxtail soup, beef tongue, tuna belly.” She grinned. “No obligation.”

Scott ate everything and even had seconds of the squid, lamb, beans and soup. A little extra bread to dip into the beans and soup. This made Peyton’s mother smile broadly and brag a little about the food coming for dinner. It was time for Scott to bring in the luggage, to find his jeans and Jenny’s tennis shoes. He groaned when he stood.

“I knew you went overboard,” Peyton said. “Get going, move around a little bit. We have to get Mama’s eggs, then we can visit the animals. Tomorrow I’ll take you over to my brother’s, and the kids can see the lambs. Come on, Scott.”

“Maybe we should lay down in the hayloft for a while....”

“Oh, you’re going to make a bad impression.”

“Your mother loves me—I cleaned my plate. Twice.”

“And had to be stopped before you did it a third time. Come on!”

The kids scampered along with Peyton to the chicken coop; Scott followed more slowly. “We should hurry to get the eggs. Mama saved them for you, I think. She’s usually out here early. We need a lot, so I hope the hens haven’t been lazy.” They had to shoo the dogs away, and Peyton stomped at a couple of roosters, sending them skittering off. The kids were a little hesitant until she told them the chickens were gentle and rarely pecked, being used to having their eggs collected every day. Then she showed them how to slip a gentle hand under a hen and pull out an egg. She put her hand over Will’s and guided him, whispering, “Please, don’t squeeze the egg. It’s very fragile. Hold it light as a feather.” When he got the first one, he lit up.

“Me,” Jenny said. “Now me!”

“Shh, no jumping up and down. We have to stay very calm around the hens or they’ll get upset, and hens who are upset can’t lay eggs.”

“How do they lay the eggs?” Will asked.

“Well, I’ve never actually seen it happen, but the eggs are carried inside them, and they settle on the nest, and when the eggs are ready, the hens push them out.”

“Like babies?”

“Like babies,” Peyton said. “Jenny, let’s get the next egg together. Put your hand under mine. When you feel the egg, tell me.”

“I feel it!” she whispered. “I feel two!”

“Jackpot,” Peyton said. “Bring them out one at a time.”

By the time they’d collected a half dozen, the kids could do it without Peyton’s hand. They pulled out another half dozen, a very good crop. Corinne was impressed and praised Will and Jenny.

Scott was looking as if he might need a nap. But she dragged him along to the barn. The kids met the few cows and goats, but the popular winner was the miniature pony. Peyton put a lead on him and brought him into the corral so the kids could take turns on his back. Jenny was chased by a rooster, Will was nipped by a goat, but even so, it was a completely positive barnyard tour.

Chasing dogs, cuddling kittens, racing through the barn—it all served to wear them down. And then, as the sun was lowering, a parade of people started returning to the house. Men, a few women, teenage boys and girls, all looking weary and dirty. They washed up in the barn and in the outdoor vegetable sink on the back porch.

“Time for dinner,” Peyton said. “Can you take the kids inside and get them cleaned up for dinner?”

“Change their clothes?” he asked.

“Just brush them off outside and take them to the upstairs bathroom to wash hands and faces. That should do. These guys aren’t going to get dressed up to eat. They’ll probably fall into bed right after dinner.”

When Scott got inside, he saw the table was set for many—at least twenty. He was introduced to Uncle Sal who was putting open bottles of wine on the table. Aunt Sophia was adding pitchers of tea and lemonade. Platters and tureens and bowls were being readied in the kitchen, and a great hodgepodge of people migrated to the table. Aside from being introduced to Peyton’s father, commonly known in the family as Paco, there was very little talking. Everyone, it appeared, was tired to the bone. But then wine was poured, tapas came out, a couple of baskets of bread were put on the table along with olive oil and some kind of fish paste. And with the wine, conversation loosened up. By the time the first tureen of soup arrived, there was laughter. Scott was asked who his people were, where he came from, what his town was like, how his clinic was getting along. Paco soon shifted his attention to Will and Jenny, made a place for each of them beside him, sharing his bread, making them laugh.