“A Dark History”

Lilydale was platted by Johann E. Lily and his wife, Minna, in 1857. They were German immigrants as well as brother and sister. Like many early settlers, they created an enclave built around their native language, customs and religion. Fred Munro, director of the Stearns County Historical Society, said Johann and Minna took it even further.

According to church records, the brother and sister had 12 children, only two of whom lived to adulthood, a son and a daughter. The rest were born horribly deformed; those who survived childbirth were kept hidden until their deaths days or weeks later. To guarantee their Germanic bloodline and keep their wealth intact and in the family, Johann impregnated other women in town, and Minna raised the children as her own. In exchange for providing half-Lily children, these women and their families got to live in Lilydale under the patronage of the Lilys.

The town grew and gained a reputation as a safe haven, an escape from the world. Johann and Minna formed a society called the Fathers and Mothers to ensure the town grew in line with their vision.

“Once settled, they only allowed marriage within the immediate family, creating one of the shallowest gene pools in the region. It’s a dark history in an otherwise beautiful part of the state,” said Munro.

Dr. Sebastian Krause, Lilydale physician and witness for the prosecution at Barbara Schmidt’s hearing, testified that intergenerational inbreeding at that level could be responsible for a low fertility rate and a high occurrence of genetic deformity among future generations. He also confirmed that 14 full-blood Lily children live in a facility in Lilydale and are adequately cared for.

“They couldn’t have their own children, not healthy ones, not with each other,” said Dennis Roth, Lilydale Gazette editor, who was offered a plea deal in exchange for his cooperation. “But they wanted to keep the Lily pedigree alive. So the current Lily men looked outside their marriages, just as Johann Lily had.”

Paulie Anna Aandeg, now a mother herself, has been informed of her likely provenance. She’s chosen not to comment for this article and has requested privacy. Angel Gomez was returned to his family, physically unharmed, less than two months after he first disappeared. The Gomez family has since moved out of Lilydale, and their whereabouts are unknown.

“That’s Not Us”

Locals are painfully aware of the town’s image on the national stage.

At the Ben Franklin, Kristine Ruprecht said: “Lilydale is a town full of heart, though you’d never know it watching the television or reading the papers. I’m sure the country is wondering if we’re all incestuous animals, but believe you me: this was just a few bad apples. Most of us are decent. Those Mill Streeters? That’s not us.”

Locals are left asking themselves how such a tragedy could have happened under their noses. “You get busy with your life, feeding your family and the like,” said William Carstens. “We just figured the people in charge knew what they were doing.”

They Kept Records

Several documents seized from Schmidt Insurance indicate a pattern of the Mill Street families, who still called themselves the Fathers and Mothers. While their beneficence ensured no one they approved of ever went hungry, sick or homeless in Lilydale, they also used their influence to control the local population, harass those who stepped out of line and create a culture of fear that had neighbors telling on neighbors. In addition, documents indicate that the Mill Street families forcibly took over the home insurance payments of some locals in the poorer part of town and then burned their houses and chased them out of Lilydale, reaping the payouts for themselves through an elaborate insurance scam.

“I hope they go away for a long time, all of them,” said Peggy Warren, a waitress at Tuck’s Cafe. “If they did half the things they’re accused of, they don’t deserve to be free.”

When asked if he felt satisfaction to finally find out what happened to Paulie Anna Aandeg, retired Sheriff Grover Tucker had this to say: “I was as pleased as punch when I found out she’s alive, and I wish her all the best.”

With a lengthy prison sentence likely for all the Mill Street families, there is a palpable feeling of relief in the town to be, finally, free of the Lily influence.

Mayor Oleson said, “We let them run the show for too long. It was easier than any one of us sticking our neck out, we figured. Well, not anymore. We’ll survive this. There’s good people here, and we’ll build something better than what we had.”

CHAPTER 70

The sun sparkles across the undulating ocean, dropping toward the water, the surrounding sky lavender and tangerine. The air smells briny and alive, tropical, full of potential. It’s nearing nighttime, and the beach is nearly deserted except for the three of us resting beneath a palm tree. “It looks like a goddamned postcard here,” Regina says, taking a pull on her beer.

She says this every time we come to the beach, and it makes me smile. Every time.

“Sure does,” I say, digging my feet into the sand. My big toe pokes out, and I wiggle it. Frances, now a deliciously chubby toddler, giggles. I drink up the sound. She is healthy and dimpled and safe.

We’d driven all night. I don’t remember most of it—bits of Regina stopping at gas stations, bringing me sandwiches and water and helping to clean up me and Frances in bathrooms, looking over her shoulder the whole time, and then leading us back to the car and driving some more. I let my baby out of my sight only when I had to—to sleep, to use the bathroom.

When the three of us hit Siesta Key, we rented a cheap room at a long-stay hotel. It had a kitchenette, two beds, a crib, a bathroom. Regina got a bartending job right away. I traded housekeeping services for a used typewriter the motel owner didn’t need, made some calls, verified some facts, and hammered out a story for the biggest newspaper in the country.

I’ve sold two more stories since.

The three of us settled into a routine, one that has carried us for months. I clean rooms and write during the day, never more than a few feet from Frances. Regina slings drinks. We pool our money to pay bills and even started a college fund for Frances. It has only twenty dollars in it, but it’s a start.

On Regina’s one night off, we stroll two blocks to the beach, chase crabs with good-natured Frances, try to keep her from stuffing sand into her mouth, and splash with her in the ocean.

I love it so much it hurts.

“How long do you want to stay?” Regina asks.

The question gives me a pang. I’ve been waiting for it, of course. Regina’s young, childless. She’s been kind to stay as long as she has. Well, Frances Grover Harken and I can make it on our own. My own mother taught me how to live that life.

I’m scared to tell Regina the truth, though, which is that I could stay here forever. Lying might buy me a little more time with her, stretch out the reprieve before I have to do it all alone.

But I’m done lying. I square my shoulders. “I never want to leave,” I say.

Frances rolls off my lap and waddles over to inspect a seashell. Her diaper is covered in sand, and her sweet bare feet are filthy. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Regina is quiet, and I’m holding my breath, waiting for her response. She doesn’t want to hurt me, I’m sure of it. Well, I’m going to let her off the hook. She’s already been a better friend than I have any right to expect. She’s given up a year of her life and all her savings to get Frances and me on our feet. I didn’t even know there were people like that in the world.