“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 doorbell. He heard Renata coming, taking her time, probably glancing out the window to see who’d sneaked up on her in the dark. To make it easier for her, he called out, “It’s Michael Youngthunder, Renata.” And then, belatedly, he realized that she might not find the news particularly reassuring. He could hardly have made a good impression on her this morning. Besides, she’d already done her Good Samaritan deed for the year. If she normally lived in a big city like Milwaukee, she undoubtedly thought twice before opening the door to strangers or casual acquaintances who were men.
Even when they weren’t Indians.
To his astonishment, his words had the same effect as “Open sesame.” The door was flung open wide.
“Michael!” she burst out, the joy in her voice unmistakable. So was her assumption that he’d hurried back to Tyler just to see her.
For a full thirty seconds Michael simply stood there, dumbstruck. Renata was wearing that same casual outfit he’d seen her in this morning, although now the T-shirt seemed to sport a bit more paint. But her face, in the moonlight, looked completely different. This morning she’d been worried, cautious, offended, hurt. Tonight she looked positively radiant.
She’s thrilled to see me, he realized, the discovery swelling through him with a rush. I’ll be damned. Renata was hoping I’d come back again.
It occurred to Michael briefly that maybe his grandfather had already shown up here again and Renata was just relieved that someone had come to tow him away. But he hadn’t kept his distance from white women so long that he’d forgotten how to read the expression he saw on her lovely face. No man in his right mind was likely to be blind to such joyous anticipation.
Michael swallowed hard and tried to find somewhere to look besides Renata’s welcoming blue eyes. He didn’t want to embarrass her and he didn’t want to embarrass himself. But today seemed to be his day for humiliation. Grand Feather wasn’t giving him much choice.
“Uh, Renata, I’m really sorry to barge in like this,” he began, pretending he’d missed her delighted greeting. “But my cousin says my grandfather has disappeared again. He left a note this time telling me not to come after him, but there’s no way I can sleep while he’s missing.”
For the tiniest moment Renata stared at him in confusion, maybe a bit of shock. Then she looked concerned. It was not for several seconds that she began to blush.
It touched him that she seemed more worried than embarrassed. The very depth and decency of the woman
