Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [84]
“Can you identify the artist?” she asked hopefully.
Greg shook his head, staring at the plate. “No. It has a Telemark feel, though. See the asymmetrical design, and the main C scroll?”
“Yes,” Chloe said, although he’d already lost her.
“But there’s a unique quality, too. And I don’t think the piece is old enough to attribute to one of the Norwegian masters.”
Chloe shot him a glance. “Made in Wisconsin?”
“That’s quite possible. And definitely before the twentieth-century revival.”
“So that makes this plate pretty rare, right?” Chloe felt a flicker of hope.
“It does.” Greg nodded. “Let me find the other donated piece.”
Chloe studied the smorgåsbord while she waited. Who had held the brush that made this flourish, that scroll? Could it possibly have been the gruff-looking Halvor Haugen? She struggled to reconcile this glorious example of creative expression with the man posed so stiffly.
Greg emerged from the ranks of shelves with a second smorgåsbord in his gloved hands. It was similar to the first, with flowing flowers and curlicues. But this one had Gothic Norwegian lettering around the edge. Chloe turned her head to make out the words … and sucked in a harsh breath.
Vi maa uddanne vaare dötre.
She pointed. “Can you translate this?”
“Sorry. I don’t speak Norwegian.”
“Is there anybody on staff here who does?”
“Not that I know of. I’m sure someone at the university could help you. Want a campus phone directory?”
Chloe accepted the offer with a growing sense of urgency, and dialed the listed number. “Sorry,” said the receptionist who answered the phone. “No Norwegian classes are scheduled for the summer session. Professor Gulbrandson is in Norway.”
Shit! Well, another phone call to good old mom was in order. Chloe hung up the phone and turned to see Greg regarding her with a slight frown. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Not really,” Chloe lied, scrabbling for a response that wouldn’t leave this nice man thinking that the new curator at Old World Wisconsin was nuttier than banana bread. “We ended up with a bowl from the same donor transferred to Old World, and I—I’m just curious about that phrase.”
“Ah. I see,” Greg said, although his dubious expression said that he didn’t—not really.
“My mom’s a rosemaler,” Chloe added. “I’m familiar with some of the more common expressions painted onto plates. Takk for maten. Hunger er den beste kokke. This one is new to me. I’ll ask her about it.”
Chloe took a moment to carefully copy the lettering on the smorgåsbord. If she was remembering correctly, the words painted on this old plate exactly matched the lettering embroidered on the apron Nika had so carefully set aside in the basement of St. Peter’s Church.
____
Chloe puzzled over the day’s revelations as she drove out of Madison. She didn’t believe that seeing Vi maa uddanne vaare dötre on an old Norwegian apron one day and on an old rosemaled smorgåsbord the next was a coincidence. Mrs. Lundquist, though, had not donated any textiles to the State Historical Society. Chloe had seen the donor files. One ale bowl, two plates. No question about that.
So, what was the relationship between the apron and the smorgåsbord? And what was Nika’s role in all this?
When Chloe reached Fort Atkinson, she angled east toward Eagle instead of continuing south toward home. She needed to see that apron again. She would check its accession number, drive back to the trailer, and see what she could learn from the donation form.
She reached Old World Wisconsin’s main gate well after closing time. A few vehicles were still parked under the pines—probably visitor center staff tallying the day’s ticket and gift shop sales. Nika’s car was not among them, and it wasn’t parked at St. Peter’s Church, either. Good. Nika was gone.
But so was the apron. It was no longer on the desk, or on the worktable, or anywhere else in plain view. Chloe scanned the gray archival storage boxes stacked on shelves, found one labeled “aprons,” and pulled it down to the worktable. After pulling off the lid she hesitated, contemplating the textiles packed with