the building, leaving the sound of his deep, rumbling laughter behind.
Liisa hugged herself feeling the joy and love she held for this family who had taken her into their hearts and their home making her feel loved and wanted. She was an only child born to a couple late in life. Her parents loved her but were so much in love with each other, and wrapped up in their work, that they neglected to take a child’s interests into account. They would have been shocked if someone had informed them that they were leaving their beloved child out of their lives. Marvelous housekeepers and a nanny did their job and that was it. Liisa’s father, Eric Lofoten, was a successful architect and her mother, Johanna, was a ballet dancer and later a dance teacher.
The Lofotens lived next door to the estate of the Johnsons. The three Johnson children, Gloria, five years older than Liisa, Paul, one year older and Ronald, one year younger, accepted Liisa as one of them. Gloria had been a big sister in every sense of the word. Liisa and Paul had climbed trees, sneaked off to swim in a nearby lake and got into a lot of mischief together. It was Mrs. Johnson, Aunt Ellen, who had cuddled and comforted Liisa when she was sad and Aunt Ellen had gone to her school activities, filling in as a mother. Uncle Ben, being an excellent, well-known physician, saw that her health was well cared for.
Liisa had been eight when her mother had died with stomach cancer and ten when her father was killed in a building collapse. With no hesitation, the Johnsons simply took her in to raise with their own three. Of course they had to have an attorney help them go to court and apply for guardianship of Liisa. Their good name and money helped tremendously. Distant relatives were all in Norway and unknown to Liisa.
Liisa used her inheritance from her parents to attend the University of Oslo, Norway just north of her father’s home town of Drammen. Her father only had distant relatives whom she had never met and her mother had been an only child with no known living relatives.
Liisa had loved Johanagate Street, in Drammen, on which the University was located with the art galleries, museums and historical places. A bubbling personality and a ready smile made friends for her not only at the University but of the business people along the street. Friendly greetings were called to her wherever she went.
She had majored in art and business administration. Now the talents she had inherited from her father were giving her great pleasure as well as financial security for the future.
Liisa’s eyes focused again on the five feet by four feet painting. Why is it that I’m reluctant to sell this painting? I must have met this man to paint his picture, but who is he? There is a stirring of familiarity, but I can’t place him. Where have I known him? Oh, why can’t I remember?
The man was not one who could be called handsome, although he would get second looks. He was muscular, virile, all male. His silver-blond hair was just below his ears and his piercing light-blue eyes seemed to follow her wherever she moved. He was standing on a huge boulder, jutting from the side of a mountain, with one black leather-booted foot resting on a rock. The tips of two fingers hooked loosely at the neck of a navy blazer held carelessly over his right shoulder. A burgundy pullover sweater showed a white collar of a shirt underneath the sweater, and navy dress slacks showed a trim figure and long legs. The hint of dimples could be seen even though he was not smiling. He was ruggedly good looking. His expression seemed to say, ‘I am a man’s man. I know who I am and am comfortable with my masculinity.’
Liisa kept staring at the portrait struggling to remember something about this man. When and where did I paint this? It must have been early spring because I’ve painted flowers and flowering bushes just beginning to bloom on the mountain, but there was snow on the mountain top at a distance. Tall, majestic evergreens are in abundance in the background. I can almost feel a cool breeze stirring and smell the pines.
With a small sigh, Liisa turned slowly from the picture, walked a few steps down the hallway and turned right into the gallery. Passing a full-length mirror, she frowned at her reflection. Golden-blond hair fell straight to her waist. Bright blue eyes showed a troubled expression. She stopped to take a good look at herself; five-six with a good figure and a beautiful complexion that needed no cosmetics. The blue shantung dress fitted her small waist to fall in graceful swirls mid calf. Her only ornaments were the diamond earrings that the Johnsons had given her for college graduation. Twenty-six years old and teenagers know themselves better than I do, she thought disgustedly. The light blue suede heels were pinching her feet after standing most of the day. Mentally shaking herself she walked through the art gallery to the office in a back room.
Arnold Watson, seated behind a large, mahogany desk, stood and came to hug Liisa. “Honey, your parents would have been so proud of you. I know I am. Some very important art critics were impressed and asked to see more of your work. Jim Berthle, with the Republican-American newspaper wants to do a special write-up on you. Honey, you’re on your way - big time.”
“Arnold, I would be nothing without you. I’m so blessed to have such a good friend. It’s my good fortune that you were best buddies with my dad and were willing to take a chance on me. I can’t find adequate words to tell you how grateful I am that you allowed me to show in your gallery. And all the work you did! You set up everything, invited the press and many influential people and even hired a caterer.”
“Let it be. I’m happy for you and hope you’ll be encouraged to continue. Have you considered portrait painting? You did a superb job on the unknown man that you refuse to sell. Why, honey, you would be famous in no time if you’d agree to paint the little darlings of rich families.”
Liisa had to laugh. Arnold’s rapid conversations were like machine gun fire. Getting a word in was impossible until he ran down.
“Arnold, I know you’re sincere in your praise because you’ve been just as quick to give constructive criticism in the past.” She gave him another exuberant hug. “You old fake. Other people may think you’re an ogre, but I know the truth. You’re really an old softie at heart. Maybe I’ll be interested in portrait painting in the future, but for the present, I’m not comfortable with the idea.”
Arnold shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it’s your business. I’m here for you regardless of what you decide to do. Why don’t you run on home? It’s past closing time and the cleaning people will take care of any mess.”
“Great! I am bushed and I have to change to go to the Johnson’s for a celebration dinner. They would love it if you came, too.”
“Thank you, but no. At my age I just want to go home, have a hot shower, climb into pjs and have a quiet snack in front of the television. Bedtime sounds good to me.”
“I don’t know how you stand all that excitement,” Liisa laughed as she put on her coat and gloves. Pulling a cap down around her ears, she blew Arnold a kiss and left. Arnold grinned at her and reached for a financial record. She knew he would be working until the wee hours and his mind would be strictly on business.
The cold, brisk wind forced a fast walk as Liisa hurried the two blocks to her apartment in the Center Apartments on Center Street. Brrr! Why did dad choose Waterbury, Connecticut instead of a warmer part of the United States when he came here from Norway? I guess it reminded him of his home. To be honest, I do love this city and all the people I know.
At one time it was known as the Brass City because of its leading brass industry in the nation. It’s well located in the Central Naugatuck Valley Region. The city has been putting a new face on by spending thirty million dollars to renovate the historical I920 Palace Theater. Also, the citizens have formed a Crime Stoppers group as a community project to help the police observe, report and help solve crimes. I love it.
She never tired of hearing her dad tell his story. She could hear his voice now telling her about his life as she sat on his lap. “Liisa, some things are just meant to be. I came from Norway to America to finish my education and have hands-on experience in building. I wanted to make the best architect possible. One night some friends persuaded me to attend a ballet. I fell in love at first sight with the graceful ballerina. It wasn’t that she was the main star; there was something special about her smile and her presence. After the ballet, all of us went to eat and she came into the same restaurant.