Page 4 of Heartsong
“That’s perfectly fine. I love it here and don’t mind showing off the clan—collection, I mean.” Great, now Carrie had her personifying the statues, too.
But Dr. Parkhurst just smiled, and Anna went about collecting the few things she always carried with her on tours; key card, small flashlight, brochure, exhibit map, all the good stuff. It paid to be prepared for both the mundane and oddball questions.
“Anyway, off we go. I’m Anna by the way,” she said, flourishing a hand in front of her nametag.
Dr. Parkhurst smiled, no laugh like she sometimes got, but she’d take it. The other woman’s posture was ramrod straight, but Anna didn’t think it was just because she came from old money.
“We really appreciate you looking at the collection, Dr. Parkhurst.”
“Please, call me June. And it’s me who’s grateful. The art world is all abuzz with this exhibit, there’s nothing really like it. I know a few people who’d kill to have this access.” She cleared her throat and blushed, as if those handful of sentences were too much.
Anna smiled through the awkwardness, hoping she wasn’t putting out some kind of vibe herself. Her internet snooping had revealed that June was somewhat of a genius recluse, had graduated with PhDs in art historyandarchitecture by the time she was nineteen. After seven years in the field, she could have any position she wanted, prestigious fellowships at any Ivy League back East or Oxford or Cambridge across the pond. But she opted to stay on the West Coast instead, often working out of her family’s estate in the ritzy Belvedere Tiburon area. The news media coverage on her was fairly old, around when she graduated, but since then, June had stuck to her work and her estate, meaning the media eventually got bored of her.
Anna supposed the museum should take it as a compliment that such a woman was willing to come out of her castle to look at them in person.
“So, would you like the general spiel we give visitors?”
June smiled politely. “I’ve done my homework, Anna.”
Anna shifted the brochure against her chest to make sure the clipboard hid it.
The other woman cleared her throat. “Besides, I’m sure you’re tired of giving the same speech today.”
Anna noted the strained lines around June’s eyes and decided to let the woman off the hook. She wasn’t being rude, it was just painfully obvious she found the whole situation awkward.
“That’s true. Sometimes I think I know what a parrot must feel like.”
That got a real laugh out of June, and then there wasn’t any reason to speak again because they’d entered the main gallery. The museum was a sprawl of smaller corridors with a statue at the end and sometimes small alcoves in the wall with others. They all branched off of a main corridor that essentially did a rectangular circuit back to the front lobby area, displaying the statues as well as other artifacts and information about early-medieval Europe. But there was one area, the gallery, where the main corridor expanded into a cathedral of history.
It always took Anna’s breath away.
Easily three stories tall, the gallery had frosted skylights to let in natural light, which filtered down into the space to create a sort of glow against the whitewashed walls. The floors were a warm oak, a stunning contrast to the columns and pedestals. A second-floor gallery ringed by an elaborate banister hinted at more treasures above, but the main spectacle was on the ground floor. Arranged like Greek gods, with a faint blue alcove behind them for a splash of color, were the grotesques. They stood evenly spaced, in different lifelike poses. Some crouched or knelt, others stood or looked as though they prepared to jump. Many snarled or had their hands raised, sharp claws poised to attack.
No enigmatic smiling Italian merchant wives here.
Anna didn’t know how the artists had captured such life and movement in the pieces, especially as the majority were supposedly from early-medieval Celtic sites, far away from any classical Greek influence. Some didn’t seem sturdy enough to be balanced on the rooves of cathedrals, posed as they were on one foot. Carrie and Gavin had had stints put in to reinforce them and the whole museum was a climate-controlled environment. Anna shuddered to think about any of the statues plummeting to their demise.
She looked down the length of the gallery to assure herself, relieved to see her statue standing at the far side. She knew it was silly to worry about a statue, especially when this one was planted on two feet and looked sturdy as an oak, but she couldn’t help it. She found his strong stance reassuring, the grim, determined lines of him always catching her eye. The artist had rendered him with a type of old pants that laced closed and ended at his calf, just above his elongated, taloned feet. It left that wide, heavily muscled chest bare—something Anna definitely didn’t trace with her eyes every chance she got.
He was placed with several of the other largest pieces at the head of the gallery, but to her, he always stood out. The others were just as fierce, just as terrifying and strong, but there was something about her statue’s face, the solid set of his jaw, that made Anna think he was looking out at the world, ready to meet it.
She glanced over at June, expecting to see her mouth open in wonder.
Instead, June was frowning. She did have a bit of awe about her, her eyes wide as she slowly turned her head one way then the other, trying to take everything in. But something seemed to trouble her, a line forming between her brows.
Anna started to ask if something was wrong, but June drifted toward one of the bigger pieces.
It was a male, tall and broad, hewn from what looked like granite. Not one of the flashier pieces, but many were drawn to him for his looks nonetheless. He too was in a battle pose, knees bent, claws and fangs flashing, but time hadn’t been kind. One of his arms had been broken off at the elbow and on the same side, his horn was missing.
June looked up at him as many did, with pity.
But then she reached out, gently touching the base of his pedestal and sliding a finger along one of his time-worn talons.
“Oh, no,” she murmured.
Anna watched, fascinated, as June continued to murmur to the statue as if she could console him. She’d heard about taking your work seriously, how sometimes inanimate objects could take on a life of their own, especially to artists, but this was a little extreme.
Still, she didn’t judge. She called one of these statueshersin her head, after all.
