“Mr. Arndt?” Anna inquired. “I’m Anna Dale. I’m here to do a little research into the—”

“Why, you’re the artist!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet. It took her a moment to understand what he’d said. It sounded like Wah, yaw tha ahtis! He looked slightly stunned. “I must say, you are not at all what I expected,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit, young lady. Sit.”

She lowered herself into the chair. “What did you expect?” she asked.

He took his own seat again. “Well, when we learned we were getting a mural, of course we expected a male artist. That’s understandable, isn’t it?” He looked apologetic, his big eyebrows rising halfway up his forehead. “Most artists are men. Women have little time for those pursuits, what with taking care of the home, right?”

“Well, I don’t yet have a home to take care of,” Anna said, blocking the memory of the small house she and her mother had shared for all of Anna’s life. She thought about adding that she hoped to always be an artist, domestic responsibilities or not, but figured it was best to keep her mouth shut on that matter. She didn’t yet know who she was dealing with.

“But then we got word that the artist’s name is Anna Dale … right?” He tapped his pipe on the ashtray on his desk, then set it aside.

“Yes.” She smiled. “That’s me.”

“So, we got over the surprise of you being a female, but now I see you’re barely out of grammar school! You’re just a girl.” There was unabashed disappointment in his voice. “I’m sure you’re up to all the work this will entail, though, right?” He liked to end his sentences with the word “right.” Or raht. That much was clear.

She would not let this man cow her. She remembered Mrs. Van Emburgh’s whispered words to her at her graduation. “I’m twenty-two,” she said, holding her head high. “And I recently graduated from the Van Emburgh School of Art in Plainfield, New Jersey.”

“And there’s another thing.” Mr. Arndt folded his slender hands on his desk and looked perturbed. “When the Section of Fine Arts let us know our artist was from New Jersey, I wrote to them and said, ‘I believe this might be a mistake.’ I was afraid they were throwin’ you to the wolves. I’m sure those boys up in Washington, D.C., think you’re a talented artist who will do a fine job on a mural, but I’m concerned you’ll have a hard time gettin’ a real feel for Edenton and the folks here, what with you being from New Jersey, right?”

She wasn’t at all sure what he was asking or if he was asking her anything at all. “I plan to do my best,” she said gamely.