Two o'clock sharp, Ashley's doorbell chimed. The museum curator was a balding, glasses-wearing individual with a ready smile. "Mrs. Winslip, I am Walter Gainsborough and you contacted me about some paintings. One you said was an Eakins. Thomas Eakins lived mostly here in the east, but did travel west in 1888 and we assume he painted there too. If there are enough identifying marks on the canvas we might find it is an original and one the art world knows nothing about. I very much would like to see it."
"Of course. Mr. Burns and I will take you across to the property that fronts on the next avenue. We can walk there from here." Just as we came out of the house, a van emblazoned with the name of a newspaper pulled in behind Gainsborough's vehicle. I took the driver to be a photographer from the equipment he hauled out of the van.
The passenger was a female reporter. She was a beautiful example of womanhood and knew it. The woman had everything and everything was in the right place. I had been married to beautiful and I was not impressed. "I'm Miss Trevor. I'm here to do a piece for a Sunday supplement if there is anything to the paintings. I might do a human interest slant to things too." She was gushing to Ashley and to me. Ashley introduced her to Marie and Lindsey and Miss Trevor immediately ignored them as unimportant.
The photographer was snapping pictures of the house and when we went around the corner of the garage, he started taking pictures of the building we were heading for. When we came abreast of the gazebo he asked me who was doing the work. I just said I was. The shrubs lay there for me to plant later this afternoon. That was my plan anyway.
I was having my problems. Ashley and Walter Gainsborough had gone on ahead. Miss Trevor had latched onto me. The heels she was wearing were making it difficult for her to walk on the dirt path as the spikes sunk into the soil. She was clinging tightly to my arm and her breast brushed against me with every step. It was embarrassing. We were falling farther and farther behind and it was me that had to open the box.
Disgusted, I made the comment, "You didn't come very well dressed for getting a story."
She wasn't through yet. "How would you like to see me dressed, more or less?"
I stopped and faced her. "Look Miss Trevor, I'm beginning to doubt you are a reporter. You certainly don't act like one. There is a story here if you would stop acting like a woman of the streets. My two pretty girls over there should tell you what their mother looks like, and you don't hold a candle to her. Enough of that. Mrs. Winslip is a well-respected prosecutor for the county. She is also a widow. Her husband was killed in Iraq and he never knew that his wife was to have a child.
"That's rough, but that's human interest. Look at that old lady sitting in front of the building that we are headed for. Her family was the first family to build in this section of the city and Mrs. Winslip's family came shortly after. Sure, they have money, but they all have given to society by serving the city in different capacities, just as Mrs. Winslip is doing.
"Now I don't know what these paintings are going to be, but you were sent out to get a story, so why don't we go right along and see what they are?"
Miss Trevor stepped away from me and when she did the heel snapped off one of her shoes. She fell on her cute little butt. She was so embarrassed and looked ready to cry. I reached with my hand so she could stand. I squatted down and removed the shoe that still retained a heel. I snapped the heel off and slid the shoe back on her foot. I picked up the two heels and tossed them into one of the holes waiting for a shrub.
"Shall we continue on and find out if you have a story or not?" Miss Trevor quietly nodded.
I worked for about fifteen minutes moving the items I had used to keep the box hidden. The photographer was busy snapping pictures. Miss Trevor really was a reporter, for I could hear her asking pointed questions. Finally I dragged the box out in front of the garage and used my speed drill to remove the screws holding the top board on.
Mrs. Hamlin spoke to me. "Mr. Burns I remember when Mr. Nelson packed that box with paintings. I was playing with Ashley's mother the day her grandfather said he was sick of them. He wanted landscapes and not portraits on his walls. I can even tell you what the paintings are.
"I always wondered what happened to the box, but I guess I forgot about it until I saw it just now. I think you will find only four paintings in there. The fifth section has a bundle of lithographs done by a Nat Currier. He later paired up with a man named Ives.
"The story was that Currier was married and he had a little girl whom he thought the world of. She died and then a few months later his wife died. He remarried and his new wife gave birth to a boy who lived less than a year. All this time he was doing lithographs and the subjects were sad and dismal. Some of them were pictures of tombstones with no name on them. People could purchase a lithograph and put their own deceased person's name on the tombstone in the lithograph."
Walter Gainsborough clapped. "That is your art history lesson of the day and she has it perfectly correct. Currier came out of his dark period when he took Ives on as a partner. Hurry Mr. Burns and let's see what we have here. I hope these that have been stored for what--seventy years, haven't deteriorated."
I removed the top and I gently pulled up and out the portrait of the cowboy. Gainsborough gasped. "It certainly looks like an Eakins. Let's look at the back. Yes, it was listed in a Chicago art gallery and from this it was most likely purchased during the time of the world fair. It will take further investigation, but I would say it was authentic. What else is in there?"
Marie spoke up. "Daddy, is it a treasure?" I looked at the curator.
He answered Marie directly. "Yes little dearie, it is a treasure. It is hard to tell what it is worth, thousands of dollars, that is for sure."
"Daddy, you gave away thousands of dollars."
Miss Trevor picked up on that right away. "What did she mean?"
I said, "Later. Let's not interrupt."
The Wyeth came out and then the bundle of lithographs. Again Gainsborough said they were Currier's. Not only that, he declared they were of the first run and therefore more unique. A Remington followed and then one that was unsigned.
That was a big disappointment, but not to Walter Gainsborough. "It is in the manner of Whistler. We can analyze it and it cannot be sold as 'by Whistler, but with a designation as attributed to' and if enough experts look at it, some day it will become one of his known paintings."
Miss Trevor was busy now taking notes and writing what information she could glean from the curator, Mrs. Hamlin and finally, Ashley. My work done, I went back to planting shrubs. Marie and Lindsey hung around the paintings and the people talking about them. I glanced once and saw Mr. Gainsborough talking on his cell phone. It was an hour later that a small truck came into my yard and two men got out and loaded the box of paintings into it.
Lindsey came running down to me and asked if she could show Mrs. Brown her bedroom and Mrs. Hamlin needed to use the bathroom. I said of course and I surmised Miss Trevor had to use the facilities too, as she went up with the two older women. The two older women came back down and stood talking to Ashley. I saw the photographer go into my house. I guess I was providing facilities for the whole bunch. Well the girls were with them and Ashley was nearby.
Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hamlin waved goodbye and Ashley went into the house as well. Walter Gainsborough had left with the paintings. Me, I was out here trying to get these plants into the ground. I had two hundred feet of garden hose strung out and I headed for the garage to turn the water on. Just as I reached for the faucet, everyone came down from my apartment. The photographer started taking pictures of me. Miss Trevor came over.
"Mr. Burns, I would like to apologize for my actions earlier. I was being an ass. Truthfully, I thought this story of the paintings was a hoax and if you had nibbled at the bait I was displaying, I was going to shoot you down. Ashley tells me you have only been in this are
a three weeks and everyone points out what you have accomplished. Ashley tells me the ceilings aren't finished yet. I would very much like to come see them when they are.
"I can even understand why you wouldn't accept the paintings now. Speaking of which, it will be a month or more before my report on them will be in the paper. I still have a lot of background to do on the story. I would like to include a small bio of you in the story of how you found the paintings if you would give me permission."
"Well maybe, but I would like to read it before it is published."
"I expect you would after the way I acted this afternoon. May I take that as a yes?"
"Yes, and I am sorry if I humiliated you in any way."
"Too bad we couldn't have started out this way earlier."
"I know. I do think you are going to make a good reporter and I don't think you need to use your beauty to pry a story out of anyone."
"I hope so. And if I am, I think some of it will be because of you. I've learned a lesson here today." She and the photographer walked back to Ashley's house and their van.