The Woman Who Heard Color Read Free

inspiration.”
    She wondered why Mrs. Fletcher told her she knew Lauren was here about the Kandinsky. Lauren knew nothing about a Kandinsky. Could it possibly be one of the state-owned pieces confiscated by Hitler? There were large gaps in the inventories from Berlin, blank spaces regarding the pieces taken to Lucerne. Or did Mrs. Fletcher think she was here to recover looted art? This was the topic of the university article; the story was about Lauren’s efforts to return stolen art taken from the Jews during World War II.
    “Your family is from Munich?” she asked, guessing now that Mrs. Fletcher had invited her to present a defense for ownership of a painting Lauren hadn’t even been aware of.
    “My father was born there,” Mrs. Fletcher told her. “That’s where my parents met.”
    “And your mother?” Lauren asked. “Where was she born?”
    “In Bavaria. My mother’s family was engaged in dairy farming in a region known as the Allgäu.”
    It was really her mother whom Lauren was interested in learning more about. Would Isabella Fletcher possibly reveal information about her mother, unaware that this was exactly what Lauren was looking for? Tread carefully, she warned herself.
    “They still make wonderful cheese in the area,” Isabella said. “My aunt and uncle continued the business here in the States. Koebler Creamery?”
    “Oh, yes.” Lauren flashed her a quick smile. “They make wonderful ice cream.” It was through the Koebler family that she had actually tracked down Isabella’s mother, Hanna Schmid, a woman gone now for over sixty years, a woman who Lauren believed had attempted to hide her true identity the entire time she lived in America.
    “The Kandinsky has been in the family for many years,” Isabella said.
    “Acquired in Germany?” Lauren asked.
    Isabella blinked once, twice, and then glanced at a photo on the end table next to her. “Andrew and I never had children.” A handsome man, most likely in his mid-fifties at the time the picture was taken. Andrew Fletcher, Lauren assumed.
    The old woman’s eyes took on a moist, glassy film. “There’s no one left in my generation on my side of the family. My brother, my sister—half sister actually—all long gone. Years and years ago. All my cousins, those in Germany, those in America. All deceased. Andrew’s sister is still with us, though not doing particularly well.” Her voice had taken on a softer tone. “The younger Fletcher nephews and nieces—I don’t know these young people coming up now. They’ve never even set eyes on the Kandinsky. Never even been here for a visit,” she added with an indifferent shake of her head. “The business will be passed down to Fletcher family members. But the painting . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    Absentmindedly, Lauren fingered the edge of a silk pillow, soft and soothing like the satin trim on a baby’s blanket. She could feel her nerves on edge. Excitement over a possible discovery mixed with equal shares of anxiety and confusion. She was startled that Isabella Fletcher was sharing this information with her.
    Mrs. Fletcher said, “I trust that your intentions are honorable, though I assure you the Kandinsky was acquired legally.” Lauren detected a slight quiver in her voice. She offered a nod of reassurance, encouraging the woman to go on.
    “I understand perfectly well that art was stolen during the war. We continue to hear such stories.” Mrs. Fletcher’s voice was even now, though the woman patted her chest with a nervous flutter and ran her fingertips over her pearls. “Valuable art that disappeared during the war, assumed destroyed by bombs or looted by the Nazis, turns up and suddenly families come out of the woodwork to claim paintings that the present owners believed were legitimately acquired. Why, the other day I saw an article about a Van Gogh purchased by a famous movie actress, and it seems it had been gained illegally—I assure you this is not the case here.