Heritage of Darkness by Kathleen Ernst Read Free Book Online Page B

yet.
    The first thing Chloe had learned about rosemaling was that
    she evidently had the eye-hand coordination of a goldfish. Mom
    had begun by teaching some basic brush strokes. As she’d wan-
    dered the aisles, she’d found nothing to compliment in her daugh-
    ter’s attempts. There are no flat lines in a C-stroke, Chloe. … Hold the brush straight up and down, Chloe … You must turn the brush in an S-stroke, Chloe. Chloe had been enormously relieved when Mom announced that they were moving on to the preparation of
    their paints.
    Now, Chloe dubiously regarded the blobs on her palette. She
    had imagined squeezing dollops of paint from their tubes, grab-
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    bing a brush, and going to town. Instead, the class had just spent over an hour mixing their own shades from complex equations.
    The second thing Chloe had learned about rosemaling was that
    she had no eye for color. Mom had yet to approve any of her
    daughter’s attempts. Try adding a pea-sized dollop of yellow
    ochre. … Fold in the light hue instead of squashing it, your color’s getting muddy … Don’t use so much Prussian blue, it’s too strong.
    I am not staying here through lunch, Chloe thought. In desper-
    ation she leaned toward the woman sitting to her right. Gwen was
    a ringer—clearly an experienced painter. Chloe had spent the
    morning both feeling intimidated by her tablemate and trying to
    copy everything she did.
    Time to copy. “Gwen?” Chloe asked politely. “Do you think my
    dark green is OK?”
    Gwen, a round-faced brunette woman perhaps a decade older
    than Chloe, leaned over. “Looks good to me.”
    “ Thank you.” Chloe silently declared victory and diapered her palette in plastic wrap to keep the paint from drying. Then she
    went to find Roelke.
    He was waiting for her in the lounge. “Hey,” she said. “How was
    your morning?”
    “Great!”
    “Really?” She tipped her head. Roelke McKenna was not a man
    to enthuse lightly. But he did look honestly and truly pleased.
    “I learned how to sharpen my knife. How about your morn-
    ing?”
    “About what I expected. I did not succeed in satisfying my
    mother.”
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    “Sorry.” Roelke kissed her forehead. “What do you want to do
    about lunch? I was hoping we’d have time to visit the museum’s
    carving exhibit.”
    “I packed lunch for us,” Chloe told him. “That’ll be quick, and
    then we can go.”
    They ate cheese and tomato sandwiches, chatting with the
    other students, before excusing themselves and heading for the
    formal museum. “This is quite the building,” Roelke remarked.
    Chloe looked up at the brick building trimmed with ornate
    window arches and carved balconies, recently and lovingly
    restored in an effort that had strained Vesterheim’s budget. “It
    began as a luxury hotel. And the Education Center once housed a
    foundry shop where plows and wagon parts were made. It’s great
    that Vesterheim repurposed historic structures. And you haven’t
    even seen the Open Air Division yet.”
    Inside the museum, volunteers were adding more holiday dec-
    orations to the lobby. Life goes on, Chloe thought. Wrapping the
    entire museum in real or metaphorical black crepe wouldn’t
    accomplish anything.
    Roelke eyed a plywood figure. “What’s with all the gnomes?”
    “ Nisser. They’re mischievous barn elves,” Chloe explained.
    “They always make an appearance at Christmastime.”
    She carefully avoided the Norwegian House exhibit by taking a
    back stairwell. When they reached the permanent exhibit titled
    Wood And Its Decoration, Roelke’s jaw actually dropped.
    Chloe smiled. The collection of folk art never failed to astonish
    her, either. The artifacts ranged from tiny bowls to massive furniture. She trailed behind as Roelke admired the antiques.
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    He pointed to a shelf carved with flowing lines. “Acanthus style.
    Vines and stuff. And—Holy toboggans .” He’d spotted the case of artifacts decorated with chip carving. “Look at that