Lynne Marshall - A Doctor for Keeps

“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?