On the fluke of a dream . . .

Awaking one morning, I “heard” a locale name on the fluke of a disapearing dream: Lochinvar Corners. The dream ceased to be, but the place came alive, haunting my waking life.
What kind of name is Lochinvar Corners? Obviously, there was a connection to the poem by Sir Walter Scott, but how did it come to be the name of a house and locale in a remote area of California's north coast? Deciding to write about this place became a puzzle to solve. Of course, I am writing a mystery novel that takes place in Six Rivers County, an imaginary county on the North Coast. It only made sense to me that this strange place name be part of this fantastic county.
To help you place this fantastic place, picture a pie wedge inserted between Humboldt and Del Norte counties. Much of the topography, politics, issues and demographics of these true-life counties exists in Six Rivers. The setting as I see it, needed a history. Therefore, Locinvar Corners becomes the first homestead in the area. Like Humboldt County, it gained notice during the Gold Rush, and Lochinvar Corners is the homestead of a Lithuania gentleman who made a fortune in the gold fields. He came to America by way of France and was in love with Sir Walter Scott's poem, “The Young Lochinvar.”
His name was Stanislau Rittenhauer, a combination of Polish, Russian and Prussian. He left Lithuania because of political conflict with Russia and Poland. He went to France because he had an uncle there. The uncle had joined Napoleon's forces to fight the Russians, and when the French retreated, Stanislau's uncle went with them. Stanislau worked for his uncle who was a book seller, and he learned to read several languages, including English. He discovered the Scott poem at the same time he discovered love. The object of his ill-fated affection was the daughter of the local magistrate, who loved the poem, “The Young Lochinvar,” which our hero learned and recited to his imago. But, booksellers and magistrate's daughters are never to be, and in the Spring of 1849 the futility of the affair became obvious. Said magistrate magnanimously paid for Stanilau's steerage to the States.
The rest of the story, faux as it may be, saved for next time.

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