Heritage of Darkness by Kathleen Ernst Read Free Book Online

Heaven’s sake, Chloe,” Marit said. “You work for the His-
    torical Society of Wisconsin. You’ve got a master’s degree in
    museum studies. You’ve been involved in folklore your entire life.”
    “But I’m supposed to be painting, remember?” Something in
    Chloe’s eyes changed. “Or … do you not want the daughter ‘who’s
    never picked up a brush’ in your class? Is that it?”
    Roelke groaned silently.
    “You can do both!” Marit waved an airy hand. “Just schedule
    the interviews for evenings. Since you’ve never shown a jot of interest in painting before, I don’t imagine you’ll be spending all of your time—”
    “Next time, please ask before volunteering me to—”
    “Vesterheim needs help,” Marit said crisply. “And after every-
    thing’s Howard had to handle … well, I can’t imagine that you’d
    even consider refusing.”
    Across the room, a student snatched a banana. Howard poured
    himself a cup of coffee. One of the food ladies started filling the sink with hot water. Everyone was evidently oblivious to the
    hushed exchange taking place in the corner … but Roelke felt
    something crackle in the air like electricity before a storm.
    And at that moment, he realized that he was a complete and
    utter moron. Why had he thought he could help ease tension
    between Chloe, who he was only beginning to understand, and
    Marit, who he barely knew? What the hell had possessed him?
    39
    At last Chloe said, “Fine, Mom. Whatever you want.”
    “Thank you, dear.” Marit gave her daughter an All is well nod.
    “Stop by Howard’s office sometime and pick up the files. Now, I
    must get to the classroom. Don’t be late!” She smiled brightly and hurried away.
    Chloe turned to Roelke. “What was she thinking?”
    Roelke had no idea what Marit was thinking.
    Chloe folded her arms. “I just agreed to spend my evenings
    interviewing octogenarians about paper hearts and smultringer .”
    Now Roelke had no idea what Chloe was thinking. Just be sup-
    portive, he told himself. “Maybe the interviews won’t be so bad.”
    “No, no,” she said impatiently. “The assignment doesn’t bother
    me. I love meeting elderly people and hearing their stories. But I suggested this trip in an effort to improve relations with my
    mother, who has been known to observe that I don’t spend time
    with her or share any of her interests.”
    “And yet?” Roelke asked, since she seemed to be waiting for a
    response.
    “And yet, she’d just gave away my spare time. Silly me, but I’d expected to spend time with her this week. And with you. Now I’ll
    be spending my evenings talking about goats and—”
    “Goats?” He really was struggling to keep up.
    “ Julebukkers . Don’t ask. I hate them.”
    Roelke tried to remember if he’d ever heard Chloe use the
    word ‘hate’ before. He came up empty.
    “The real issue is that my mother, evidently, does not want to
    spend time with me .”
    Roelke started to say something along the lines of At least you’ll be sharing class time. Fortunately, common sense kicked in. Sty-40
    mied by the notion of a verbal response, he switched into action
    mode and picked up her tub of supplies. “Come on.”
    He helped Chloe haul her stuff to her classroom. Marit was
    busy at the front. Seven women and two men were already seated
    at tables, laying out tubes of paint and jars of rice and a bewildering variety of other clutter. They reminded Roelke of his grand-
    mother and friends playing bingo in the church basement long
    ago. Some of the ladies set out their game cards with equal preci-
    sion, and surrounded them with troll dolls and oversized dice and
    whatever else they considered lucky.
    Chloe picked a spot in the back row, far corner. “Thanks,
    Roelke. Can we meet in the lounge at lunchtime?”
    “It’s a date,” he promised.
    
    Roelke’s classroom was a big industrial-looking room on the
    ground floor. Three tables had been arranged in a U in front of