“And I replaced Theo in the family, being both mother and father to Wil. Instead of Theo, I am the one teaching my son about his heritage. And I replaced Theo’s income with income from the villa. You see, I have already replaced Theo in so many ways. I cannot bear the thought of replacing him in every way.”

“I’m sorry. I worry that if you don’t fully settle in at the villa, if you have nothing to tie you to Bussum, you might leave. I wish, selfishly, for you to stay.”

“I am settled. And reasonably content. I like to think that Theo is watching me from heaven. He will be part of my life forever. And I cannot let Vincent go either. You cannot keep one without the other. They go together. They always have. They are part of me. I will not rest until everyone knows Vincent’s name. I want to bring him to the world.”

Anna smiled.

“I am obsessed. Oh, you can say it.”

“You are dedicated.”

“Someday, when our country is mentioned, people will think of Vincent first. Men and women will come here to see his paintings. He will have his own museum. My children’s children will live to see it.”

“His own museum, then? With nothing but his own art? But museums collect hundreds of artists.”

Ordinary museums. But not the one I dreamed of.

I thought of Vincent’s exhibit at our Paris apartment. None of us had been there. Vincent had died shortly before. Theo was locked up and raving, months from his own death, and I had been with him, visiting when they would let me. The show at our apartment had been attended only by Vincent’s closest friends.

“A museum for him only, in Amsterdam, with visitors from as far as America standing in line in front of the doors,” I told Anna. “They will do that for Vincent.”

“If you say so, Jo, I believe it. And if there is such a museum,” she said, reaching across to squeeze my hand, “I predict it will be your doing. They will write books about you, Johanna van Gogh-Bonger.”

Such silliness. But before I could protest, Jan came in and sat next to her, and Anna’s attention switched to her husband.

“What have you two talked about all this time?”

“Pigments.”

Anna flashed him an indulgent look, which only encouraged him, so he recounted his conversation with his artist friend in its entirety for our benefit. And then he described, in detail, his friend’s greatest works and the nuances of his technique, putting little Wil to sleep. By the time Jan finished, the train was pulling into Amsterdam.

My nerves attacked anew as we deboarded. “What if nobody comes?”

“Dries!” Jan waved next to me and sprung forward.

The sight of my dear brother, who was making his way toward us on the busy platform, settled my nerves a small measure.