Heritage of Darkness (38 page)

relationship, which I have regretted every day since.” A tear trickled down Sigrid’s cheek. “Except for Violet. I could never regret

Violet.”

“Aunt Sigrid, does Violet know?”

“No. Violet doesn’t know. And my husband never knew.

Emil—well, we never discussed it, but he could do the math.” She

gave Mom and Chloe a beseeching look. “I married in such haste.

Lots of us did, during the war. Bill could be difficult. I—”

“But how could you keep such a secret?” Mom looked stunned.

“How could you not tell Violet? How could you not tell me? We

were pregnant at the same time! I thought we shared
everything
!”

Sigrid didn’t answer.

“I need to lie down.” Mom rose and walked stiffly from the

room. Her footsteps faded as she went upstairs.

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Sigrid buried her face in her hands, weeping. Chloe gave her a

few moments before touching her shoulder. “Aunt Sigrid? I’m so

sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

After a few more sniffles Sigrid sat up and grabbed another tis-

sue. She looked a decade older than she had a week ago. “No,

honey. There’s nothing anyone can do. I need to gather my

strength so I can talk to Violet. I believe I’ll go up to my room as well.” She pushed to her feet and left Chloe alone.

Chloe sat in the empty room. She felt stunned, too—and not

just because of Emil. Mom and Sigrid had been best friends for

decades. Now both of them were miserable, in pain, and feeling

alone just when they needed each other the most. And there’s not

a thing I can do, Chloe thought. Not a thing to help Mom, or Sig-

rid, or Roelke either. She
hated
feeling helpless.

Except … maybe there was something she could do. Chloe got

to her feet, grabbed Sigrid’s cloak and Mom’s car keys, and headed for the door.



Sometime later she was back at Sigrid’s house, chopping an onion

in the kitchen, when she heard the front door open and close. A

moment later Violet appeared in the doorway. “Hey,” she said cau-

tiously.

“Hey.”

“I heard about what’s been happening,” Violet said. “Some of

it, anyway. Did Emil really kill Petra?”

Chloe stepped to the stove. Minced onion sizzled into the hot

skillet she’d prepared. “He confessed.”

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“I can scarcely believe it,” Violet said. “I’ve been out for a walk, just trying to wrap my head around things.”

Violet would soon have a whole lot more to wrap her head

around. Chloe’s residual anger about Violet’s snide comments at

the Rimestads’ party faded away.

“Look, I need to apologize for what I said the other night,” Vio-

let said. “I was just sounding off.” She leaned against the door-

frame. “Obviously the results of the Exhibition last summer
did
bug me. A lot more than I’ve been willing to admit, even to myself.

Last summer I was … unkind to Howard about it. I regret being so

stupid and impulsive. And I truly didn’t mean what I said about

the older rosemalers. I know how hard they worked.”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “They did.” The onions were turning trans-

lucent, and she turned down the heat under the pan.

“I feel just horrible that Aunt Marit overheard us. She was

already having a tough week.” Violet drummed the heel of one

shoe against the toe of the other. “I know she felt slighted because my mom was given the advanced class to teach instead of her. And

even though she’s taught beginners for years, she felt unprepared.

You know how methodically she approaches teaching.”

“Yeah,” Chloe said again, although honestly, she’d never

thought about it.

“And Aunt Marit was
so
upset after not winning Best of Show in the Exhibition last summer—”

“She was?” Chloe moved the pan and turned to face Violet.

“Well, sure!” Violet sounded perplexed. “Gold Medalists can’t

compete for ribbons, of course, but last year their entries were eligible for Best of Show for the first time. That hanging cupboard

your mom entered was stunning. But so was the piece that won.”

324

I had no idea, she thought. This was the first she’d known

Mom had even entered a piece in the Exhibition.

“I’d do anything to take back what I said,” Violet said misera-

bly. “I tried to apologize to Aunt Marit, but she won’t listen. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

Chloe thought about Mom and opened her mouth to say
Hon-

estly? I doubt it.
Instead, something entirely different came out. “All you can do is keep trying, Violet. You just have to keep trying.”

“I will.” Violet sighed. Then she gestured at a big bowl of

chopped tomatoes on the counter. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making tomato soup with wild rice and kale,” Chloe told

her. “A very big batch. As Roelke’s grandma used to say, sometimes the only thing you can do for people you care about is make sure

they eat a good meal.”

325

thirty-four

At eleven-thirty Chloe left the fragrant soup simmering in a

Crock-Pot and walked to the museum. It was a Christmas card,

snow-dazzle kind of day, and she hardly noticed the cold.

Roelke was waiting in the lobby. “Hey,” she said, and kissed

him. “How are you doing?”

“OK.”

He didn’t look OK. He looked tired and depressed. The night

before, though, they’d promised Howard that they would attend

the grand highlight of Vesterheim’s Norwegian Christmas week-

end, singing and dancing around a huge Christmas tree. Chloe

would bet her last candy cane that Roelke wasn’t going to dance,

but if Howard’s greatest fear came true—that visitors, horrified by headlines in the morning paper, completely spurned the

museum—at least Chloe and Roelke would add to the head count.

But visitors were, thank Heaven, coming. Families, groups of

friends, and couples crowded inside, filling the lobby with smiles and chatter, forming an impromptu receiving line to greet How-326

ard. When the festivities began, Roelke and Chloe watched the

children’s delight as they circled around the tree. A
julenisse
passed out candy. A beaming volunteer read a story.

And not a
julebukker
in sight, Chloe thought with profound relief. “Howard should be pleased,” she murmured to Roelke as the

ceremonies came to an end. Then she straightened. “Is that my

mother?”

“It looks like your mother,” he agreed.

Mom saw them and made her way through the crowd. “Thank

you for leaving the soup, Chloe,” she said. “It was just what I

needed.”

“You’re welcome,” Chloe said, feeling ridiculously pleased. “But

didn’t the doctor tell you to rest today? I don’t think you should be here.”

“Oh, stop fussing. I wanted to be here for Howard’s sake.”

Right on cue, Howard pushed through the crowd to a podium.

“Thank you for coming,” he began. “As most of you know, we have

had a wrenching week. I arrived at the museum before dawn this

morning with a heavy heart. But the logo on Vesterheim’s sign

gave me hope.”

Chloe glanced at the closest sign. Sure enough, there was the

sunburst design she’d admired on the old tankard.

“To me, the design represents the best of our heritage: our

belief that a bright new day will always dawn,” Howard continued.

“It represents warmth and goodness. It represents the ancient tra-

dition of lighting bonfires on these shortest, darkest days to welcome the return of the sun.”

Much to her astonishment, Chloe felt a lump rise in her throat.

327

“I am reminded of something I told our folk-art students a

week ago.” Howard looked over the gathering. “The Vesterheim

community is a family. Together, we can see any dark days through.

I thank you all for your love and support.”

Applause rippled through the crowd.

Howard blew his nose before continuing. “Now, it is my plea-

sure to announce the winner of our Christmas Card contest.”

Mom stiffened.

Now
I get why she’s here, Chloe thought.

“All Gold Medalists were invited to submit a design,” Howard

was saying, “and the top choice was determined by popular vote.

Please help me congratulate the winning painter, who’s come all

the way from Colorado...”

“Never mind, Mom,” Chloe said loyally, squeezing her mother’s

hand. “I liked your design best.”

Mom pulled her hand away. “It’s just a silly competition. The

winning design was well-executed.” But her eyes sparkled with

unshed tears.

Chloe’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Mom. After everything that’s

happened,
please
tell me you’re not crying because your Christmas card design wasn’t chosen.”

“If I’m crying, it’s because I’m getting a headache.” Mom

blinked rapidly. “I think I should go take another nap.”

“I’ll go with you,” Chloe began, but Mom was already sailing

toward the front door.

Chloe looked at Roelke. “Should I go after her?”

He considered, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“She’s a Gold Medalist. She’s a beloved member of the Vester-

heim community. Why isn’t that enough for her?”

328

“I do not know.”

“This trip was for her.”

Roelke regarded Chloe with—finally—some honest sympathy.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep trying,” she said. “Just keep trying.”

“Good.”

Chloe turned to face him. “Listen, do you want to get out of

here? You’ve probably had your fill of all things Norske.”

He shook his head. “Let’s at least walk through.”

So they chatted with the craftsmen who’d come to demonstrate

straw weaving and Norwegian embroidery. They lingered in one

of the galleries as the Luren Singing Society performed a few

favorites. They admired the decorations volunteers had worked so

hard on. They paused by tables where excited children were mak-

ing woven hearts. They accepted warm
krumkakke
offered by

elderly women in traditional clothing.

And to Chloe’s amazement, she found her sadness easing.

Vesterheim’s Norwegian Christmas celebration provided the bal-

ance she’d so desperately needed. Yes, her heritage included a dark chapter or two. Her ancestors had feared the long nights of this icy season. Edwina Ree’s folklore studies were an important part of

understanding the historical Norwegian psyche. And dark things

had
happened this week—horrible things and revelations that would reverberate through Decorah for years to come.

But today, light was shining into every corner. Today Christmas

was all it should be—joyful, sparkling, and filled with grace.



329

“Where to?” Chloe asked as she and Roelke stepped outside. “I can

offer you a nutritious and delicious meal at Sigrid’s house, pre-

pared by yours truly, but the atmosphere there may be a

bit … tense.”

“No.” Roelke shook his head. “We have dinner reservations at

the Winneshiek Hotel.”

Chloe felt a smile spread over her face. “We do?”

“We do. All I could get was an early seating, though, so let’s go.”

As they made their way down the sidewalk Chloe pointed sky-

ward. “See those fluffy clouds? I could paint those. It’s all C-strokes and S-strokes.”

Roelke didn’t answer, but he took her hand.

The historic hotel was as lovely inside as its exterior had sug-

gested. In the restaurant, they even scored a window table. “Would you like to start with a drink?” the pleasant waitress asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Chloe said. They each ordered wine.

When the goblets arrived Chloe sipped gratefully. “Do you

want to talk about the nasty stuff?” she asked. “I’ve got a few

updates.”

Roelke nodded. “Let’s just get through that and be done with

it.”

“I stopped at Lavinia’s house this morning—”

“She could have choked to death right beside me.” Roelke’s face

hardened.

“But she didn’t. She’s completely recovered. She’s also wonder-

ing if a fire that destroyed her home years ago was a lightning

strike after all. There were two bonfires carved on that calendar

stick.”

A muscle worked in Roelke’s jaw.

330

“I told Lavinia about the spalted wood and the blocked ventila-

tion system.” Chloe rolled her glass, watching the wine swirl. “She thinks we should try to keep that from the Rimestads, if possible.

It’s too late to undo the damage, and wondering would only tor-

ment Tom.”

“It certainly would.”

“Emil’s been doing bad stuff for decades, but it seems as if he

was more sporadic in the old days,” Chloe mused. “Then this week,

all kinds of things happened. Why do you think that is?”

Roelke exhaled slowly. “My best guess is that actually attacking

Petra face-to-face changed him. Excited his dark side, maybe. Or

maybe that same dark part of him knew the cops would close in

on him sooner or later, and he felt compelled to do as much harm

as possible first.”

The waitress arrived with their dinners, broiled trout for

Roelke and broccoli soup and a salad for Chloe. “So,” Roelke said,

“how did it go at Sigrid’s place this morning? All this has got to be hard on her and your mom. How much did you tell them?”

Chloe watched a woman walk past with a black lab on a leash.

The dog had a big bow tied on his collar, and looked quite pleased with himself. “Just the basics. But I did ask Sigrid if she had any ideas why Emil never seemed to target her.” She shared Sigrid’s