Finding Home #SYTYCW15 #SpecialEdition

Finding Home Part 8

Chapter Seven

The windows in the courthouse had been scrubbed clean, allowing the bright autumn sunlight to stream across the huge mural covering the entire wall. Bright colors portrayed a large group of men standing aboard a pitching raft made of gigantic logs, as they floated down a river toward the lake in the background. While it was only a painting, somehow the artist had managed to capture the movement, the bustle, the danger, perfectly.

Mr. Davis danced from one foot to the other, his breath escaping in little puffing gasps. "Isn't it magnificent? It's the finest example I've ever seen! And to think some moron had covered this with that atrocious wallpaper. It's stunning, simply stunning!"

"Holy cow." Shawn took a step closer, studying the image. "Did you have any idea this was here?" He turned to look at Conner, slouched against the door jam.

Conner took a step closer, careful not to trip on the extension cords powering the lights. "Nope. What do you mean, 'one of the finest examples.' Examples of what?"

"I think it's one of the lost WPA murals!"

When they all stood there, staring at him, Mr. Davis shook his head like they were the biggest bunch of imbeciles he'd ever met. "It was created for the Federal Art Project of the Works Progress Administration. It's New Deal artwork. During the Great Depression, artists were out of work too. The federal government commissioned works of art for its buildings to generate income for artists. All across the country, works of art like this one have been lost, destroyed, stolen. To recover one, and one as significant as this, is a great, great thing!" And he beamed at them, like he'd handed out candy canes on Christmas morning.

Conner shoved away from the wall and took a few steps closer. "So this mural, it's worth something then?"

Mr. Davis nodded so hard his glasses slid down his nose. "Oh yes. Certainly. I'd say perhaps hundreds of thousands of dollars. But this painting doesn't belong to you. It's the property of the Federal Government. I've already notified them."

Conner yanked a hand through his hair, not even noticing when several strands wrapped around his fingers and were jerked out. "Great. So I find a priceless painting in a building I own and it's not mine. This building is for sale, Mr. Davis. Can I do that or will that not be allowed by the Federal Government either?" He all but growled the words and Mr. Davis took several hasty steps backward.

"I'm sure I don't know. I imagine it would be best to wait until you hear from someone from the GSA. I imagine they'll have someone here within a week or two. A find of this magnitude, well, it's truly amazing."

Conner swore and left the room, his work boots rapping hollowly against the wooden floorboards of the hallway.

Mr. Davis bent and shoved his tools back into a large duffel bag. "You may tell him no payment is necessary. To be recorded in history as the man who rediscovered this artwork is quite enough for me." He shuffled out of the room.

Andie looked at the painting, trying to ignore the sick weight of disappointment that had settled in her chest. "It really is beautiful," she whispered.

Shawn stepped next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "It is." He tucked her neatly against his side, like he could keep her there, keep her safe forever. "Andie, do you have feelings for Conner?"

She turned her face into his chest. "I don't know."

"Conner, he's a good guy, but he isn't like us. He doesn't feel... connected to Port Haven like we do. I don't think he'll settle down any time soon." Shawn put a finger under her chin and tipped her head back until he could see her face. "I don't want you to be hurt. You haven't dated anyone seriously since Mom and Dad... You work so hard to hold everything together. You're so strong, but, Andie, you're rigid. You don't flex or bend. One good storm, and I'm worried you're going to crack."