At the first council meeting after Lordor got home, he said, “My dream is to light up our town, so nobody has to live in the dark anymore.” And he did. Thanks to his many visits to the Missouri Electric Light and Power Company, the stores and houses on Main Street—and later, as promised, every building in town—had electricity. In 1906, when the new streetlights came on, they had a party, and everyone dressed up in their best clothes. Ingrid Nordstrom wore one of her mother’s hats, and her brother, Teddy, as a prank, wore a pair of his father’s big shoes.
Lordor adored his children and, as far as he was concerned, they could do no wrong. Especially Ingrid. Unlike her brother, she liked cows and was already helping with the milking. In the summers, Katrina would stand looking through the kitchen window and watch as Lordor headed out to the pasture with little Ingrid marching along right beside him. Oh, how she loved her daddy.
Lordor indulged her, of course. He even bought her a pair of boys’ overalls and rubber boots. “I want to look like Daddy,” she said.
—
AS THE CHILDREN GREW, so did the little town. By 1907, mostly due to the prodding of Birdie Swensen and the other ladies, they had built a small opera house to accommodate traveling theatrical groups and local plays. As Birdie said, “We may be living in the country, but that’s no excuse for us not to be exposed to a bit of culture now and then.” Although as everyone agreed, the last Shakespearean Acting Company’s presentation had been a letdown. The actor with the spindly legs who played Hamlet had been at least seventy.
Due to the increase in the number of her students, Miss Lucille Beemer had moved from the Nordstrom home and into town, to be a little closer to school. She was now living at Mrs. Molly Ballantine’s Boardinghouse, which catered to single ladies and gents and the occasional traveling salesman passing through. Tonight, Miss Beemer sat in her small room on the second floor, correcting papers. But somehow her heart wasn’t in it.
She walked over and opened her window and looked out. Such a warm beautiful summer night. She could smell the honeysuckle blooming on the large veranda downstairs and hear the faint faraway sound of music. Someone in the house next door was playing a song on the Victrola.
It was on nights like these when she would think of Gustav and wonder where he was.
Even though everybody in town, adults and children alike, always addressed her as Miss Beemer, she was still hardly more than a girl herself. She had barely turned eighteen when she had accepted her first teaching position.
But as a certain married lady said after Lucille stepped off the train a few years back, “No need to worry about her stealing our husbands, ladies. She has ‘Old Maid Schoolteacher’ written across her forehead in large, bold letters.” Lucille Beemer had long black hair that she wore pulled up tight in a high bun, and a slightly long thin nose. And she did appear to be a serious and extremely proper person. But she wasn’t quite what she appeared to be. Because of her position and responsibility at such a young age, she had carefully hidden the part of herself that was still a romantic young girl, full of dreams of romance and adventure.
Even her father, a minister in Philadelphia, would have been surprised at his daughter’s secret dreams—dreams of a handsome stranger riding into her life and sweeping her away. Now, more often than not, the handsome stranger looked just like Gustav Tildholme.
A few of the old bachelors in town had asked her out, as well as Mr. Glen Early, a tenor who sang in the church choir. But she had no interest. The longer Gustav stayed away, the more she realized her heart was somewhere else. Lately, she had begun to question why she had cared so much about what people would have thought if she had run off with him.
Just then, she heard one of the male boarders downstairs on the veranda laugh in a loud, crude way, and she slowly closed the window.
Dear Anna Lee, Thank you for your last letter. I write to tell you that I am still happy and well. I wish you could come and see me. There are so many daffodils here this year.
The children are growing like weeds. My boy is so sweet, and Ingrid continues to amaze me. I tell you, Anna Lee, she is not like us. She is a true American girl. In summer, she gets as brown as a berry and runs around barefooted, just like the boys. Lordor says she rides the mules even better than the boys do. And he is so proud of her. Last week, he took her with him to the big cattle sale in Kansas City. He said she already knows more about cows than most of the men.
Anyhow, I miss you and often think of our time in Chicago. What would I have done without you, dear friend?
I close now to go feed the chickens. Yes, we have many chickens now, including one very big and pretty fluffy white hen I have named Anna Lee, in your honor. You would be proud of her. She lays a lot of eggs, and all the big red roosters are in love with her.
Love, Katrina
P.S. I am enclosing pictures of Teddy and Ingrid.
Dear Katrina, Sorry I haven’t written sooner. Thanks so much for your last letter and pictures of the kiddies. Ingrid looks more like you every day.
I am in the pink here…and speaking of roosters, boy oh boy, do I have a live one on the line. He is an Italian and a little rough, but he has big, dreamy eyes. And does he like blondes. I’ll say! Don’t be surprised if I don’t wind up rich one of these days. He makes his own liquor and sells it for a fortune. Whoo whoo! Just got a swell white fur piece from the lad. Who knows? Next time I write, I could be signing it Mrs. Johnny Zenella. Wish me luck, and pat that chicken on the head for me.
Anna Lee
P.S. WHEN ARE YOU COMING TO SEE ME?!
1908
It was well after nine o’clock when Lucille Beemer heard a knock on her door. It was her landlady, Mrs. Ballantine. “Miss Beemer, you have a long-distance phone call. It’s a man.” Lucille was already in bed with her hair pinned up, but she quickly jumped up, threw on her robe and slippers, and ran downstairs to the phone in the hall. Mrs. Ballantine was waiting and handed her the receiver, then stepped back into her room to give her some privacy.
“Hello, this is Lucille Beemer,” she said, almost out of breath. “Hello?” Lucille could hear music in the background, but nobody spoke. “Hello,” she said again. “Gustav…Is it you? Hello? I’m here….” Again, there was no answer on the other end, and then whoever it was hung up.
Mrs. Ballantine came back out of her room. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Did he say where he was calling from?”
“No, he just asked to speak to you. But whoever it was sounded a little drunk to me.”
“Maybe he’ll call back.”
“Well, if he does, I hope it will be at a decent hour the next time.”
Miss Beemer waited by the phone, hoping he would call back, but he never did.