Tilda and the Gangster 6

After the supper chores were finished, I sent Henry out to the barn to get tucked in. I lingered in the kitchen listening in on the conversation in the dining room. I was bursting with curiosity about these men. Why were they here? What would they be doing in Warroad? What was their St. Paul life like? Did they have wives and children at home?

But there is only so much lingering one can do without drawing attention, and when Papa caught me listening, he sent me out to the barn. I would have to wait for the answers to my many questions.

The next morning, Henry and I were up early tending to our chores. Henry fed and watered the stock and milked our faithful Rosie; I gathered the eggs and headed in to make breakfast. This meal didn't take any planning at all, since our breakfast was generally always the same. We had salt pork and beans, with eggs along side. I would have liked to stir up a little oatmeal to serve with fresh cream, but our rolled oats had petered out the end of April, and Papa had not yet made the arduous trip to town. It was arduous for him because it was a whole day of driving; it was arduous for me because I preferred to avoid Fitjedahl. Whatever our reasons, we had yet to undertake our stocking-up travels, so oatmeal was not to be.

When breakfast was nearly prepared, I began to wonder whether our illustrious guests would ever awake. I asked Papa what I should do if the food was ready before the men made their appearance. Although Papa didn't want to seem rude, he did have a full day's work ahead of him. He had me serve breakfast at our regular time. Henry and Papa and I soon finished our meal, and still Mr. Barker and Mr. Karpis had not awoke.

Papa had to travel a few miles today to visit with one of his members who was sickly. Henry didn't want to leave home when we had such exciting guests, so I sent him to occupy his time out of doors, and out of my way.

I busied myself with the breakfast clean up, and got some beans boiling on the stove. I checked the sponge I'd use for the biscuits I planned for dinner. I kept the beans and pork for the men's breakfast warming on the back of the stove. I would quickly fry some new eggs when I heard the men stirring.

When the kitchen chores were done, I swept the living room and the front porch and dusted the lamps, the end tables, and the upright grand piano Papa had gotten when we still lived in Muenster and his hopes for me were still untarnished.

I had never done well with my music lessons, but I did like to sit and play a bit of music of my own devising. Papa would have liked for me to play the classical composers, but I wanted to play the ragtime tunes I used to hear coming out of the dance halls in Muenster. And so we remained at an impasse.

I tried to only play when Papa was not around, so as to not add further to his feelings of hopelessness regarding his only daughter. That morning, with all the excitement over our dandied guests, I found myself pining after some city music. After I finished the dusting, I sat down at the piano stool intending to play for only a few minutes. I still planned to get out to the garden to plant a few more seeds. But the seeds and the empty ground wouldn't be going anywhere in the next half hour.

I quickly found myself lost in the music, and so I felt my heart go directly into my throat when a deep voice behind me asked where I had learned to play like that.

"Oh, uh, well," I stuttered as I turned to face Mr. Barker. For it was he who had entered the room without my having heard a sound. "I'm not really supposed to be playing these tunes at all. I took lessons when we lived in Muenster, but I never could make my fingers keep up with the works of Bach or Chopin. When I heard these tunes coming from some of the buildings in town, it seems that tunes of a similar style just found their way out my fingertips. I don't play from music, so what I play is probably not correct." I realized I was babbling and stopped myself abruptly.

"The way you play is just like some folks down in the Twin Cities like to hear. I know of several joints down that way that would pay good money to have someone play like that."

I was stunned into silence. I never imagined these tunes that came to me so easily would be a marketable skill. But it was of no import. We did not live in the Twin Cities and were not likely to get there any time soon. Not to mention what Papa would think if I ever asked him if I could play music in a public house.

"Would you like some breakfast, Sir? I can have it ready in five minutes. Is Mr. Karpis awake, too?"

"That would be fine, Miss. I'll get him."