Again her gaze drifted toward Renata, who was definitely getting edgy now. She didn’t have enough money to be generous with her donations to Tyler, even though she loved the old town. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to get equally impoverished artist friends to donate their paintings to the cause.
When Renata remained silent, Alyssa started to speak again.
“Of course, we need someone to handle the auction portion of the fair—recruiting the works themselves, I mean. Someone who really knows about art and can assess it fairly. That’s why we were so glad that Renata volunteered to serve on the committee.”
Volunteered, my foot, Renata thought. But she kept her expression neutral as Alyssa continued.
“Some of you may not remember that Renata started painting when she was a little girl. She sold her first picture to my father when she was thirteen. It’s probably worth a fortune now, but he would never part with it.” She faced the cubist mass of blues and sighed. “It has such sentimental value.”
Renata had to stifle a smile. The only thing Judson Ingalls could sell that painting for was kindling. Still, it was nice that he’d kept the homely thing, even though she suspected that Alyssa had dug it out of the basement to put on display just for this meeting. It didn’t fit in a home that had been decorated with such wealth and taste.
When all the other ladies beamed at Renata, she felt the noose tighten. Liza winked at her, clearly reading her apprehension.
“With all of her artist friends and contacts, we’re certain that Renata will be able to make the auction an outstanding success,” Alyssa continued. “We’ll help her store and organize the paintings and sculptures, but of course none of us is in a position to recruit and evaluate artwork as she can.” Alyssa smiled hopefully at Renata, who did her best to smile back.
“We were hoping you could bring some of your work to the fair, dear,” said Anna. “And possibly donate some of it.”
“I know it’s asking a lot,” begged Elise, “but we so badly need a new building.”
Before Renata could answer, Liza suggested, “Why don’t you paint us something new for the auction, Renata? You know—the official painting that expresses the theme of the fair? Something Tyleresque but distinctive? Maybe we could capitalize on it in a big way. Reproduce posters for sale nationwide or something.”
Why don’t you order a painting out of the Sears catalog? Renata was tempted to suggest, not quite sure if spunky Liza was kidding. I don’t do paintings on demand. Each creation came from the soul and it dictated its own terms. Renata could no sooner make a sculpture adhere to a given theme than Michelangelo could have painted the Sistine Chapel with a paint-by-number kit.
Before she could express this perspective, however, Anna said, “I think a unique theme for the fair is a great idea.”
“I thought the library renovation was the theme,” said Nora.
“No, that’s the reason for the fair, not the artistic theme,” Alyssa pointed out, looking truly inspired now. “The physical properties of books makes a very narrow theme, and the subjects books cover is just too broad. I think that the history of Tyler, represented by the library’s past and future, might be more appropriate.”
Liza didn’t look impressed. “How do you draw history? Make a painting of a bunch of pioneers cutting down trees and herding dairy cows? I mean, that might be nice for one painting, but how many can you use in one auction? Besides, we’ve all seen that sort of thing before.”
There’s more to Tyler’s history than the pioneers, Renata suddenly thought. Michael’s people were here for generations before the first white person set foot on Wisconsin soil.
As an idea began to form in her mind, Renata cautiously suggested, “I think it might be interesting to feature a different kind of artwork altogether in terms of history. How about bringing Indian arts and crafts to the fair and featuring paintings and sculptures with Native American themes?”
For a moment they all stared at her. Then Alyssa said, “I don’t think Indian things will raise much money, do you?”
“Of course they will!” Liza suddenly burst out. “Get with it, Mother! Indians are in right now. The Santa Fe look is everywhere.”
“But we’re not in Santa Fe, dear,” said Anna.
Nora added, “This is hardly known as Indian country. It’s not the wild West.”
“But there used to be a great many distinguished tribes in Wisconsin,” Elise reminded the group, “and I believe there are still some small reservations not too far from here.”
Suddenly Anna blinked. “Why, just last night my nephew said the police were looking for some old Indian who’d gotten lost in Tyler. I think Brick said something about an old burial ground.”
Renata felt a sudden, curious sense of alarm. For some reason she could not explain, she didn’t want anybody in this group to talk about Michael and his grandfather as strangers, Indians who didn’t really belong here. Her encounter with the two had been oddly touching, almost spiritual, and she knew she couldn’t explain the depth of meaning their visit to her land had had for them. She wasn’t even sure she understood it herself.
“All I know is that Tyler’s focus has always been on white settlers. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I’m proud that my great-grandparents helped settle this place,” Renata was quick to clarify. “But we all know about pioneer art—quilts and wood carving and knitted goods—and I think it would be an interesting change of pace to focus on the Indians who lived here first. If white artists could use Indian work as a theme and we could persuade some local Indians to sell some of their authentic work, we might be able to really make the fair special.”
“I knew she’d think of something!” Alyssa warmly concurred. “Oh, Renata, it’s wonderful having you in charge of the auction and recruiting the Indian craft people. I’m just so glad you’re here!”
At the moment, Renata was not at all glad to be sitting in Alyssa Ingalls Baron’s living room, and not at all glad that she’d been roped into helping work on the fair. But there were perks to the job that none of the other women realized. Surely the memory of Michael’s sharp cheekbones or his grandfather’s weathered face would inspire Renata to create some of the finest paintings she’d ever done. And as for recruiting Indian artists, well, she’d have to contact every one she knew.
There weren’t all that many. She’d taken art classes with Bobby Montero and Judy Hall and got along well with both of them. But Bobby was a mixture of three or four tribes from Arizona and Judy was a Sioux. If Tyler’s crafts fair was going to center on Wisconsin history, then surely the committee would have to contact Wisconsin Indians. It seemed to Renata that there were a half dozen tribes within the state, but she didn’t know which ones they were or where they’d settled. All she knew for sure was that her farm had once been sovereign territory of the Winnebago.
And except for the old man who’d spent the night on her lawn, Michael Youngthunder was the only Winnebago she knew.
IT WAS NEARLY nine o’clock in the evening when Michael reached the turnoff to Renata Meyer’s place. It had been a horrendous day. After spending the whole night in search of his grandfather, finding him at dawn, driving him back home, reporting late for work and working overtime, about the last thing he needed to do was dash back to Tyler again.
And the last thing he wanted to risk was spending an hour alone with this beguiling female.
With great reluctance and more than a little anger at Grand Feather, Michael rang the