And so a resolution was put forth. They would pick just one person to speak to the new arrival first and act as the official greeter. Everyone agreed that Miss Beemer, who had recently joined her friends on the hill and was used to controlling unruly children, was the obvious choice for the position. Lucille had taught sixth-grade English for years and she had a particular interest in elocution. She also had a lovely manner and a soothing speaking voice.
The procedure decided upon was that Lucille would welcome the newcomer and explain the situation. They’d let them rest awhile if needed, and then, one by one, the others would speak in an orderly fashion. Close relatives first: mothers, fathers, grandparents, and so forth, then husbands, wives, and children, if any. Next, neighbors and friends, and then passing acquaintances who wanted to say hello. Those wishing to be introduced to the newcomer would speak last.
Of course, the plan was not foolproof. They knew some might not wish to speak to their relatives first, but it seemed to be the only way to keep some kind of order. Thankfully, the system worked perfectly well, except for Old Man Hendersen, who jumped in and talked whenever he pleased.
Although they read about crime in Kansas City and elsewhere, Elmwood Springs did not have a police department. Luckily, other than a few minor offenses, they had never had any serious crime problems until 1937, when a Peeping Tom was spotted. Within a day, word spread through the town, like wildfire, and everyone in Elmwood Springs was alarmed. The peeper had been seen hiding in the bushes at several houses where young girls lived. It was always dark when they saw him, and he quickly ran away, so they could not see his face. It was nerve-racking for the parents in town to know that someone was out there lurking around in the dark, peeping in at their daughters. Some men would even walk around their houses at night carrying a shotgun, hoping to be seen and scare him off.
On July Fourth, he was spotted in broad daylight peeping in the school window at the Tappettes when they were changing clothes after marching in the parade. Mary Childress, who had seen his silhouette, had screamed. But he had gotten away.
After almost a year of putting up with it, Hazel Goodnight put forth a plan at the next city council meeting. She said that she suspected the peeper had been at her house several times, looking in her girls’ bedroom window, and as bold as he was there was no reason to think he wouldn’t show up again. And so Hazel proposed that they set up a trap for him. The idea was to plant a brand-new shiny quarter on the ground by the window and hope he would pick it up.
The quarter, unbeknownst to him, but known to the storekeepers in town, would have a small dab of red fingernail polish on it. They all agreed this was a fine plan. The quarter was planted, and the whole town held its breath in anticipation of catching him.
Several weeks went by, and nothing happened. Then one Saturday morning, fifteen-year-old Lester Shingle walked into the bakery and plopped the quarter with the red fingernail polish down on the counter to pay for a dozen doughnuts. Gerta picked it up, noticed the dab of fingernail polish, and yelled, “It’s the quarter!”
Suddenly and within a flash, their son, fourteen-year-old Gene, came flying out of the back room where he had been working with his dad, ran after the fleeing Lester, and tackled him in front of the dry cleaners. When they heard all the commotion, people up and down the street came out of the stores, just in time to see Gene pick up the screaming and kicking Lester and punch him in the nose. Gene was mad. His girlfriend had been one of the Tappettes changing clothes that day, and he didn’t like the fact that Lester had spied on her one bit.
Once caught, Lester Shingle said he’d found the quarter by the post office earlier that morning. They couldn’t prove he hadn’t, but nobody believed him. The good news was that they were all pretty sure they had caught the Peeping Tom.
Although the peeper had been caught, there was also some sad news. Beatrice Swensen, after trying for so long, was finally expecting. But a month later, she suffered a miscarriage and lost the baby.
After it happened, Ander was heartbroken, but Beatrice was almost inconsolable, to the point that Ander asked Elner to come and stay with her when he had to go work at the dairy.
Every day, Elner sat in Beatrice’s room by the bed and held her hand while Beatrice cried. “Oh, Elner…I wanted that baby so much.”
“I know you did, honey. I know you did,” said Elner, patting her hand.
“Why did it happen, Elner? I was so careful.”
“We don’t know why, but you’re young yet. There’s plenty of time for you and Ander to have lots more babies.”
“I don’t think so. The doctor said that I—”
Elner stopped her midsentence. “Oh, pooh on that old doctor, Beatrice. He doesn’t know everything. Besides, I had a dream last night. I was in my kitchen out at the farm, peeling potatoes, and you called me up on the phone all excited and said, ‘Guess what, Elner? I’m expecting again.’?”
“You did?”
“Yes! And you know me, Beatrice, my dreams always come true. Why, didn’t I dream that you and Ander would get married, and didn’t I tell you so?”
“Yes…I remember,” said Beatrice.
“So, you mustn’t lose heart. Just have a little faith. You just wait and see.”
—
THE NEXT MORNING, A very grateful Ander Swensen met Elner at the front door. “I don’t know what you said, but last night, she seemed a little better.”
“Well, good,” she said. “I’m glad.” As Elner headed upstairs carrying the tiny black-and-white kitten she had brought for Beatrice, she called out, “Yoo-hoo…I have a little friend who’s come to see you.”
She never talked about it, but Elner believed that sometimes, something living to take care of was the best medicine for a broken heart.
Swing music was sweeping the land, and by popular demand, Mayor Ted Nordstrom had an outdoor dance pavilion built out at Elmwood Springs Lake for the younger set.
Mr. Warren from the hardware store came out and strung up lights all around and set up four loudspeakers. The first night it opened, the place was packed with people. As it turned out, everybody young and old loved dancing and jitterbugging to the big band records by Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, and others. Ted and Gerta were town chaperones, and sixteen-year-old Gene set up a refreshment stand and sold ice-cold drinks to the thirsty dancers. Old Mrs. Gravely got so whipped up and excited, she threw her hip out the first night.
—
UP AT STILL MEADOWS, when some of the old-timers first heard the music coming from the pavilion, they were concerned about the loud beat of the drums. But most of the others came to enjoy listening to the music on the long summer nights while they looked up at the stars.
Lordor and Katrina had laughed the first time they heard Glenn Miller’s “Little Brown Jug,” and almost everybody out there loved the Andrews Sisters. Birdie Swensen admired their brilliant harmony when singing “Bei Mir Bist Du Sch?n.” “Those girls have perfect pitch,” she said.
Lucille Beemer particularly enjoyed Tommy Dorsey’s “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You.” It always made her think of Gustav.