by Kris Tualla
Eli and Samuel both stood and Samuel let his father approach the canvas first. When they saw the words For Wilhelm, B Meyer, both men turned to stare at Gerhardt
“You wrote that!” Eli accused.
“Why would I do that?” Gerhardt stood. “The painting had no monetary value!”
“Then your father did it!” Samuel declared.
“Gentlemen.” Hollis used her most authoritative voice. “Sit down. Now.”
Once the three were perched on their seats, Hollis delineated the logic. “First of all, that inscription was on the painting before Ezra Kensington bought it.”
Samuel glanced at his father.
“Second,” Hollis continued. “I believe Benjamin saw the writing on the wall, both with his daughter and with Germany, and when the inevitable happened he hoped Wilhelm would rescue the painting.”
Eli’s expression shifted as he considered this new perspective.
“Lastly, Wilhelm truly did believe that this painting was a gift from Benjamin—one he could never give to Wilhelm openly, considering the rampant anti-Semitism throughout Germany.”
Hollis paused, deciding to throw in her own spin on the situation. “And since the painting was found, I’ve come to believe that this gift was Benjamin’s way of acknowledging the doomed love that Wilhelm and Rachel shared.”
No one spoke. The only sound in the room was the whir of the heat through the air vents.
Samuel broke the silence first. “How did the painting get to Arizona?”
Gerhardt shifted in his chair. “When my father returned to his house with the painting, my grandfather told him to pack one single suitcase. He said they were leaving Germany that same night.”
“And they did?”
“Yes.” Gerhardt shifted from Wilhelm’s story to his own. “My father moved to Arizona after the war and settled in Mesa. I was born there in nineteen-forty-six.” He turned to Amelia, who up until now was a non-player in the discussion. “Show them the picture.”
Amelia opened her purse and produced the four-inch square, glossy, black-and-white photo with the year nineteen-forty-six stamped in the border. She slid it across the table to Eli.
“That’s me the week I was born.” Gerhardt pointed at the photo. “As you can see, the painting has been in my family since Benjamin made it a gift.”
Samuel frowned. “So how did this Ezra Kensington guy end up with it?”
“When my father died I was in Germany. My sister held an estate sale before I could return. When I did, the painting was gone.”
“Clearly, your family has taken care of this painting since my family was taken away and murdered,” Eli said softly. “And for this, I thank you.”
Gerhardt held out his hand and Samuel laid the photo in his hand.
“It was a gift,” Gerhardt growled. “Even Ms. McKenna referred to it as such.”
Eli shook his head. “Forgive me for saying this once again, but you cannot prove it was a gift.”
“And you cannot prove it wasn’t.”
Hollis heaved a sigh, noticing that it didn’t hurt much any more. “I’m afraid that Ms. Oberman and I will need to consult a higher authority before a decision is made.”
She flashed a crooked smile. “Unless you want us to cut it in half, of course.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sveyn grinned. “You mentioned Solomon’s solution?”
“Yep.” Hollis’s mouth twisted. “And both men shouted no, so no help there.”
Sveyn held the door to the museum’s cafeteria open for Hollis and Mary. After discussing their options for lunch, his rumbling belly prompted the easiest solution.
“We have a staff-only dining area, so it’s away from the crowds.” Mary smiled impishly. “And we can use my staff discount.”
After selecting their meals, the trio sat at a table in the farthest corner. “In case any of the family members decide to eat here as well,” Sveyn suggested. “I do not believe you want them to hear your conversation.”
“Not only gorgeous, but wise,” Mary purred. “I have to hear your story. How did you and Hollis meet?”
Sveyn stuck with the story they told Hollis’s parents. “We met in September. I started working as a guard at the museum where she works, and I am now assigned to her when she has the ghost hunting people come after the museum is closed.”
He smiled.
All true.
“Ghost hunters?” Mary turned to Hollis. “More than the cable show?”
Hollis stopped chewing her Caesar salad and talked around the lettuce. “You saw that?”
“Well, yeah. Everyone who knows you saw that.” Mary leaned forward. “There really was a ghost there, right?”
“There was something that the guys caught on camera, yes.” Hollis glanced at Sveyn. “But no one’s seen anything since the show aired.”
“Did it get scared away?” Mary sat back and shook her head. “No. Ghosts don’t get scared of people—it’s the other way around.”
“I don’t have an answer for that,” Hollis murmured and took another bite.
Sveyn watched the interaction, glad that he was clean-shaven and wearing modern clothing. Though Miranda caught the resemblance between him now and him on camera, no one else had as yet.
Mary turned to Sveyn. “So what are you guarding against?”
He chuckled. “People who believe that if they think hard enough that they can live forever, then it will happen.”
“Oh, no.” She looked at Hollis. “For real?”
“Afraid so.” Hollis sipped her diet cola. “Did you hear about our icon—the Blessing of the Gods?”
Mary’s brow puckered. “Maybe…”
“It was in Ezra’s hoard. Well, half of it.”
Sveyn stiffened wondering how much Hollis was going to reveal about her ordeal.
Her gaze bounced to his, then returned to Mary’s. “Long story short, the museum acquired the other half.”
He relaxed.
Good choice.
“The story is that possessing one half will drive the owner insane, but locking the two halves together makes the owner immortal.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed. “And people actually believe this stuff?”
“They do,” Sveyn inserted himself into the conversation. “So between the apparition on the camera, and the ancient icon halves in a double-locked bulletproof case—”
“What?” Mary squeaked.
Hollis’s brows shot up. She gave Mary a tight-lipped yes-I-know-it’s-crazy smile and nodded.
“The museum receives requests every day,” Sveyn continued. “People want to visit after hours and see these things for themselves.”
Mary shook her head. “And you let them?”
Hollis grinned. “Sure. For two hundred dollars an hour with a four hour minimum.”
Mary laughed. “Well played.” She turned to Sveyn. “How did you propose?”
“On my knees. In her living room.”
“Aww—no big YouTube surprise?”
Sveyn shook his head. “No. After the way Matt treated Hollis, I wanted her to know that I am sincere. And that I will keep the promises I make to her.”
Mary sighed and her expression turned dreamy. “Do you have a brother?”
He laughed loudly at that. “He is married.” Well, was.
Still true.
“Damn.”
Sveyn shrugged. “Sorry.”
Hollis dropped her napkin over her salad bowl. “So what will we do about the painting?”
“I’ll contact the people where the claim was filed and see what they have to say, but my gut is that it will go back to the Meyers,” Mary said. “But in the meantime, let’s x-ray it, just for shits and giggles.”
Hollis looked surprised. “Do you think there’s something under it?”
“I don’t know. But when a Jewish artist paints one painting in his entire life, and does it when he did it, it makes me curious about why.”
; Hollis nodded. “You’re the expert. Do you have the equipment here?”
“We share it with the Milwaukee Art Museum. I’ll call them when I get back to my office and see how soon we can get in.”
Sveyn was familiar with x-rays from the war and his recent hospital experience. “What will this show?”
Mary smiled. “It’ll show us if Benjamin painted over another painting.”
“Maybe a valuable one,” Hollis clarified. “In order to hide it from the Nazis.”
Sveyn nodded slowly. “And you will not tell the families what you find until after the decision is made.”
“I think that’s wise.” Hollis looked to Mary for confirmation. “Right now, they both say the painting isn’t valuable in and of itself, but they want it for sentimental purposes.”
Sveyn realized with a stab in his chest that he would give up any amount of money to have something tangible of his parents and brothers. His father’s ring was in Ezra’s collection—perhaps when he earned enough money he could convince Hollis to put it up for auction and he would buy it from them.
Sveyn sighed. “In the end, perhaps that connection is more valuable than money.”
*****
Hollis and Sveyn returned to her parents’ home after she drove him around Milwaukee to show him the sights. True, everything was buried under a blanket of snow and the sky threatened more, but Sveyn’s life originated in a cold climate and he didn’t seem to mind any of that.
There was something that had been niggling in the back of her mind that she wanted to talk to him about before going back to the house.
“When we talk to my parents tonight, I don’t think we should mention that you were stabbed at the Renaissance Faire,” she began. “Because I want to avoid the gypsy thing with them.”
“I agree.” He nodded. “I was there, but only you were injured in that accident.”
Hollis glanced at the robust man beside her. “You’re healing really well.”
“Except for the one last bit of sensitivity…” He grinned and winked at her. “I feel as fit as I ever did.”
Hollis’s gut tingled. She ached to make love to Sveyn with his real body in the real world. “When we get back to Phoenix we’ll try it. I don’t want to have sex in my parents’ house.”
“No, not when they have us sleeping in separate rooms.” Sveyn turned in his seat. “Perhaps my new story with Robert Ford will be what we tell people from this point forward.”
Hollis smiled. “That’s actually a good idea. Going forward, no one needs to know about the whole getting you documented thing, now that you officially exist.”
She turned into her parents’ driveway. “Dad’s home already.”
When she turned off the car, Sveyn leaned over and gazed into her eyes. He slid one hand up her cheek and into her hair, pulling her face to his. He kissed her, long and deep, until the windshield began to fog.
Hollis pulled back, feeling a little light-headed, “We should go in.”
Sveyn hummed a sigh. “I love you, Hollis McKenna, and we are getting closer to the prize.”
*****
Hollis’s father was in the back yard dumping what looked like black rocks from a bag into a round basin about three feet off the ground. He turned toward Sveyn as his boots crunched in the snow.
“Call me old fashioned,” Ian said, setting the bag on the ground. “But I’m a charcoal man all the way.”
Sveyn smiled. “I am old fashioned too, Ian.”
Ian looked over Sveyn’s clothes, from the boots to his bare head. “Not too cold for you?”
“No. I come from a long line of Norwegians.” True. “I love the cold.” Mostly true.
“How’d you end up in Phoenix?” Ian popped the plastic top on a metal container and squirted liquid over the black rocks.
“I was born there.”
“Ah.” Ian pulled a red wand out of his pocket. He clicked a button and a tiny flame appeared at the end. He chuckled a little. “Not so old fashioned that I need to use matches.”
He touched the flame to the rocks and fire spread over their surfaces. Sveyn and Ian watched them burn in silence for a while.
“How did you come to love the cold?” Ian asked, his eyes still on the burning rocks.
“I have traveled to Norway, Scotland, England, and other places in Europe, spending time with members of my family.” True. Never mind that he could not feel temperature at those times. “While it is nice in Phoenix, I do miss snow.” True again.
“Do you have a college degree?”
“No.”
Only centuries’ worth of experiences.
Ian looked up at him. “How will you support my daughter? You certainly can’t make much on a guard’s salary.”
“What are you men talking about?” Hollis walked up. She didn’t have a coat on and hugged her arms across her chest.
Sveyn gave her a smug look. “Your father asks how I will support you. I was just about to tell him.”
Hollis rolled her eyes. “Dad, I can support myself. More than you know.”
Ian shook his head. “And when there are children? Who will care for them?”
Sveyn grinned. “This was my question to her.”
Hollis shivered. “Well come inside and we’ll talk. Mom wanted to let you know the brats are cooked.”
“Okay.” Ian considered Sveyn with a new expression. “Let’s go inside and have a beer. It’ll take about twenty or thirty minutes for this to get hot enough for the brats.”
The four adults gathered in the kitchen and Ian asked Sveyn if he wanted light or dark beer.
“Dark. Thank you.” He accepted the bottle labeled Guinness and took a long draught. When he lowered the bottle, he sighed. “It has been a very long time since have I enjoyed a stout brew.”
“Don’t they have it in Phoenix?” Brianne asked as she used tongs to fish the sausages from their fragrant beer and onion bath.
Sveyn looked at Hollis. “I don’t know. Hollis prefers wine.”
Her cheeks reddened. “They do. I’ll take you.”
Ian looked confused. “I thought you were born in Phoenix.”
Sveyn felt a zing of panic. “I was. But as I said, I traveled to be with family.”
“When did you leave?” Brianne asked.
“The first time I left Nor—my home—I was fifteen or sixteen.”
Hollis’s mother tsked. “So young.”
“What about high school?” Ian pressed.
“Sveyn was home-schooled, and he’s so smart he graduated early,” Hollis forestalled Sveyn’s answer. “Then like he said, he traveled. Family.”
“I have learned so much about the world,” Sveyn offered. “Now I am in Phoenix and I have a new life.” True again. “And I have found the woman who makes me whole.”
So very true.
“So, besides working as a museum guard, what are your career plans?” Ian was like a wolf with its prey.
Sveyn looked at Hollis. “You tell them. You can explain it better than I can.”
Hollis took a gulp of her light beer, looking like she was about to be shot. “Well, when I first saw Sveyn, I thought he was a model…”
“I can see that,” Brianne murmured. When Ian shot her an irritated look, she bristled. “What? Look at him. He’s gorgeous.”
Sveyn’s cheeks felt hotter than the burning rocks.
“So,” Hollis continued. “After we had this same discussion, where I explained that in the twenty-first century, women don’t need to be taken care of—”
“And I said that mothers of children do,” Sveyn interrupted, noticing Ian’s approving reaction.
“Any way,” Hollis grumbled. “I suggested that he actually try modeling.”
Ian’s brow wrinkled. “Really? Does that pay well?”
“It’s not steady work,” Hollis admitted. “But commercials can provide a nice income.”
“Sure, if you can get one,” Ian countered. “That’s not a foregone concl
usion.”
“I got one.”
All eyes moved to rest on Sveyn.
“I am Eric, the face of Match Point. They match people online.” Sveyn shrugged, trying to loosen the weight of the elder McKennas’ incredulous stares. “We filmed my part on Friday.”
“Wha—when will it be shown?” Ian stammered.
Hollis flashed a triumphant smile. “They said they wanted it to be on this weekend because it’s Valentine’s Day and people are thinking about love.”
Brianne’s eyes were still wide with shock. “Will we be able to see it?”
“I don’t know.” Hollis looked at Sveyn. “They didn’t say what markets it would be in.”
“I guess we will wait and see.” Sveyn pointed at the sausages cooling on a plate and turned a hopeful face to Ian. “Is the fire hot yet?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hollis waited until the brats were cooked, and the rest of supper was on the table, and her father said grace, and everyone had taken their first bite and commented on how good it was before she asked, “Okay. Tell me my story.”
“Your mother will tell it better than I could,” her dad deferred. “But I’ll correct her if she makes a mistake.”
“Oh, Ian,” Brianne groused. “This is serious. Stop making jokes.”
He looked offended. “I’m not making jokes.”
“Just start at the beginning, Mom,” Hollis urged. “And don’t leave anything out.”
“Well, as you know, we met in college in La Crosse—”
“Wisconsin,” Hollis added for Sveyn’s sake.
“Right. And after we got married we moved to my hometown of Sparta.”
This time Sveyn said, “Wisconsin.”
Ian leaned forward. “Okay, this entire story takes place in Wisconsin.”
Hollis chuckled and wagged her head. “Go on, Mom.”
“Well, we tried to have children for years. We just couldn’t manage to conceive.” Brianne heaved a sigh which carried the pain of all those fruitless years. “We were thirty-eight and thirty-seven when my dearest friend, Karen Mueller, came to me absolutely heartbroken.”
“I know them.” Hollis looked at Sveyn, then back at her mom. “Didn’t he move to a church in Eau Claire?”
