Martin: You remind me of someone I used to know a long time ago. I was cloistered in a small monastery in St. Olaf, Minnesota.
Rose: Where every spring the ducks return?
Martin: If we remember to throw out the corn. You- You know it?
Rose: Well, I know it very well. I was born and raised in St. Olaf.
Martin: Well, this is extraordinary. Did you know an Ingrid Kerclavaner?
Rose: You knew Ingrid?
Martin: She must have been 19. She worked in the kitchen in the monastery. Talked, talked, talked, talked. That's all she ever did. We were a silent order, so that was very refreshing.
Rose: I suppose it was. Shortly after that, Ingrid died in childbirth.
Martin: You know the story?
Rose: Oh, yes. Late one night a basket was left at the local orphanage containing hickory smoked cheese, spicy beefsticks, a baby and some kind of crackers that didn't go with anything. Eventually, the Lindstroms took the baby. And the beefsticks, 'cause that was the deal. They named the baby Rose.
Martin: Did you know her, Rose Lindstrom?
Rose: Know her? You're looking at her.
Martin: The Lord certainly works in mysterious ways. What do you know about your father?
Rose: There was a rumor that he was a clown with Ringling Brothers, but I never believed it. Just seemed too much to hope for. Did you know him, too? Oh, I've asked and I've asked, and I've never found anybody who could tell me about him.
Martin: Rose, I don't quite know how to put this, but I'm your father.
Rose: My father?