He finished, watching me with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “One hears rumors about the circumstances of Vincent’s death. And his brother’s as well. I have wondered…”

Was he, and as shamelessly as that, fishing for gossip?

I grabbed the paintings, wanting nothing more than to shove them into my bag as quickly as I could, but I drew a deep breath and handled them with care. I barely said farewell as I stormed out of there.

All the way that morning from Bussum to The Hague, in the crowded, smelly train car, I had been so sure Holst would help. I had envisioned returning to Bussum triumphant. I had hoped to claim Vincent’s great art for the world and justify Theo’s belief in his brother. But, like Gauguin, Holst refused my pleas, and not only that. He hadn’t merely rejected me, he’d humiliated me and enjoyed the process.

My face burned. I stumbled across the marble foyer and out onto the street. While I had been inside, St. Luke’s Little Summer had ended; the sun had disappeared. Cold wind whipped my skirt around my legs. I walked forward, carrying my bag with one hand, holding my wool shawl tightly closed with the other.

Janus found me on the train.

“How did it go with the Holst fellow?”

I simply shook my head, too dispirited for words.

He sat down across from me and pulled his rolled-up newspaper from his pocket. “Would you like to read it?”

“Thank you.”

The front page featured a man’s picture. American Inventor Thomas Edison Demonstrates His Kinetoscope for the National Federation of Women.

“What is a kinetoscope?” I asked Janus.

“An app… apparatus that produces moving pictures. A b…box if you will, with a hole. You p…press your eye to the hole and view a photograph inside, but the p…people in the photograph move.”

Such marvel, and demonstrated to a women’s club. While in the Netherlands, I was ridiculed, on account of my gender, for daring to have an opinion.

I turned the page, but instead of the next article, all I could see were the bright paintings I so treasured, sinking into a dark sea of obscurity.

If even our own countrymen refused to recognize Vincent’s genius, then I would turn elsewhere yet. I was going to… I would…

I looked Janus in the eye and announced my next grand plan. “I’m going to America.”

I would not abandon Vincent.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Emsley

“So…” Sergei watched me over Violet’s boxes of gallery flyers. He’d come over with his team first thing Friday morning. “My cousin finally found his balls and seduced you.”

I sipped my coffee, then bit into my cream cheese bagel, courtesy of Bram, who sent them via Sergei. “You don’t know that.”