“You’re a pretty one,” Billy said. “And don’t you have the look of an avant-garde New York artist. All you need is one of them long cigarette holders, ain’t that right?”
She tried not to wince at the word “ain’t” spilling so easily from the mouth of a newspaperman. And avant-garde? Unconsciously, she touched her bob. She rather liked that description of herself.
“I do own one of those cigarette holders,” she confessed with a smile. She did. A gift from a former beau, but she never used it. She would have felt silly.
She moved her gaze to the fourth man at the table.
“I’m Toby Fiering, manager of the cotton mill,” he said. He was soft-spoken, his voice buttery and warm. Early fifties, thick gray hair, light blue eyes, and a genuine-looking smile. All in all, a handsome older man. “Why isn’t a pretty girl like you married?” he asked, knocking her off balance with the question, although she’d certainly been asked it more than once. “You’re not one of them divorcées, are you?”
Anna shook her head, her smile forced. “Just haven’t met the right fella,” she said, truthfully. “And I want to focus on being an artist.”
The men observed her in silence for a long moment. Mr. Fiering finally cleared his throat. “Have you had time to see our mill and Mill Village?” he asked.
“Not yet, but I’d love to,” she said. Her cheeks were getting tired from smiling. “I’m only here until Saturday, though.”
“Be a shame to miss the cotton mill,” Mr. Fiering said, and she thought he looked sincerely saddened by the thought.
They ordered lunch. The men all ordered roast beef sandwiches, but Anna asked for chicken soup. She couldn’t imagine trying to speak at this important meeting around a mouthful of bread. The food was delivered quickly and the men dug in while she took a sip of her soup.
“I was hoping I might could have had the managers of the lumber company and the Edenton Peanut Factory to join us,” Mr. Arndt said, swallowing a bite of his sandwich. “But it wasn’t possible on such short notice. They gave me their two cents to add to the conversation, though.” He looked at Anna. “I’m supposed to tell you that we ship more than forty million pounds of peanuts a year,” he said, then chuckled. “We got so much industry here in Edenton and everybody wants a piece of that mural pie, right?” A murmur of agreement went up from the men.
“I understand,” Anna said. She wondered if she should take control of this meeting or if she should allow Mr. Arndt to do so. It felt very forward of her to barge in, yet she was the one who needed their guidance and she wouldn’t get it by sitting mum.
“Gentlemen,” she said in her most formal voice, “I so appreciate all of you taking the time to meet with me. As you know, I’ve been honored to be selected to paint the mural for your post office, and I’m anxious to begin on it, so I can use your valuable thoughts on what the focus should be. From what I’ve read, the Edenton Tea Party was an important—”
“Oh, not that tired old Tea Party again!” Mr. Fiering said, his handsome face screwed up as if his roast beef sandwich tasted rancid.
“Now, Toby,” Mr. Arndt said. “Let the little lady say her piece.”
She was shaken by the sudden outburst. Off on the wrong foot already. She’d been about to take a sip of her soup, but set her spoon down. “I thought the Tea Party was something Edenton is proud of,” she said.
“We’re proud indeed, Miss Dale.” Mayor Sykes’s voice boomed so loudly that people at other tables turned to look at him. “We’re very proud that our ladies stood up for our freedom. But that was a long, long time ago. There’s so much more to Edenton these days, and we get a little tired of that all the time bein’ the focus.”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Arndt said, and Anna had the feeling he was going to be her ally. “When people think of Edenton, they do think of the Tea Party, so maybe—”
“But it’s the townspeople who use the post office and I think they’d rather see the industry of the day,” Toby Fiering interrupted. “The things that keep Edenton going and growing.”
“Ah, I see,” she said, hoping to get on everyone’s good side. The image that had been taking shape in her mind of the women of Edenton signing their petition began to disintegrate. “Well, tell me what all of you would like to see in a mural.”
“The cotton mill, front and center.” Mr. Fiering set down his sandwich and made a sweeping gesture in front of his face, as though he could already picture it. “The biggest industry in the town.”
“I can think of a few folks who might could argue with you there,” Mr. Arndt said in his calming way. “And Rollie and Stu want to see their lumber yard and peanut factory represented, too,” he continued. “And then of course, there’s fishin’. We’ve got water all ’round us. Plus, our melons. And agriculture, right?”
Anna’s fingers began to perspire around the handle of her spoon and her soup had barely been touched. “The mural is large but we don’t want to overcrowd it,” she said. “I think I can work in three to five scenes as the focus. One central image plus a few others.”
The men were quiet for a moment. Then Billy Calhoun finally spoke up. “You know,” he drawled to the mayor, “if your cousin Martin was doing this paintin’ he’d know what should be in it without bein’ told.”
Oh, no. That Martin Drapple artist was the mayor’s cousin?
The mayor raised his eyebrows with a “what can I do?” shrug. “I tried callin’ the government office responsible for the mural,” he said. “Can’t never get through.”
“You tried calling the office?” Anna asked, appalled. “To complain about me?”
“Jest don’t make no sense,” Billy continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“I wasn’t callin’ to complain,” Mayor Sykes said to Anna around a mouthful of his sandwich. “I just wanted them to know why we thought my cousin Martin would be a smart choice. Nothin’ to do with you specifically, dear. Just with them pickin’ a stranger completely unfamiliar with Edenton. Plus, we all know Martin’s got talent and experience to spare.”
“Maybe it’s ’cause Martin is mostly a portrait artist that he didn’t git it,” Billy Calhoun said. “Not exactly what they was lookin’ for.”
“Anyone who can paint a person as good as him would be able to paint scenes from the town,” Toby Fiering argued.
“Now, boys,” Mr. Arndt said. “We’ve been over this. Miss Dale here is goin’ to be our artist and that’s all there is to it. We have to make the best of it. Let’s help her out here, right?”
They all turned to look at Anna, and she knew her cheeks were scarlet. They’d started burning when the mayor mentioned his telephone call to the Section of Fine Arts. Thank goodness he hadn’t been able to get through! She needed an okay from the Section on her as yet nonexistent sketch. It horrified her to think the job could still be snatched away from her.
“I’m only here till Saturday,” she said again, setting down her spoon and straightening her spine. “I’d like to actually see the things that are important to you. The cotton mill.” She looked at Mr. Fiering. “The peanut factory. Et cetera. And I’m sure that the waterfront looks very different during fishing season, so if there are photographs of it I might look at, that would be helpful.”