But, in his darkest (and more pragmatic) moments, he had to admit he thought it unlikely. Frau O'Meara's expression as she said these things to him made it clear that even she doubted it was true. Surely, if she were correct, there would be at least some hint of his artistic influence on history, even if it were miniscule. The art style of the seventeenth century had come to be called "Baroque" by up-time historians, and there were plenty of famous Baroque painters mentioned in the smattering of art books that had come through the Ring of Fire: Peter Paul Rubens, Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Johann Vermeer, and so many others, all known well enough to have at least a description alongside their most famous paintings inside thick illustrated books from one side of Grantville to the other. Why was there no mention of Daniel Block, an artist who had painted many portraits of the illustrious Gustavus Adolphus, as well as highly-regarded paintings of dozens of other prominent statesmen and their families?
Why had history forgotten me?
As Nina strode back toward the house, she gave Daniel a firm, reassuring nod. "Come when you are finished. I will make coffee-and there is cake, fresh from the oven."
"I thank you, Frau Weiss," he said.
He only wished he was the sort of man for whom a warm drink and a sweet would ease his mind. His only real consolation, however, was the possibility that his greatest works had been consumed in a fire; that, at least, would be better than having to accept the fact that history had judged him lacking as an artist. It was not impossible. Many of his paintings-many of his greatest works-were at this moment in Mecklenburg. It was, in a sense, his only hope, however dreadful it was to contemplate. Well, that and the possibility that he could still produce works of greatness-the greatness he knew he was capable of, the greatness he would ascend to if he were permitted time and freedom to do it. He was not a young man anymore, true, but as Frau O'Meara had said to him during one of his darkest hours: One is never too old to dream a new dream.
His brushes clean, Daniel entered the house, momentarily surprised to hear a man's voice coming from the foyer. He was first pleased and then uneasy when he realized it was Clyde Rice. The look of worry on the man's face did nothing to ease Daniel's mind.
"Daniel," Clyde said, reaching his hand out for a firm shake. "Good to see you."
The two men chatted briefly-about their families, local politics, the conflicts in the East, the Saxon uprising, Gustavus Adolphus' current condition, etc. But Clyde soon raised the issue they both knew he was there to discuss. "Tell me, what happened with Warner Barnes?"
Daniel grimaced and related the afternoon's events.
Clyde, who had obviously heard some of it already, nodded. When Daniel was finished, he said, "You think I could see it? This painting of yours?"
Daniel frowned. He felt reluctant to show it to Clyde. Was it possible that he really had done something wrong? Or was it just that he wasn't prepared for yet another person to dislike the work he'd put so much effort into? He looked at Nina, shrugged, and raised his eyebrows.
"I will get it," she said, moving swiftly toward the back door.
Once she was gone, Clyde said, "Daniel. . is it true she posed nude for you?"
"Nude?" Daniel frowned. "No. I did not tell her what to wear or not to wear-she came out in a robe, which she took off. She had on a. . beek? A. ."
Clyde frowned, confused, so Daniel held his hands in front of his chest, cupped. "The cloth is here."
"Oh," Clyde said, "I see. A bikini."
"Yes! That's what she called it."
"That didn't seem strange to you?"
Daniel hesitated, unsure how to answer. "These. . bikinis? They seem very strange, yes, but I don't see how-"
Nina entered, carefully maneuvering through the door with the damaged canvas, and both men turned to her. She looked to Daniel, who nodded, then turned the painting to face Clyde.
"Oh dear lord," Clyde said. "Daniel, what on earth were you thinking?"
Daniel launched into a discussion of his influences and the symbolism-similar to what he tried to convey to Herr Barnes earlier-as Clyde continued to gape at the portrait.
Finally, Clyde held up his hand and Daniel stopped in mid-sentence. "I can see, I suppose, where. . but didn't it seem, you know, inappropriate to paint her like that? Nude? And all. . distorted?"
"Why would it be inappropriate?"
Clyde sighed deeply, then slid the painting into the hall closet.
Daniel began. "I have done something wrong-something the up-timers find unacceptable?"
"Well, yes, we. . you see, we aren't much for nudity in general-not public nudity anyway-and especially not in our children."
"Clyde, I know Herr Barnes is a friend of yours and you recommended me to him, and so I apologize for having offended him, but-"
Clyde held his hand up, and Daniel turned to see where he was staring so intently. One of the town's few remaining squad cars was pulling up in front of the house.
Clyde shook his head. "Shit!"
"I don't understand," Daniel said. "What is wrong?"
Clyde huffed and headed toward the front door, opening it as Sergeant Marvin Tipton, Grantville's head of investigations, was coming up the walk. "Marv," Clyde said, forcing a smile onto his face. "Haven't seen you in a while. How's Elsie?"
"Good, thanks," Tipton said, shaking Clyde's hand. "Mind if I come in?"
"Please." Clyde waved Tipton inside.
Daniel stepped back to give them space-wanting to say something, to defend himself and his work-but figuring silence was the best policy at that moment.
"Care for a drink?" Clyde asked, shutting the screen door. He stopped next to Daniel. "I'll bet Nina has a nice pitcher of iced tea in the fridge."
Sergeant Tipton shook his head and put up his hand. "No, thanks, Clyde. I'm here on an official matter."
"Oh? What can I do you for?"
The sergeant cleared his throat then looked Daniel square in the face. "I understand that Warner Barnes' teenage daughter Mikayla was here with you, Mr. Block, posing nude for a portrait. Is that correct?"
Clyde and Daniel looked at each other. Daniel cleared his throat. "I painted a portrait of her, yes-"
"In the nude?" Tipton said.
Daniel shook his head. "No. She was not nude."
"That's a lie!" Warner Barnes bellowed from the door.
Tipton let out a growl. "Barnes, I told you I would-"
Barnes slapped open the screen door and joined them in the foyer. "She is naked in the painting," Barnes said. "My little girl! How the hell do you paint someone in the nude when they're not nude?"
Daniel threw up his hands. "Oh, for heaven's sake. You obviously don't understand a thing about art. I have been painting nudes since before I was your daughter's age. I know what a nude woman looks like."
"She's not a woman-she's a child!" Barnes bellowed, lunging toward Daniel with clenched fists.
Sergeant Tipton stepped between them, holding Barnes back. "Gentlemen, please. Let's not go overboard here." He nodded to Daniel. "Look, why don't you fetch that painting, Mr. Block, and come on down to the station with me? We can sort the matter out better down there, I think."
"Hold on," Clyde said, "you can't come into my mother's house and haul a guest out."
Sergeant Tipton frowned. "If necessary, I can cuff him and take him out. But I'd rather not do that, out of respect for you and your mother. Just get the painting and let's go to the station."
They argued back and forth for several minutes. Even Nina joined in, arguing that Daniel was a good man who should be left in peace.