Heritage of Darkness by Kathleen Ernst Page B

not, of course, mean that Mom
    would ever tell her about it.
    Violet must have figured that out too. “Rumor says Howard
    and Petra had an affair.”
    Chloe tried to find a tidy slot in her brain for that little factoid.
    “Seriously?”
    “Seriously. The rumors are serious, anyway.”
    “Howard seems an unlikely lothario.”
    “I agree,” Violet said dryly. “My guess is that Petra acted as
    lotharia, if that’s a word. I bet she went after Howard just because she could.”
    “But everyone says Howard adored his wife.”
    Violet sighed. “He did. I didn’t believe the whispers until my
    mom spotted Petra and Howard in a … shall we say … passionate
    embrace late one night in the parking lot.”
    Chloe wrinkled her nose. Ew.
    “It’s really tragic,” Violet added. “Maybe nothing more hap-
    pened, and at worst the relationship evidently didn’t last long. But 77
    a couple of months later Howard’s wife was diagnosed with can-
    cer.”
    “Did Phyllis know about her husband’s maybe-affair?”
    “I have no idea,” Violet said.
    Chloe really, really wanted to go to bed. But Roelke’s request—
    that she try to find out how Petra had driven Lavinia from paint-
    ing in days of yore—was still unfulfilled. Geez , he owes me, Chloe thought. Big time. “Violet? Do you know Lavinia Carmichael?”
    “Sure.”
    “She’s in Roelke’s carving class, but she’s also a Sixty-Seven. Do you know why she stopped painting?”
    Violet began running hot water into the sink, and squirted in
    some dish soap. “That happened a long time ago. I’ve heard your
    mom and my mom allude to it, but you know how they are. I was
    in college at St. Olaf at the time, living on campus in Northfield, so I never heard the scoop.”
    “I was just wondering,” Chloe said. “I keep hearing about those
    early painting days.” She tried to think of something that would
    make her seem like less of a sordid rumor-monger. “That first class sure had an impact on my mother.”
    “My mom kept scrapbooks.” Violet plunged a cookie tin into
    the sink. “They’re in the tower room off the parlor. I’m sure she
    wouldn’t mind if you poke around.”
    “Thanks. I’ll do that.” Chloe used the invitation to take her
    leave.
    The small circular room was a charming space. Whimsical
    wooden animals paraded toward a Noah’s Ark tucked beneath a
    small Christmas tree. Chloe moved a child-sized wicker rocking
    chair so she could sit on the floor by a row of scrapbooks. When
    78
    she pulled the first album free and saw the date lettered on the
    front, her eyebrows rose. “Nineteen forty-nine? Yikes.” That was
    eighteen years before Vesterheim’s first rosemaling class. But Chloe had not gone into the history field for nothing. Curiosity piqued, she opened the album.
    79
    nine:
    june, 1949
    By the time the parade wound its way through Decorah, Sigrid
    was exhausted. From her perch on the Norwegian-American Mu-
    seum’s float, she forced herself to keep smiling and waving as they inched past the last of the crowds lining the sidewalk.
    “Oh, what fun!” Marit exclaimed. “All our work was worth it.
    The Norwegian community was well-represented in Decorah’s
    Centennial Celebration.”
    “It was indeed,” Frank Ellefson agreed, smiling fondly at his
    wife.
    Sigrid felt her heart constrict with envy. She knew Frank
    wouldn’t have taken the time to travel to Decorah and spend two
    days decorating the museum float on his own. But it was impor-
    tant to Marit, and therefore it was important to him.
    Sigrid realized she was twirling her wedding band on her fin-
    ger, and forced her hands to stillness. Preparing the float had been 80
    fun. Many of the museum’s stalwart volunteers had gotten
    involved. The girls made hundreds of crepe paper flowers. Howard
    Hoff and the Bergsbakken brothers had taken care of the actual
    construction. Howard, who hoped to win a job at Vesterheim one
    day, was in his element. Emil was sweet and