Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,38

did,” I said.

“It’s a stunner,” he said, then smiled, “and I don’t want to hear you put yourself down as an artist again.”

“Thank you.” I smoothed my hand over the tattoo, my cheeks heating up with the compliment … and the reprimand.

“So.” Oliver returned his attention to the mural. “There’s remarkably little flaking for you to deal with. That’s a miracle. So I don’t think you’ll have to do any consolidation, which is fortunate, because it would take me a long time to teach you how to do that.” He pointed to a section of the canvas. “Your biggest job is going to be inpainting, given all the abrasions. Fortunately she—Anna Dale—painted very thinly. That’s to your benefit.”

I’d never heard the term “inpainting” before, but I could guess what it meant. I’d look it up to be sure. “Thank you again, Oliver,” I said. “I’m sorry. I know I’m taking you away from your work.”

“I want to see this done right.” He motioned for me to follow him into the gallery. “Come with me,” he said. “I have an office here, such as it is at the moment. Let me show you what I found out about Anna Dale.”

Chapter 14

ANNA

December 14, 1939

Anna’s picture and an article about her were in the Chowan Herald on Thursday morning, and she felt rather famous. She was glad the interview and picture-taking was over with, though. It had unnerved her, all of it. The reporter made her go to the warehouse. She’d been afraid he was going to ask her to pose inside it, and she was relieved when he said the lighting wouldn’t be good for an interior photograph. She would have to get over the discomfort she felt inside the building. Those dark corners. That beamed ceiling with its hanging lights and fans. She knew why that ceiling distressed her so. She was just going to have to get past the discomfort. Once she filled the warehouse with her work and supplies, she hoped it would seem less ominous to her.

The reporter took the picture of her with the warehouse in the background, then asked her questions about her plans for the mural and she gave him her new pat line: “I will paint something to make Edenton proud,” she said.

But the article in the Herald wasn’t the only reason she felt famous. That morning, she’d walked downtown to buy some toiletries. She liked Edenton’s compact size and how easy it was to get around. The day was quite sunny and warm for December and the Christmas decorations strung across Broad Street seemed almost out of place, or at least out of season. She was in Michener’s Drug Store when she spotted the new Life magazine on the magazine rack, and she gasped. She’d nearly forgotten that all the winning mural sketches for the 48-States Competition were to be published in Life. She picked up a copy, her hands trembling as she carried it to the front of the store, and she fumbled in her purse for coins. Trying to contain her excitement, she carried the magazine to a bench on Broad Street, where she paged through it, finally finding the spread of all the winning sketches. The pictures were very small—almost postage-stamp-sized, and they were in black-and-white, but she could imagine the colors and vibrancy of them all. There was her poor old useless sketch for Bordentown—Clara Barton and her students at the brick schoolhouse. She touched it fondly with her fingertip, missing it a little. The caption stated Anna Dale will be creating a new sketch for the Edenton, North Carolina, post office. There were a few other sketches by artists who also received new assignments, and she was relieved to feel less alone. She wasn’t the only artist scrambling to come up with new subject matter. She noticed that a couple of other artists had divided their murals into three or more parts, so she would not be alone in doing that, either.

Seeing her sketch in the magazine gave her the confidence to call the art supply store in Norfolk and order the paper she would need for the cartoon. Her new sketch was coming along beautifully. She’d barely slept for the work—which was more like pleasure to her—and she was almost ready to begin adding color.

She was reading in the living room shortly after making the call when Miss Myrtle walked into the room. The older woman sat down in the armchair she seemed to fancy and studied