LEAVING ORDINARY

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. This book, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Chapter One

1999

Today Louise would visit the land. This trip would return her to a past she brushed against almost daily. It could happen when she filled the blue speckled enamel roasting pan used to make years of meals, dusted a color photograph of the farm framed by wheat fields and grass pastures, or heard violin music. The moments could generate cheer or reflection, and, at times, land emotional wallops.

The stretched doleful coos of mourning doves voiced her melancholy. Louise’s knee hooked the bedsheet as she rolled away from the North Dakota summer sunrise that spread from between the white pull blind and the window frame.

She told herself to stop being so mopey.

Get up. You can’t get out of this.

The hem of her lace-trimmed blue nightgown dropped low as she left her bed. She raised the blind seeking the hush-filled planned and pruned senior community’s landscaping. Dwarf shrubs squatted in oblong beds of pea gravel or rusted brown mulch surrounded by a brochure-ready lawn.

Louise thought it was all tidy and dull.

Why can’t there be more flowers around this place?

Turning from the view, Louise questioned if there was an easier way to go back. She gripped the dresser top, and her 89-year-old knees lowered her like an antique, overworked elevator. She tugged the heavy bottom drawer an inch at a time as wood scraped wood. The smell of mothballs stung the air.

I haven’t looked at his violin in years. What if seeing it makes the missing hurt more?

Louise saw the travel-worn violin case. Her mind wanted to fast swing away, but her heart locked on and looked. When Louise moved into her apartment five years ago, she placed Leo’s violin in the drawer of the oak dresser. Storing away the instrument had quieted memories, but their magnetic pull had not lessened: a life created by two when now there was one. Her age-spotted hand caressed the case’s cracked and wounded leather. Her thumb stroked the handle.

“I miss you.”

Louise let the instrument be and moved aside newer photo albums with the plastic pockets until she saw the ebony scrapbook with the ragged gilt edging. The book had the heft of longevity built into it. Louise hoisted this scrapbook and herself and went to the kitchen.

I’ll make coffee first.

She brewed strong, tongue-burning coffee like all the gallons she had made before. Louise settled in at the small kitchen table that her children had given her when she’d moved into the apartment. The newer dining set wasn’t as sturdy as her old farm table, but it fit the space. Taking a few sips, she steadied herself before reaching for the memory book.

This is silly. Nothing in there is going to bite me.

The coarse, ebony sheets crackled as she pulled apart and turned pages of old-timey black-and-white photographs bonded into place by paper corner brackets. One picture showed the farm’s wooden windmill that creaked and swayed in the gusty prairie winds. Another, their first automobile: a third-hand used Ford truck. Family and friends grew up and grew old in the flip of pages. Grainfields and vegetable gardens in different stages of growth and seasons were kept static. This stop-and-go chronicling continued until she came to a photograph that was years out of order.

Framed by scalloped white borders, the photo showed a young couple sitting outside on uneven wooden high-back chairs next to a white clapboard house.

Louise recalled that house party. She had been eighteen, and Leo was nineteen. They’d been married a short time.

Leo’s brash smile tight-lipped a cigarette. He held a violin. Leo rarely turned down an opportunity to play. Louise, next to him, smiled softly and posed in proper posture. She was not wearing a hat. Mother said ladies were supposed to wear hats outdoors. Louise never did like wearing one.

She stilled. The music was faint, but she could hear it nonetheless. It was no song in its entirety but instead a high-spirited compilation of chords, melodies, and crescendos.

She whispered, “I want the music.”

Sometimes when Louise was washing her few dishes, she fantasized she could hear Leo playing. Foolishness, she knew. There was the radio or television, but she ached for him and his music. When Leo held his violin and gripped his bow, it was as if the dirt on his palms disappeared, and his musician’s heart came out to play. Back on the farm, on the silent evenings when there was no music, its absence was so loud it reverberated all over the house. A person could reach out and touch the missing.

* * *

1926

Wheatville’s town hall doors were propped open in wide welcome. Late April evening breezes attempted to cool the steamy makeshift dance hall of that western Minnesota farm town’s Annual Fireman’s Dance.

The salt and pepper mustached band leader’s voice boomed. “Folks, welcome! We are the Midwest Musicale Extravaganza. We hope you have a grand time. Boys, let’s begin.”

Like a train leaving the depot, the Musicale’s quartet eased, then chugged until they picked up steam and raced along the rails. Rotating on and off the dance floor were ladies wearing short-sleeved cotton dresses whose mid-calf hemlines floated and snapped as men wearing their Sunday button-up-best trousers or bib overalls spun them in polkas and waltzes amongst a fragrant fracas of rose and lily perfumes, sweat, and rolled tobacco smoke.

Sixteen-year-old Louise looked good-girl charming in her homemade flowered red and blue voile dress. Her below-the-knee hem showcased her legs, stepping and whirling across the tongue-and-groove oak floorboards. She shined from her short bobbed brown hair, held back by a green apple brain-binder headband, to her black patent leather shoes.

Her eyes were drawn to the fiddle player, not much older than herself, and his slicked-back hair. The musician’s talent pushed and pulled jubilant notes across his instrument, revving up the crowd.

The fiddler’s pant cuffs hung above his ankles, making his slim five-foot ten frame appear taller. The black wool fabric matched the snug suit coat gaping and straining its button threads. Early into the music show, the musician removed his coat and rolled back his shirtsleeves, displaying muscled forearms and a torso outline. The man’s suit didn’t fit, but it didn’t display “farmer.” The verve of his music and rascal smile kept her sneaking looks. She wished he’d ask her to dance.

He held his back straight, then tilted back, and then leaned into the rhythm’s vigor. His left foot planted firm. The right foot tapped the beat. The violin player grinned at the horn player, who threw a smirk to the drummer, and the drummer beamed at the crowd as the band showed off their up and down swings of tempo and musical swagger.

At nine o’clock, the bandleader stood up from his piano and called a break and announced that the Homemakers Club was serving a meal. Wives, widows, and daughters hurried to organized positions at long food tables offering home-baked bread and cooked-to-a-blush ham. Similar to the upright pipes of a church organ, the famished and tipsy partygoers lined up to choose homegrown lettuce and cabbage salads, coffee, and water. For something stronger, a person sidestepped Prohibition and located Jacob Swansen’s automobile.

Several matrons shooed back residents so the musicians could fill their plates first. Louise’s insides fluttered when she saw the violin player approach her dessert table. Smiling, Louise asked, “What would you like?”

The musician’s mouth corners hooked high, and then his gaze moved over the tall chocolate and vanilla cakes, juicy apple and sour cream raisin pies, and flat, brown-speckled Norwegian lefse. “Ahh…how about some of everything.”

“Was that your approach at the other tables?” Louise asked nodding at the two plates he carried laden with golden fried chicken, sliced bread, sour pickles, and sharp white onion-seasoned chunky potato salad.

“Hard to pass up food like this. Plus, I don’t want to offend any of the ladies.”

She filled a third plate for the musician. “That’s smart, and a potential bellyache.”

It was then Louise noticed he was staring at her. The hall was overheated, but the added recognition of the man’s interest made Louise want to fan herself with a plate. She must have been distracted for too long because he raised the plates in his hands.

She glanced down, up, and stopped at his grin. Their shared laughter skipped with nervousness.

Louise asked, “Would you like me to carry this to where you’re sitting?”

“Please. Ladies first.”

Louise scanned the hall. “There’s the band,” and moved towards the table.

The musician stretched his step to walk alongside her. “My name is Leo Zint. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are?”

Her keen hazel eyes noticed his sparking brown ones. “My name is Louise Miller.”

“Are you enjoying the evening?”

“Yes. The music and dancing have been wonderful.” She noticed him stand straighter.

“Are there any songs you would like us to play?”

Delighted, Louise said, “I like what I’ve heard so far. Keep doing that.”

They reached the seated band members. The horn player, who appeared a few years older than Leo and wore his suit like a city slicker, pulled out the chair next to him. “Miss, this seat is for you.”

Louise raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that for Mr. Zint?” Good manners dictated she address Leo formally, but Louise already thought of him as Leo.

The musician laughed. “He can find another seat. I’m Erik…”

Leo interrupted, “Don’t pay him any mind. He can’t help himself when a pretty girl is around.”

“Is that so?” Louise said.

“You’re welcome to join us.”

“I’m Colson, the bandleader, singer, and all-around musician. Nice to meet you. Erik is our horn player. Karl here is our drummer. Of the four of us, he’s the loudest musician and talks the least.”

Karl’s quick head nod bounced with shyness, and the rest of the Musicale chuckled.

“I’m Louise Miller. I’ve been enjoying the music.”

“You’re my kind of gal,” Erik said.

Louise heard Leo say under his breath, “Not tonight.”

She set Leo’s plate down. “I have to return to my table. It was nice meeting you all. Enjoy the food.”

Louise could feel Leo watching her stroll back to the desserts. She added a frisky swish to her glide. Her rash behavior made her hands twitch. To calm herself, she rearranged platters of desserts. Throughout the meal, Louise peeked at Leo. The boisterous band ate, laughed, and invited anyone who strayed near to join their party.

When the musicians returned to their instruments, the cooled-off townspeople reassembled on the dance floor. Soon enough, the dancers wore damp clothing and high spirits, including Louise. When she looked in Leo’s direction, she flashed him flirting smiles, and he reciprocated.

Colson yelled, “Last song!”

The rambunctious finale rocked the revelers who clapped and hooted their appreciation. The Musicale began packing their instruments, and the town hall cleanup followed. As Louise wiped a table, she saw Leo amble towards her.

“Did you like the rest of the show?” Leo asked.

“I did. Most everyone stayed until the end.”

“I like hearing that. Tonight’s crowd had a good time. When you’re standing on stage, you get to see what the audience likes and doesn’t. People-watching makes the music better. Helps too if there’s trouble brewing.”

Louise held the rag in her hands and tugged at the ends. “You sounded good to me. Have you been playing long?”

“I bought my violin when I was thirteen. You have the long, pretty fingers of a piano player.”

Louise looked down at her hands. On one hand she spread out her fingers. “Thank you. Does the Musicale leave today, or will you stay around for a couple of days?”

“We’ll sleep for a few hours and then head to the next gig.”

“It must be exciting to go places and play for audiences. See something other than the hind end of a cow.”

Leo let loose a fast laugh. “Playing music is more fun than plowing a field. I started with the Musicale when I was fourteen. The band gave me a job and a suit that was too big for my bones. That was three years ago, and now there’s more of me, and my suit still doesn’t fit.”

Louise giggled. “Maybe you could find someone to sew you a new suit?” and then, with a searching tone, asked, “Do you like life with the Musicale?”

“I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Leo cupped his hand on the back of his neck. “We’re headed out. Could I…write you?”

Louise swallowed so she wouldn’t stutter on her next words. “I’d like that.”

She hoped Leo’s request was more than a traveling man’s empty flirtation.

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