Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [34]
“I’m hoping you might have time to do a little research for me.” Her mother knew a lot about local history resources and genealogical searches. And she was cronies with every reference librarian in Dane County.
“Why, of course, dear. What do you need?”
Chloe felt an ache in her chest. Why hadn’t her mother been able to ask that question when her daughter had been struggling last winter? When her personal life was in the crapper, Chloe had wondered just how much to confide in her mother. She’d made one or two hesitant attempts. And Mom simply did not want to take delivery—
“Chloe?”
Chloe started. “Right. Here’s the thing. On my first day at Old World I talked to an artifact donor about a Norwegian ale bowl. Unfortunately, she passed away before I could get any of her family history.” Chloe poured herself another cup of coffee. “And you know how it is,” she said vaguely. “It would be really helpful for our records if we had a better idea of the ale bowl’s provenance. I don’t have time to do that kind of legwork.”
“What fun!” Mrs. Ellefson leaned forward on her elbows. “Tell me about this ale bowl!”
Chloe pinched off a corner of the sticky bun and popped it into her mouth. “Mrs. Lundquist—the donor I met—originally gave it to the state historical society years ago. It got transferred to Old World, but I haven’t been able to find it. I’m trying to figure out if it might have been more valuable than most other Norwegian pieces, for some reason.” Chloe told her mother what little she knew about the ale bowl.
“Cow heads?” Mom looked thoughtful. “That’s unusual.”
“I thought so,” Chloe said, impressed with herself.
“We’re probably talking about kjenge—”
Chloe held up a hand, palm forward. “English, please.”
“A kjenge is a type of bowl carved or turned from a single piece of wood, with handles carved as animal heads. Horse heads and lions are common motifs. And dragon heads.” She smiled. “Those go back to Viking days. You can see them adorning old churches in Norway. During the era when Christianity was overtaking the old religion, people evidently wanted to hedge their bets.”
“The reference to cow heads was probably a mistake,” Chloe said morosely. “The original accession record is sketchy. The curator probably didn’t even realize what she was seeing.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “Mom, what else would make a rosemaled ale bowl particularly desirable to a collector?”
“Well … the obvious things. Age and condition of the piece. The artist’s skill with design and execution and color.”
“I want to look at your collection.” Chloe ate the rest of the sticky bun and washed her hands before following her mother into the living room.
Her mother was a superb rosemaler who had won a coveted gold medal a decade earlier. Her handiwork was displayed in every room in the house. But a glass-fronted cupboard held pieces she’d collected.
“I haven’t bought an antique in years,” Mom said. “The prices have really shot up.”
“I assume some collectors look for pieces from certain regions.” Chloe knew that styles of rosemaling were distinct enough to be identified.
“Sure. Telemark and Hallingdal are best known, of course. Serious collectors might focus on one region, or even one artist.” Her mother picked up an exquisite bowl, painted orange and decorated with an intricate design of green, white, and black flowers and flourishes. “This one’s from Hallingdal.”
Chloe carefully took the bowl from her mother. She shouldn’t handle the piece without wearing cotton gloves, but she hadn’t brought a pair with her. “Are the pieces signed?”
“It’s very rare to find a signed piece, but the best artists developed unique characteristics.”
“Were all these pieces painted in Norway?” Chloe eased the bowl back onto the shelf.
Her mother nodded. “Almost certainly. Immigrants brought painted pieces with them. Lots of painted trunks, but also smaller pieces. Rose painting was starting to decline in Norway by the time of peak immigration