A Mid-Summers Night’s Storm.
The sun was warm when it arose on that Thursday morn. In the household of Emil and Rose, Emil awoke with a smile on his face, Rose was fully refreshed to face the day. Arthur awoke a little earlier, excited because he had a new nanny, whatever that was. But Nadia was fun, she smiled, she talked a little funny, and when she picked Arthur up and held him on her lap, she smelled fresh, and had a good firm grip on him, so he felt safe. Jerry was a slug-a-bed, sleeping in until almost 8 o’clock. There were three bedrooms on the second floor. The big one stretched across the front of the house, and overlooked the front yard and the street. In the back was the two smaller bedrooms. The stairways in the middle, on one side, were matched in width by the bathroom on the other side, with a central area, not really a hallway, but about 10 feet square, big enough to have a desk and chair for writing, or homework away from the noise of the family. The storm the night before had left the air fresh, and clean.
Wednesday night, after supper, Rosie had offered Nadia a bed in Arthur’s bedroom to sleep on, with the little tike, or the unfinished space in the attic. There were screens in all the windows upstairs, even way up there in the attic. Four dormers faced each direction, and when open with the screens, a new invention here that would not travel overseas for decades, the wind flowed through regardless of the direction. If there was no wind, the warm air could travel up the stairs if the door on second floor was open, and the breeze of the air from the house up the stairs and out the windows provided motion.
Nadia had never had this much space to call her own. There were boards on the floor, and an older rug was brought upstairs from the parlor to cover the area from the painted steps to the bed and was about 10 feet from 12 feet. Nadia had never had a rug to walk on. Her bed was metal, with posts at all 4 corners. It had been Emil’s and Rosie’s when they were first married, and when they purchased a wooden bedroom set from Sears, they had kept the old metal bed, and the mattress, which had seen its share of use. Both children had been conceived on that bag of feathers, and there had been many trial runs at conception. Their delivery had been at the new Saint Mary’s Hospital. This was very 20th century, having the births in a hospital, with a physician in attendance, rather than at home, with midwives, or neighbor women attending. By having a physician, a man with training, who had done this many times, and had experience dealing with the problems of birthing, the rates of death among infants, and mothers had plummeted.
The Swede and Emil had disappeared upstairs while the women put a light supper together. The four beers they took upstairs timed their disappearance to about 25 to 30 minutes. This was enough time to move the trunks, and the boxes to the back of the attic, sweep, and set up the bed. Emil brought up sheets, and a blanket, if the night air proved chilly, but left them on the mattress for Nadia to arrange.
Supper was served at the big table in the dining room, usually reserved for Sunday with visitors, or holiday dinners. With the Swede, and his new maid, and Nadia, the table was full. Emil noticed that Karin held knife and fork like a farm girl, and the new Nanny, Nadia, held her service ware in the proper, highly stylized manner of those of higher birth, or perhaps, the servants of those of higher birth, who had been trained in proper table etiquette so that they could train the young. The girls ate full meals, and both had two glasses of the wine, which under prohibition could be made at home, just not bought in a store. That it was made in a home owned by the Sicilian, by friends of the Sicilian, not family, was not important. It was an excellent red, tasty, and with a fine alcohol content.
The children were on their best behavior. Emil noticed his wife also had two glasses of wine, and he thought if she takes a sip from her bottle tonight, she will sleep the sleep of the dead. The Swede was seated across the table from his new maid, Karin. Emil was at the head of the table, Rosie was at his right hand, and the new Nanny, Nadia was at his left. The two children were next, across from each other, and the Swede and Karin at the end. From the looks they were giving each other, they approved of what they saw.
In the course of conversations, it became apparent that Nadia did not have many clothes other than what she wore at the train station. Something about her baggage being stolen in Oslo when it was left on the dock to be loaded by the stevedores. Such things happen at the docks, and Emil had asked Rosie if she had any clothes she could loan Nadia. The Swede also invited Nadia to come over the next day, and she and Karin could look through his late wife’s things, and see if there was anything that would fit, that they would like.
Soon enough, the meal was over. The women cleared the table, and were in the kitchen with the dishes. With three sets of hands, that would not take long.
On the front porch, the two men, Emil, and the Swede enjoyed the last cigar of the day. Down the block, across the street, on the front porch of the banker, they could see the glow of the man’s cigar. They knew that his daughters would be with him on the porch.
Emil said, “Swede, how do you like your new hired help? She looks sturdy enough to get a good days work out of her.”
“That she does. I don’t supposed you noticed the legs on that calf, she has not sat down for much of her life. Her smile makes a man take notice, and her complexion is that of a statue, perfection, but not fragile.”
Both men puffed, the glowing ends of the cigars signaled a moment of silence. Then the Swede continued.
“Bet you didn’t expect to grow your household by giving me a ride to the train station today?”
“No sir, but by the way she holds herself, I think that there are stories to be listened to from that one.”
Swede nodded. “And more stores to come from her new life in America. I don’t think that one waits for things to happen. I think that she makes them happen.”
Emil was about to say something, but the women came out.
Rosie said, “I found something for Nadia to wear tonight, and in the morning we will try out some of my things. Karin is sure that there is something for her over at the Swede’s, so I think that we should head to bed, for the morning comes early this time of year.”
Nods agreed, and the Swede and Karin started down the stairs, good byes were exchanged from the sidewalk, and they made their way down the darkened sidewalk about 300 feet to the Swedes’ castle, with the electric light on the porch burning brightly. The moths surrounded the bare bulb, and it was found that putting it on the far end of the porch kept the critters out of the house. Swede also had made screens for almost all the windows. He still needed to make them for the kitchen and dining room, but the windows upstairs and in the living room were able to be left open for the air.
Once they were enveloped by the darkness, about halfway there, Karin found the Swedes hand and held it for the remainder of the walk. Off in the southwest, there were the occasional flashes of light on the horizon, indicating someone, somewhere was getting a beating from a thunderstorm.
The house had lights, Electric Lights. Karin had never been in a private home with switches on the wall that provided illumination. It was magic. Swede led her up the stairs. His home was build off the same plans as Emils’ and Rosies’ , delivered in boxcars from Sears, everything from the biggest pieces of wood to the screws needed for the hinges. All was packed, delivered from the rail yards usually by horse drawn wagons, these houses had been unloaded directly from the tracks that ran behind the houses. A crew of men, larger than that of the carpenter’s crew, recruited from the bars on Williamson Street down by the farm equipment sales area, made short work of the 5 boxcars that each house needed. It was necessary to clear the tracks twice a day, at 7 am and at 6 pm for trains to come into town, so regardless of if the work was done, the switcher engine, coal fired as they all were, came and moved the cars a few blocks downtown to the yards. The next day, at about 7:15 the cars were brought back and the unloading was finished.
Swede had the big front bedroom upstairs as his own, with a big bed. He was a big man, so he had built the frame himself, strong, from metal. Heavy canvas straps were used, instead of the springs most beds used, and the feather mattress he had custom made at the bed works. Thicker than usual, with about twice the usual amount of feathers, it was both soft and firm. He and his beloved Emma had loved that bed, and each other, usually twice a day. She was gone now almost two years, and his tears had dried, but, he missed her voice, her touch, and her shapely body, with its secrets.
Karin was shown her bedroom, on the other side of the bathroom, a good sized room, with a rug, and a single bed. The dresser was wood, and there was a table and a chair. The house was so modern, there was a closet on the wall it shared with the other bedroom. She looked inside, and found about 6 dresses, from the late Emma. She looked in the dresser, and the top drawer had foundations. Freshly laundered from the Chinese laundry she would later find out was on the same block as the Swedes business.
The storm was closer, the grumblings of thunder 25 miles away could be heard. Karin was not a stranger to storms, but in the Norwegian valleys that were home to the farms, the hills kept the most of the light and noise away, unless the storm was directly overhead. Here on the American plains, the storms could be noticed sometimes a hundred miles away from the flashes, and the sound would travel well in some weather.
Down the street, Nadia was looking in wonder at the bulb hanging in the middle of the room in the attic. With one light switch at the bottom of the steps, and another at the top of the steps, magic of a most strong sort must be employed. Putting just a bottom sheet on the bed, a pillow case on the feather pillow, she marveled at her luck. Ten days ago, she was in Oslo, chased by the Bolsheviks, having to kill 4 of them, witnessing the death of another. Poisoned, and sneaking on a ship, bribing the steward, and tagging along with Karin, had landed her in a world of wonderment. The men treated her with respect, the children were in awe, and the woman of the household, was kind, gentle, and with soft voice. Nadia undressed, and hung her dress on a hanger hung from a nail in a joist. Her slip was next. She did not have any other underwear, and unknown to her, in the house of the neighbor on the opposite side from the Swede, the man had his eyes treated to something amazing. A beautiful, long, dark haired woman, was naked in the attic of the Buick man, the guy next door, with a wife and kids. He had a naked woman in the attic. Damn. The light went out, and he shook his head. His wife came into the bedroom and was surprised by his ardor. What was normally a two minute ordeal stretched out to five, then seven minutes before he collapsed on her. Whatever had happen, she hoped for more. So did he.
At the Swedes, both prepared for bed in their respective rooms. She found a beautiful silk gown, last worn by the late Emma, who had been a little larger than Karin. The gown draped on her shoulders fine, but, being bigger around than perfection would have been, there was a gap in the front that would seem larger than proper. Sleeveless by design, the armholes were larger than a woman of her size would warrant. From the side, her breasts were showing in the mirror above the dresser when she turned to the left or right.
She would have to remember this, and wear a robe, or be dressed when she was not in her room. A proper Norwegian girl would not show this much anywhere outside of her own bedroom, with the door closed, and locked.
Clean sheets, from the same laundry as the underwear were something that she loved. These were of high quality, and seemed almost squeaky against her skin. On the other side of the bedroom, the Swede undressed. His shirt off, the suspenders hung loose, he undid his trousers and sat on the bed. Lifting one foot, then the other, his shoes and socks were removed, then the trousers. He had always slept in the nude, after he started sleeping inside. After his arrival in America, he had travelled by train to Minneapolis, in Minnesota to stay with relatives. Once there, on their farm, in rural Minneapolis, he took well to horsemanship, the art of roping, and herding cattle. One of the hired hands, an old cowboy, past his prime, but with too much knowledge to be put out to pasture, taught him to shoot, both pistol and rifle. When he had proven himself with the Colt revolver, the seasoned veteran had sold him his rifle. A piece that had been put to good use by the grizzled veteran of many ambushes, the Sharpes 45-110 was a lever action, breech loader. The usual barrel length of one of these was thirty inches, this one was custom at 34, giving more accuracy, and more muzzle velocity. The rifle had been modified to take a special 45 caliber, 110 grains of powder in a metal cartridge, with a 540 grain paper patch bullet, double set triggers, and a Vernier sign, marked to 1200 yards but proven effective at over a mile. The Swede had been on many cattle drives in his teens, and in his 18th year, met the owner of a huge ranch Teddy Roosevelt. Over a camp fire, the discussions of rifles and accuracy had led to a heated discussion of the men in Mr. Roosevelt’s age. Then the old vet, witness to the Swede’s prowess with the Sharpes, had made a small wager with Mr. Roosevelt. If the kid with the old gun could hit a marker the size of a man, at one mile, the kid and the old guy would be on the payroll of Mr. Roosevelt thru the winter, a time of usual neediness for cowboys. Mr. Roosevelt had though that the bet was a capital idea, and with his usual exclamation of “Bully” the bet was on.
The next day, with the rising son at his back, in a calm, the Swede had lain down on the rise. About a mile away, nobody knew for sure, but it was agreed that it was close enough, for the lay of the land dropped down after that point, a scare crow had been relocated. Rather than digging a hole for it, it was leaning toward the shooter, with a sawhorse keeping it upright.
Using the skills the old vet and taught him, he adjusted the site, which was still about a thousands feet short of being useful. The dead calm reduced the need for an adjustment for windage. Holding his breath, then letting it out slowly, his fingers worked their magic on the triggers and the bark of the muzzle and the smashing of the stock into his shoulder marked the flight of the bullet. The scarecrow didn’t have a chance. The bullet found hit mark squarely in the middle of the figure, and the splinters of the branch that formed it’s spine could be seen by those with spyglasses.
Totally in character, Mr. Rosevelt exclaimed with a snort, “Bully.” Looking at the two, he said, “You are guaranteed three hot meals and a bed at the big house this winter, just don’t get the maids knocked up. But, in the spirit of the thing, would you like to prove yourself and cut the saw horse in two? If you can, you can have your pick of the yearling horses in the corrall, and I will stand you to the tack. This was no small wager, for there was a magnificent stallion, a large horse, a huge horse, and a horse that had a mind of its own. The Swede had admired that horse, a horse he would never hope to own, or even ride. With a nod, the challenge was accepted.
The lever of the Sharpes ejected the spend cartridge, which the Swede picked up and put in his pocket, feeling the heat. Mr. Roosevelt notice that and asked, “You don’t reload those monsters do you?
The Swede shook his head no. “It wasn’t here when I got here, it won’t be here when I leave.” The man who would be instrumental in the formation of the national parks system nodded.
New bullet in place, in the chamber, the shot was more difficult. The side of the board in the saw horse was only 4 inches, at a mile, barely visible. Knowing the amount the bullet would sink was easy. Seeing the target, difficult.
The sighting complete, the finger took its position and the trigger squeeze began. The Swede knew what was on the line. His horse, never quite big enough for his rider, was getting up in years. The Black Stallion would be big enough, and smart enough to make a great partner for the Swede.
The bark of the big Sharpes made some of the observers jump. The old cowboy had a smile on his face, for he had seen the Sharpes hit an apple in a tree. None of the other observers, that time 20 years before, had believed the shop until they saw the shreds of apple in the grass under the tree.
A mile away, the sawhorse bucked like the horse it represented, the big bullet hitting the middle of the board squarely, and taking out almost 12 inches of the wood. The two pieces jumped in the air, and were seen even by those without the spyglasses taking a journey backwards.
Mr. Roosevelt quietly said, “Bully, damn Bully.”
A comfortable winter, in a heated prairie home, with the attentions of the cook, and the maid was cowboy heaven. In the spring, surprisingly, the old cowboy’s companion was fresh with child. The cook was happy, the cowboy had done the honorable thing, proposing, and when the preacher came through on his rounds, the proper thing would be done. The marriage certificate and the bible would be postdated 10 months before the birth, the marriage performed first, and then the baptism, as God intended. The maid, imported from Paris, and wise to the needs of men, had put the training she received from the photographer of postcards to good use, and made the Swede happy in the manner of men, and avoided the burden of the cook, who was in her late twenties. The maid was only twenty-one, and later would go to San Francisco where there was great money to made in the future as a madam, not far from the wharf.
In 1898, the conflict with Spain came to war. Mr. Roosevelt recruited his army partially from the ranks of cowboys, men who could ride, and shoot, and do both well at the same time. The old cowboy wanted to go, but Mr. Roosevelt told him that he was needed here at the ranch, to run things, and train the young cowboys, barely in their teens. However, the Swede was needed, for long range shooting. In the campaign in Cuba, many widows were created with the Sharpes, for it was Mr. Roosevelt thoughts that if the officers were removed, the rest of the army would act like untrained rabble. The Swede and the Sharpes were to prove him correct many times.
Upon his return to the ranch, Swede found that the maid had left on the train for the big city of San Francisco. He had picked up the art of metal working at the ranch, and in the army had worked with metal when there was no fighting. He found that keeping busy made the time go fast. With only the cows, and Thor, the black stallion at the ranch, he decided to move to Madison, Wisconsin. He had talked with other soldiers, and two from Madison had convinced him that it needed a man of metal, for the new factories, the building trades needed tools, and there was always work for a good man with skills.
It only took a few weeks of easy riding, mostly following the railroad tracks from the ranch through Minneapolis, and then down through Wisconsin to get to Madison. Two days after arriving, he was at the blacksmith shop on Park Street, where the man who owned it was in bad shape with coughing and spitting blood. Cholera had stolen his wife and boys. The girls were married, and their husbands were good providers in their own work. The smith had work that had backed up due to his illness, and when Swede cleared out the backlog, and organized the shop, the smith had realized that Madison had a new blacksmith. Papers were drawn up, and for the princely sum of $1, the Swede owned three hundred feet of frontage on Park Street, and that went back a full four hundred feet to the rear lot line. The building was sturdy, for a smithy. They were usually built lightly, for they burned frequently. There was a lot of business, for the people who watched him work saw a knowledge, and a manner of work that spoke of expertise. Through the years his business grew, and his apprentices saw that it was better to work for the Swede than try to go out on their own. There was a somewhat better appreciation of their abilities when they told people that they worked for the Swede, than admitting to having an anvil and a forge, because the Swede was a total metal man. Welding, cutting, forging, pouring metal into forms, he did it all.
And now, the big man, undressed to his underwear, debated leaving it on, or taking it off. He had never been in a house, where there was a woman not in his bed, who was familiar with all of his body. But this girl, Karin, was beautiful, quiet, somewhat shy, and frankly, everything his Emma had been. What if he went to the bathroom during the night and she was there? Should he put on his shirt and pants? Would underwear be ok? Or, should he just chance it, and sleep as usual? He decided on the later, for that is what he knew he would be most comfortable with. As he walked back to the bed, the thunder was closer, good for the grass, now coming up in the new yard he had got around to seeding this spring.
Somewhere around midnight, the storm hit with a fury. There were many lightning strikes, a barn past the west edge of town, by the two cemeteries, the Catholic one on the left, the city one on the right, was hit by lightning and burned to the ground. The cattle of that farm were out in the fields, and two were killed under a tree. Over on Keyes Avenue, several strikes close by work all in the houses their except for the deep sleeping Rosie. At the Swedes, Karin fled her room in terror, her hair streaming behind her and she opened the door of the now awake Swede. Her voice filled with terror asked.
“I am afraid, I am so very afraid, can I stay with you until the storm is over?” The man, himself a bit shaky from the proximity of the blasts, was thinking of the war in Cuba, and San Juan hill, nodded yes, his non-verbal answer understood in the light of the electric storm. She was in the bed, under the sheets before he fully understood that the girl now grabbing him closely, in terror, was virtually naked, with only the oversized gown of Emma between him and her. As she dove into the bed, the front had opened up, timed perfectly with a blast of lightning, and he could see the fullness of the teenagers breasts. As he then lay back on his own back he felt her soft flesh against his bare chest. She snuggled instinctively under his huge biceps and rested her had on his chest. Never before had she felt this safe. She thought that he was just shirtless, in the summer heat, and her hands were wrapped around his chest.
The Swede was never more awake then he was now. The beautiful blond, wrapped around him just like his Emma had so many times. Her head on his shoulder, hair cascading everywhere. Then, one of her bare legs climbed his, and wrapped about it, like a serpent. She must know, she must know that there is nothing between us. Her regular breathing signaled that she was right with the world. Looking toward the foot of the bed, the Swede noticed the tent formed by his penis, only inches from a silky, unknowing thigh. Sleep came to the Swede, but, not easily.
Three hundred feet to the north, that close by lightning hit was not unnoticed. Emil awoke from a deep sleep. After the house had gone dark, his beloved Rosie was sleeping a very deep sleep. The three glasses of wine would have been enough to insure slumber, but she had her little bottle, and a sip or two from that was a nighttime regular. Emil knew that with the two drugs, the alcohol, and the laudanum, a tincture of 10 % opium, and 90 % alcohol would make her totally asleep, and unaware of anything happening near her, or to her. One of the French postcards had suggested something that was prohibited in the bible, and would have never entered the mind of a gentle person or breeding. But the crockery, with large print of the word in French for butter, beurre hinted of a necessary lubricant. The position of the man and the woman, with the need for lubricant, left little to the imagination of anyone knowledgeable of human anatomy of the depicted activity. Emil had become an aficionado of this activity, with his wife almost lifeless underneath him. One of his customers, Dr. Shapiro, an expert in the area of female hysteria, with an office near the capital, but on the opposite side of that structure from the Buick Garage, had supplied him with the French letters that had been issued by the millions to the GI’s when they went to France. Emil was too old for the Great War, but, a couple of the mechanics working for him had described them in detail when the day was over, and a bucket of beer was carried out the back door of the tavern down the block and down the alleyway. After the first time, without the French letter, Emil had talked to Dr. Shapiro who gave him a supply in exchange for some gasoline from the large tank next to the garage. Now, each adventure used one letter, and there was no evidence of malfeasance, nor was there a mess on his most favored body part.
The blast of lightning brought him awake. Rosie was snoring slightly on her back. He had to pee, and to get rid of the used prophylactic. A trip to the necessary facility was in order. Being used to padding around the house with children who would sleep through the end of the world, and a wife who would sleep through the resurrection, he was used to not wearing anything but yesterday’s cologne. Tonight, the lightning was providing more than enough illumination to get to the bathroom, but he turned on the light so his aim would be sure. The used prophylactic was deposited in the toilet bowl, and he started to pee.
It is well known that great minds think alike, and upstairs in the attic, the lightning blast had awakened Nadia. The three glasses of wine had worked their way through her kidneys, and her bladder was full. Like a cat, using the skills the Cossacks had taught her, she made her way down the steps using the outside of the stair treads, so there would be no creaking noise. Her weight, slight as it were, was very close to the heavy wood that the treads rested upon. When she was selecting something to wear, with a smile, she had held up one of Emil’s heavily worn shirts. The cotton had been laundered so many times, it was soft. Not quite silk, but soft. A few buttons were missing, but two in the middle would suffice for sleep wear. It was this she was wearing. Long enough to cover her privates, but with the roundness of her cleavage readily apparent, she padded down the stairs like the predator feline she often felt she was. When she was at the bottom of the stairs, she took the knob, pulling the door slightly toward her as she turned the knob. When the knob was fully turned, she opened the door, slowly releasing the knob, silently. This she had been taught by the leader of the Tsar’s assassins.
As she exited the door, she saw the light was on in the bathroom 10 feet directly in front of her. The man of the house was standing and a strong stream of urine was launching into the bowl. Her feet carried her closer to the door, and the motion caught his eye. Naked as the day he was born, unable to do anything because the stream was not to be stopped, he looked at her like a deer caught in the headlight of the night freight train. He then notice her smile, and when he finished she walked closer. Shaking the penis, he turned to her. She looked in the bowl, noticed the soiled French letter, and being a woman who had been kept busy in the bedroom arts, as well as the stable, the woods, the steppes, and on top of galloping horses, she know what he had been busy at.
Taking his hand, she turned him to face her. While watching, she had slipped the two lone buttons, and with him facing her, she slipped the shirt, which dropped silently to the floor. She put her hands on his hips, and leaned forward. She took his right nipple in her mouth, something that had never happened to him, which was surprisingly pleasurable. Standing, she looked him square in the eye, and said one work.
With that, she kneeled, and demonstrated to him that the women in the French postcards did not have a monopoly on the arts of love. Her hands went to his Gluteus Maximus, and she hung on while she did her work. The resulting explosion, which was impressive when the actions of two hours before were considered, did not take her by surprise, but she choked and coughed a bit. Standing, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and taking the back of his head with her right hand, she kissed him fully on the mouth, insuring that he was fully appraised of the most recent happening.
Her work completed, she went to the toilet, and did that which she had started her jurney downstairs. He was still motionless, after the kiss, and when she was finished, she approached him, taking his left hand to her breast, and kissed him again. Although it would be some time until it was ready for battle, she took his sword with her right hand and stroked it a bit. Looking at him, again, directly in the eye, she whispered.
“There is more of that, and much more, if you treat me like a woman, and not a whore. I will take care of your children as if they were their own. Just respect me, and we shall enjoy life more fully than either of us should expect.”
With that, she turned, picked up her shirt, and walked to the door up to the attic. Silently, she opened the door, and after it was closed, again, silently, Emil was unable to hear her feet on the steps. His only hint that she was in the attic was when a board creaked under her step. She heard it too, and made a mental note to obtain nails and hammer, and secure it so it was silent.
Morning was only a few hours away. Emil returned, and slept the sleep of the exhausted. He was awoke sometime after the sun shone in the front windows of the bedroom. He rolled over and saw Rosie starting to stir. Continuing his roll, he found himself on top of the still slightly drugged wife. Her legs automatically parted, and the third release in less than seven hours was not fast in arriving, but arrive it did.
The new showers were great for a quick clean up. Swede had made them out of copper pipe and a sheet of copper formed into a head 6 inches in diameter, with over two hundred holes for the water to come out of. Breakfast with the family was fun, with the new addition. The table in the kitchen wasn’t really big enough for three adults and two children, so the meal was served again at the dining room table. The wife to one side, the nanny to the other, with two beaming children at their sides. The summer was still young, and it was just starting to be interesting.
Three hundred feet to the south, the Swede had been awake for an hour or so. Karin was still draped over him, hair washing over his shoulders, her face on his chest, one arm possessively over his chest. Her leg, previously dangerously draped over his large muscular thigh, was now next to it. The sheet provided some degree of modesty. When she awoke, and by god, he loved watching a woman awake, the transition from sleep to awake was with a degree of comfort. Blinking her eyes, she whispered.
“Thanks you Swede, I was so frightened, and alone, and when I asked, you comforted me. I will never forget that.”
Ever the gentleman, he let her use the bathroom first. As she went to get out of the bed, her entire breast was visible through the armhole of the gown. Full, and high on her chest, the nipple was full and erect. Smiling, knowing what he had seen, she turned to him, with a million kroner smile, and blew him a kiss. Turning to leave, her thighs were strong, with nothing but firm muscle. As she left the room, she grabbed the hem of the gown, lifting it in preparation for sitting on the toilet. The ever observant inactive sniper, saw the curves, the gentle curves of her butt.
“Mein gott, what have you blessed or cursed me with.”
A breakfast of eggs, some thick bacon, and the sweet breads from the German baker on Monroe Street was the standard breakfast on Keyes Avenue in the 1920’s. As Emil was leaving his house, to get into the Buick Touring Car, he saw the Swede alighting from his porch, the beautiful young teen on the porch waving goodbye to the huge man, and blowing him a kiss. The Swede met him, driving the Model TT truck he had bought from Emil for almost nothing, surplused by the Faurenbach Brewery when the Volstead Act made breweries about as legal as counterfeiters. The two men met, seated in their cars, one facing south, one north, and they exchanged the glances of men who had not slept much the night before.
Questioned Emil, “Did ya sleep good Swede, you look a little peaked.” Said question with smile attached.
Replying, with the same smile. “Yes, slept like a baby, burped and farted all night.”
With that the two men went about their day’s work. They were content that the evening would be interesting to say the least.