Cordelia “the museum curator”'s Arc

Chapter 10 of 12

The address from the shipping receipt led Cordelia to the edge of town, where a gothic circus hall rose out of the trees. Pointed arches. Red flags on black spires. A carved horse above the doors, mid-leap. She had written ahead. She had not waited for an answer. The exhibition needed more than two framed canvases, and the man who had signed a plinth in 1911 was the only thread she had. A ticket booth stood at the gate, topped by a silver carousel horse on a brass pole. No one sat inside. Cordelia followed a painted arrow past the booth and into the main hall. Lanterns hung from the rafters. In the center of the floor, a black carousel horse reared on a low stage, its mane painted deep red, gold trim along the saddle. An old man in a long patterned coat was running a rag along its flank. Small wooden horses circled the band of his top hat. "Mr. Kasey," she said. "I'm Cordelia. I run the Curio of Creations. I wrote you about a plinth." He did not look up. He kept polishing. "The onyx one." "Yes. Your name is on the base. 1911." "I carved it for Frederick." He set the rag on the horse's saddle. "He traded me a painting for it." Cordelia's throat tightened. "Frederick Vale." "He brought his girl here. She liked the black one best." Kasey nodded at the horse on the stage. "He painted them turning. Fast. All blurred." "I'm building an exhibition of his work," Cordelia said. "I have two canvases. I need more. I came to ask if you still have the one he traded you." Kasey walked past her without answering. She followed him through a side door into a narrow room hung with framed prints and one large oil. He stopped in front of it. A carousel spun in the painting, horses smeared into a dark ring under a green sky. The frame was heavy and black. "This one," he said. "I would like to borrow it. For the exhibit. On loan, with your name on the placard." Kasey studied her. "You'll hang it beside the others." "Yes." "Then please take it. I know his family would’ve wanted him to have recognition." "Thank you so much Kasey." He lifted the painting off its hook and handed it to her. It was heavier than she expected. "He kept a ledger," Kasey said. "Sold pieces out of a shop in the city before the fire. The buyers' names were in it. His sister took the ledger when he died." "Is she alive?" "No. Her son is. He runs a bakery two towns over. Ask for the ledger. Tell him I sent you." Cordelia held the painting against her chest. Three canvases now. And a name to chase for the rest. "Thank you," she said. Kasey picked up his rag. "Don't scratch the frame."