A Doctor for Keeps

by Lynne Marshall - A Doctor for Keeps

  “The sons and daughters of Heartlandia first came together to start this festival fifty years ago,” Steven recited like a tour guide for the city. “The early summer festival celebrates our Norwegian, Icelandic, Finnish, Swedish and Danish heritage—” he stumbled over some of the words, but managed to spit them out pretty well for an eight-year-old “—from the early fishermen settlers first stranded on our coast.” He stopped long enough to swallow. “Our first peoples, the Chinook, saved and nursed our shipwrecked forefathers to health and taught them the secrets of hunting and fishing the waters of the great Columbia River.” A quick picture of Linus explaining the meaning of Christmas to Charlie Brown came to mind with the quiet yet capable way Steven told his city’s history.

  “Okay, Steven, you don’t need to repeat your entire class presentation for Ms. Desi.”

  “I liked it. Thank you, Steven.”

  “As you can tell,” Kent interjected, “Hjartalanda is proud of both the Scandinavian and Chinook heritage.”

  “We have a special celebration for the Chinook peoples in—” Steven screwed up his face, eyes up and to the right. “What’s that month, Dad?”

  “October.”

  “Yeah, October. Then we have a beer barn, too, so that gets the old farts to come.”

  Desi sputtered a laugh before she could stop herself.

  “Watch the language,” Kent warned benevolently. “And, Steven, that’s not exactly why we have the beer barn. It’s—”

  “That’s what you said to Officer Gunnar that time.”

  Kent flashed a sparkling look at Desi over Steven’s head. He enjoyed his son as much as she did. She lifted her brows. You get yourself out of this one.

  “That was just an observation between him and me, and for your information, I said ‘geezers,’ not ‘farts.’”

  Steven giggled. “Fart is a funny word. I like it better. Fart, fart, fart.” He dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  “That’s enough of that.” Kent tried to sound stern, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth told a different tale.

  Desi grinned at the father and son’s candid conversation during the drive over. Maybe, if she kept quiet, she’d learn a heck of a lot more about Heartlandia—or Hjartalanda, as Kent had called it—than she’d found out from her grandmother so far.

  Steven taught her a hand game for the rest of the short drive over, where one person would place their palms on top of the other, and the bottom person had to try to slap the upper person’s hands. Something about his earnest approach to everything he did made her warm inside. He was easy to giggle, too, and she joined right in, even as she nearly got slapped silly from his quick reflexes.

  They parked outside the central section of town and hiked up toward the main street called Heritage. Desi glanced far off at one end to see what looked like an official building, maybe city hall, with a totem-pole-type monument in front. She turned and gazed down to the other end, noticing storefronts, restaurants and other businesses in what seemed like a time warp to the 1950s architecture and style with evidence of 1970s expansion. One large building, six stories high, sat apart from the other mostly single-or two-story frames. It smacked of the Art Deco era of the twenties and thirties with geometric domes and lavish ornamental copper accents, which had turned green. Desi wondered if there was an ordinance about not building tall after The Heritage Hotel and Performance Center went up.

  She’d slowed her pace to take it all in, and Steven grabbed her hand, pulling her along. Clusters of people grouped around the street corners and more lined the curbs with chairs and blankets to sit on. It seemed as if every person in the city had shown up for the parade.

  “Move back, folks. Make way for the parade.” A sturdy, broad-shouldered police officer spoke to the thickening group on one particular corner. The guy was built as if he could make a living on the side as a cage fighter.

  “Quit harassing the locals. Cut us some slack, Sergeant, would you?” Kent’s outburst made Desi tense. This wasn’t the kind of guy anyone in their right mind should want to challenge.

  The intense-eyed, equally handsome and obviously Scandinavian male turned to Kent. The grim expression on his face broke apart into a wide grin. “You give me a hard time and I’ll haul your—” he glanced at Steven then back to Kent “—backside in.”

  The men shook hands, and Desi knew immediately they were friends. Respect shone through Kent’s and the officer’s eyes, and something else, too—something that looked a lot like brotherly love.

  The policeman with light brown hair and flashing green eyes bent to greet Steven. “How’d you talk your old man into bringing you to the parade this year?”

  “I asked my piano teacher along,” Steven said, pointing to Desi.

  Feeling suddenly on display, she made a closed-lip smile, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. The officer looked her way and tipped his head, obvious interest in his gaze. She gave a single nod back.

  “This is Mayor Rask’s granddaughter, Desdemona,” Kent said, reaching for her arm and encouraging her forward. “And this is Gunnar Norling, my best friend since grammar school.”

  “Hey. Nice to meet you,” he said, casting a quick sideways glance at Kent, ensuring he’d get the lowdown later, before smiling at her.

  “Call me Desi.”

  “Okay.” He reached for her hand.

  A drum-and-bugle corps rent the air, alerting the crowd the parade was about to begin, and Gunnar’s attention immediately went elsewhere.

  “Enjoy the parade, guys. I’m on duty.” Off he went, looking attractive and official in the dark blue uniform.

  The next thing Desi saw was the flag corps consisting of six teenage boys proudly displaying the five Scandinavian banners plus the U.S. pennant in the center. Each young man wore a vest in the traditional color of their country as they walked to the rhythm of three snare drummers directly behind them. Then came her grandmother sitting in the cab of an open horse-drawn carriage, waving demurely as she progressed down the street.

  Desi waved wildly along with Steven and Kent, and Gerda’s eyes brightened, stretching her Mona Lisa smile into a toothy grin.

  As the procession continued, individual countries paraded their famous costumes and music while walking beside simple floats and automobiles.

  The women and girls wore ankle-length dresses covered with colorful aprons and shawls or capes. Some wore white scarves on their heads, which made them look like flashy nuns, or little hats trimmed in red or blue. All the women wore thick stockings and what looked like homemade leather shoes. Large beaded necklaces seemed to be in vogue with many of the women in costume.

  The men’s outfits reminded Desi of a famous TV commercial for cough drops. She especially liked the bright vests and little turbans or knit caps with tassels some of the men wore.

  The intense colors on all of the apparel impressed Desi—mostly reds and blues with some yellow—along with the pride and joy that poured out of every participant as they strolled by. She glanced at Steven and Kent and saw the same pride and joy on their faces.

  “That’s Viking,” Kent said, pointing to one group.

  Steven saw one of his friends walking with the adults and gave a holler. Kent grabbed him and gave him a noogie as they watched the group pass. The father and son touched affectionately a lot, she realized, and seemed to get along great. Mother or not.

  “That’s Swedish, my people,” Kent said, as the next float approached.

  The subtle differences between the groups were hard for her to see, yet everyone else seemed to know exactly who was who. What must it be like to belong so deeply to something, to have a heritage you could trace back thousands of years and know like the back of your hand? “Here come the Danes.” Kent smiled and glanced at her. In the front row of participants was a young girl of mixed race, like herself, and she led the way. What was he trying to communicate, that she wasn’t the only biracial person in town?

  Heck, half of her family
tree was cut off at the very first fork, a blunt and wide cut that ended with a single name—Victor Brown.

  “Here come the Fins.” Kent continued his parade coverage, his hands on Steven’s shoulders and the boy’s head resting against him, just above his belt.

  Desi couldn’t tear her attention away from the genealogy marching before her. She was made up of just as much of this as the other mysterious side, and today she deeply felt the Scandinavian connection.

  “Here’s my favorite, the Icelanders!” Steven jumped in, pointing ahead. “They always wear the funnest hats.”

  Besides the um-pa-pa sounds coming from some of the floats, there were others with fiddles that sounded so similar to what Desi knew as Celtic tunes. There was maypole-type dancing between some floats and livelier, showier footwork, knee and shoe slapping, among the boys and men between other floats. Her cheeks soon grew tired from all of the grinning.

  As the parade went on, more modern versions of Scandinavian clothing came through. The easily spotted knit sweaters and caps, and stylish sheep-fur-lined boots sported by preschoolers and kindergartners grabbed her attention. A group of teens showed off what could only be described as Scandinavian grunge, complete with famous storybook red braids and raccoon-styled makeup, while doing gymnastics and a little street dancing.

  Something was brewing and bubbling in Desi’s chest. Could she see herself in the light faces of these people? Her mother’s Nordic beauty was hard to detect when Desi looked in the mirror, yet it was there—her high cheekbones, the shape of her brows, the expressive eyes. Her mother was inside her—in every cell and in half of her DNA.

  Her mother had run away and given up her entire life for Desi. She owed it to her to keep her mind and heart open to this town and all that it was and could offer. She needed to stick around long enough to learn who she was before she took off searching for the other half.

  An hour after it had started, the parade came to a close with a final um-pa-pa group, and a small, sweaty hand on hers brought her back to the moment.

  “Let’s get over to the booths before the lines get too long,” Steven said, tugging her down the street. So far the weather had cooperated, the earlier gray clouds parting, revealing bright blue sky above.

  Kent walked a few feet away from them like a tall, benevolent chaperone giving them space.

  “Is this where everything happens in town?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Pretty much. We’ve got a lot of touristy shops for the cruise-line visitors down toward the docks, but most of the travelers like to come up here to eat. We’ve got some great restaurants.”

  One redbrick restaurant and bar had a few tables out front and a black-and-white canopy under which an older African-American man sat drinking coffee as they passed. He wore a starched white chef’s shirt and hat placed at a jaunty angle on his head. Their eyes met, as two standouts might, and he tipped his head at her without a hint of a smile. She smiled and repeated the gesture, noticing the name of the restaurant and promising to find her way back at some point. Lincoln’s Place. “Good food since 1984. Live music and Happy Hour specials daily at the bar,” the sign said.

  Kent waved and the man lifted his palm in return.

  Down the street was a small white restaurant, with a blue-and-yellow canopy out front, called Husmanskost.

  “What’s that?”

  “They specialize in Swedish cuisine. I’ll bring you some samples from the booths.”

  Desi kept walking, but her gaze stayed on the cute little restaurant, wondering what unusual tastes and dishes she’d find inside.

  At the food section, the wait at Gerda’s Danish Bakery booth was nominal. Gerda was already there working, and she smiled her greeting, then turned and picked up some already-packaged treats.

  “I thought you were going to make the aebleskiver fresh for us,” Kent said with a teasing tone.

  “Even an old coot like me knows how to read phone messages. Steven texted you were on your way over as soon as the parade ended.”

  Desi shook her head and smiled over Steven’s resourcefulness. Behind the counter on another surface were several grills with small round grooves filled with pancakelike batter. The other cook on hand used a toothpick to move the pastry ball around to cook it on all sides. It looked like a tedious job, and Desi knew she’d wind up with burned pastry if she were in charge.

  “I gave you a mixture, Steven,” her grandmother said. “Some have apples inside, others raspberry. Be sure to put extra powdered sugar on them. Oh, and I gave you different sauces to dip them in.”

  The fresh apple and cinnamon aroma of the small doughnut-hole-type baked goods made Desi’s mouth water. “I’d like to try one with just the powdered sugar, if you don’t mind.”

  Steven’s face lit up. “That’s my favorite, too!”

  When they perched at a small table, Steven opened the box. Kent made a quick, stealthy reach right after Steven powdered them and popped one into his mouth.

  “Hey, buy your own, Dad. These are for me and Ms. Desi.”

  Kent’s brows shot up and, combined with the cheeks full of bakery goods, the vision made Desi laugh. He shrugged and said something completely unintelligible through his full mouth. A crazy urge to lick away some of the powdered sugar from his lips and chin gave Desi pause. What the heck was going on?

  Of course she understood that Kent was an amazingly attractive man. It was apparent most of the women in Heartlandia—at least those at the parade who made obvious eyes at him—thought so, too. Besides, she was a healthy young woman who hadn’t had a date in a long time. Of course she’d notice a guy like Kent. But this slow-heat in her lower parts whenever he was around still took her by surprise.

  Step away from the merchandise. The last thing she needed was to complicate her circumstances by developing a crush on her grandmother’s neighbor.

  Kent slipped away as she and Steven gobbled down the delights. After they knocked off what was left of the dozen, grinning and smacking their lips all the way, Kent reappeared with a couple of containers. “Here you go.”

  “What’s this?”

  “I brought you some fish balls.”

  She didn’t think she could eat another bite.

  “Just a taste. Come on.”

  He fed her a nibble of the fish ball, and even though it was a stinky fish ball, all the while she thought this encounter was too intimate for a public place. “Mmm, that’s delish.”

  “There’s plenty more you’ll have to sample.” She glanced at his mouth and thought she’d like to sample that, too. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a midnight supper.”

  That sent her mind to a completely inappropriate place and her cheeks heated up. “I need something to drink.”

  “Steven, get Desdemona some water, will you, please?”

  Her name seemed to simmer on his lips. Sheesh, he’d better make that ice water. “Thanks.”

  “If you’d like, I’ll take you for a proper Swedish dinner sometime.”

  “Thanks, but I’m sure you’re too busy with your clinic and all to do that.”

  “You know about the Urgent Care?”

  “My grandmother couldn’t be prouder of you if you were her own son.”

  “Did someone say my name?”

  As more helpers arrived, Gerda had taken a break from her booth, coming around the corner and taking Desi by the elbow. “Steven, Kent, may I borrow Desi for a few minutes?”

  Kent’s police-sergeant friend showed up with a coffee in one hand and a huge Danish in the other. After delivering the water, Steven had waved to a few of the local boys, yet he still looked disappointed at the prospect of Desi leaving.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

  “We’re going to do some boring booth shopping,” Gerda added. “But you’re welcome to come along.”

  Steven wrinkled his nose. “I’m gonna go play with my friends.” He pointed to the group of boys chasing each other around for no appar
ent reason.

  Kent waved his acknowledgment of everyone’s whereabouts without missing a beat of the friendly conversation with his best buddy. Those guys seemed to really enjoy each other.

  Traveling all her life had meant good friendships were hard to make, and that had always bothered Desi. What would it be like to have a special friend to share all of your thoughts with? Anytime she’d started to get to know a kid her own age, her mother would get a new hotel assignment in another city. Heck, Desi had always felt more like a mascot to the hotel housekeeping staff around the country than a friend to anyone.

  Gerda guided Desi by several booths, making a stop in front of each one and introducing her. “Hey, everyone, this is my granddaughter, Desdemona.” She couldn’t seem prouder, and it gave Desi pause. If her mother had only given things a chance…

  At the jewelry booths, she saw beautiful examples of the necklaces many of the parade participants wore and also brooches. Her eyes lit up at the meticulously knitted sweaters and hats at another booth two doors down.

  “Oh, I love that red-and-white one,” she blurted out.

  “Try it on. Let me buy it for you,” Gerda said.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “I’ve missed a lot of birthdays and Christmases. Please let me buy you a gift.”

  Feelings she wasn’t prepared for folded into her heart. She reached out and for the first time hugged her grandmother. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll take this,” Gerda said midhug to the little lady behind the counter.

  As they pulled back, Desi offered a sympathetic smile tinged with long-lost family ties. The tears in her own eyes were reflected back at her in Gerda’s kind expression. They’d missed out on so much together. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gerda gripped Desi’s shoulders, letting her know how important this was to her.

  Kent strolled up, stopping briefly when he realized he’d invaded a private moment. “Oh, sorry.”

  Desi and Gerda opened their hug but remained arm over arm. “Grandma just bought me the most beautiful sweater.” The lady behind the counter had finished wrapping it in tissue paper and putting it inside a bag with all five of the Scandinavian flags on it, then handed it to Desi.