Her lawyer provided more than legal services, and afterward they married. Twenty-five years older than she, he was totally devoted to her, while she had learned something from her first marriages. It helped, of course, that he had a very lucrative practice. Unfortunately he developed a heart condition, and at age thirty-six she found herself single again, a widow.

Still beautiful, accomplished in the bedroom arts, and with many friends in Portland society, the condition was temporary. She soon married Andrew Dambridge, a fifty-year-old bon vivant who had coveted her for years. Dambridge had built a considerable fortune through activities in railroads, lumber, and real estate. He'd also developed a reputation as a ladies' man, but with Helmi in his bed, his philandering dwindled almost to nothing. After a few years, problems of health reduced both his business and bedroom activities, and he died of an aortic aneurism on their ninth anniversary.

Most of his fortune he had willed to the children of his first marriage, but he'd established a very considerable trust fund for his second wife. He was not, however, a man who liked to lose possessions, so the trust fund carried the provision that if she married again, she'd lose it. She had no intention of losing it.

She'd continued her life in Portland's upper crust until the Great Depression eroded her trust fund rather severely. In the spring of 1931, she sold her Portland mansion and bought a nine-room home in Nehtaka. She had it modernized, then moved in, a storied and somewhat reclusive figure who lived alone with a housekeeper and custodian, traveled a lot, and largely ignored local doings. The townsfolk, who of course knew nothing of the trust-fund proviso, expected her to find another millionaire and leave again, but she failed to cooperate.

The Widow Dambridge was Mary Preuss's aunt, her mother's eldest sister. When Helmi had moved back to Nehtaka, she'd established limited connections with her family, including Mary, appearing occasionally at family events. But mostly she kept to herself. She was in her studio, painting an Aegean shorescape from a photograph, using memory for the colors, when her maid informed her that Mary was in the parlor.

Helmi sailed down to meet her. "Mary! This is a surprise!" she said. "Sit down, dear, and tell me why you're here."

"I'm going to be married. And-I thought you could advise me."

Helmi laughed. "Shouldn't you be talking with your Aunt Siiri? She's been married to the same man for twenty-five years, and very happily as far as I know."

"I have talked with her. But it seemed to me that…"

"Yes?"

"That there are things you could advise me on better than Siiri could."

"Hum. Interesting. What kinds of things?"

"Well-I love him a lot, and I don't want him to be disappointed. You see."

Helmi was careful not to smile. "No I don't," she lied. "I want to be good in bed for him."

"Ah. And you suppose I was good in bed."

"I think you must have been."

The aunt laughed again. "I was, my dear. I seem to have been born without inhibitions, and brought enthusiasm to bed with me. Those are the basic ingredients-those and imagination; if you lack them, you must develop them. And I had experienced husbands who knew what they wanted, so I learned from them."

"This fiance of yours-is he experienced?"

"He's been married before. To a very beautiful lady; he showed me a picture."

Helmi raise an eyebrow. "Really? I'd like to meet this young man. He is young, I suppose?"

Mary read her aunt's skepticism. "Twenty-eight," she said.

"Where is his first wife?"

Wanting to avoid strange and incredible explanations, Mary adjusted the truth. "She drowned. She was riding her horse across a river and the ice broke. The current swept her under it."

Helmi studied her niece for a moment. "Bring him to supper tonight," she said firmly. "At 6:30. I want to meet him." Mary felt trapped by the invitation-order actually.

"I'll see if he can come," she said. "He works for Dad; he's a deputy. Sometimes he works at night."

"Call him. There's the phone." Helmi pointed. "I need to know now, so I can tell Lempi what to fix for supper."

Mary went to the phone and called. Three minutes later the invitation had been accepted, and the cook/housekeeper given instructions in a rattle of Finnish.

Helmi turned back to Mary, smiling again. "Now for your questions," she said. "Let's go up to my studio, where we have more privacy. Lempi is shy about using English, but she understands it somewhat; Eino's been teaching her. And visitors are so rare in this house, she might decide to eavesdrop."

Hansi Sweiger decided to go back to Germany, which made his father so angry, he refused to drive him to the depot. So Macurdy threw the youth's three suitcases in the back of a patrol car and hauled him to the train. Expecting never to see him again.

Macurdy arrived with Mary, wearing his uniform and driving Fritzi's 1932 Desoto. He'd bought a suit, but didn't want to wear it before the wedding.

Helmi made him feel welcome, and the food, Macurdy thought, was as good as anything he'd ever eaten. After supper they stayed for over an hour, talking. Helmi's reason for inviting him, he realized, was to check him out, but at the same time she put him at ease. He answered her questions without creating complications, and increasingly her aura reflected liking and approval.

Before they left, he excused himself to use the bathroom, and when he was out of the room, Helmi put a hand on Mary's arm.

"My dear," she said, "I'm truly happy for you. I believe you chose well."

8

A Major Change In Plans

Mary and Curtis wanted an early date for the wedding, and no one tried to talk them out of it. Nor did anyone suggest a lavish ceremony. Nehtaka's Lutheran community, largely Scandinavian and Finnish sawmill workers, loggers, small farmers, and their families, would have frowned on that kind of display, especially in Hard Times.

Food, though, was another matter.

Fritzi was an important county official, and Macurdy something of a celebrity, while Mary's maternal family, the Saaris, were locally prominent. Wiiri Saari had talked with Fritzi about a buffet luncheon, a voileipdpdytd, with lots of invitations sent out. They agreed there would be no booze. Fritzi was, after all, the sheriff, and while Congress had passed an amendment to repeal prohibition, the necessary three-fourths of the states hadn't ratified it yet: Liquor was still illegal.

The wedding was held in Holy Redeemer Lutheran Church at 10:15 AM, on Saturday, October 28, 1933, and the buffet at 11:30 in the high school gymnasium. Axel Severtson had been sent an invitation for his loggers, and many had shown up, most of them a little oiled on bootleg liquor, but well behaved. The Saari and Severtson clans were on hand to see to it without the sheriff having to get involved.

The rowdy element was a major Pacific storm front that crashed the party about noon, led by skirmishers of rain and the rumble of approaching thunders, followed directly by the main assault force: a hard, cold, wind-driven deluge. By that time the bride and groom had sneaked out been spirited to the depot by one of the numerous Saaris-and were on their way to Hood River for a five-night stay at the palatial Columbia Gorge Hotel. Transportation, lodging, meals, and money for tips were wedding gifts from Helmi, who held significant stock in the resort.

The storm overtook them on a train in the terminal yard at Portland, and they arrived at Hood River in a downpour. A redcap hustled their luggage to a hotel limo, and Curtis tipped him (he'd been coached by Helmi on tipping etiquette), then the grinning couple rode to the hotel.