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Keefe
Keefe stared at the 15th century, tri-fold panel before him, awestruck. The strap of his leather document bag dug into a shoulder sore from carrying the bag around all day. He readjusted the bag, but he didn’t want to move away.
He’d never seen more artwork in his life than he had in the past couple days. They had visited a dozen museums, churches, chapels, palaces and even a castle, each with collections or galleries of artwork. The paintings ranged from the 13th to the 18th centuries, works of Italian Renaissance artists, and works of foreign artists, mostly German, Flemish, Dutch, and French. He recalled some of the names from an Art Appreciation course, artists such as Titian and Raphael, Michelangelo and Leonardo. He had seen a few of the paintings before, in books and calendars or on the Internet, paintings such as the Adoration of the Magi by Lorenzo Monaco and several paintings of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
He and Papa had met with several dealers and museum officials. They’d gone through files on computers, in filing cabinets, and in archives, and searched gallery warehouses. Too bad they recovered only one painting from the Giodarno family’s collection. Only one. It was a still life of fruit and pitchers, and they had to fork over the dough for it. Papa was not happy.
The strap shifted back to the sore spot on his shoulder. A strange feeling stirred his soul, an inner prompting. He’d felt it before when they had stepped into the first museum on their list, the Uffizi Gallery, the oldest museum in modern Europe. It dated back to 1581. Strolling through corridors decorated with frescoed and sculptured ceilings from the 16th and 17th centuries had put him in an introspective mood.
In fact, each exhibition room he ventured into, each painting or sculpture he gazed upon drew him deeper into the mood. For some reason, it kept striking him that God had given awesome talents to men and that using these talents, artists directed men to God.
Keefe hadn’t given the spiritual side of life much thought until now. His twin’s moods and schemes had always consumed his attention. He knew Jarret inside and out, his hopes and goals, what made him happy, what made him mad . . . But Keefe knew little of himself. He’d only wanted to cooperate with Jarret in order to subdue his unrulier passions and keep him on an even keel.
But who was he, Keefe West? What talents had God given him? What had God called him to do? A desire to know these things welled up inside. His mind soared above him.
“Keefe.”
Papa’s voice snapped Keefe back to the moment. He breathed.
“Remember why we’re here.” Papa came up behind him, rubbed his shoulder, and spoke low. “I have one more gentleman to speak with, then we’ll get lunch. I need you to make a phone call.” He pulled a paper from his pants pocket and stuffed it into Keefe’s shirt pocket. “I need you to change our appointment time with Romano, the dealer. We’ll be an hour late. Make sure that’s okay with him.”
Keefe nodded. Then, for the first time since arriving in Italy, his cell phone rang. It echoed in the exhibition room, making him wish he’d set his phone on vibrate.
Papa’s brows lowered. “Who’s that?”
Keefe checked then smiled at the familiar number. “It’s Jarret.”
Papa’s eyes narrowed. “You can talk to him later. I need you to make that phone call now. And make it outside. You can’t use cell phones in here.”
The phone rang two more times before Keefe answered it. “Hey, Jarret,” he said, watching Papa make his exit then looking for the way to the courtyard.
“Hey.” Jarret stretched out the word, sounding nonchalant.
“Are you done being mad at me?”
“I’m callin’ you, ain’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah, you are. I’m glad. It’s been way too long.” Keefe stepped outside and strolled across the courtyard into a patch of sunlight. “What’ve you been up to? Getting yourself in trouble?”
“Na. Work. Too much work.”
“Work? You?”
Jarret chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve been helping this family work on their new house.”
“You’re kidding? What family and why?”
“I have my reasons.”
Jarret laughed. “What’re you up to out there? Did you get me that shirt?”
“The shirt? No, I haven’t gone shopping. Papa keeps me busy with phone calls and stuff. We’ve been touring museums the past couple days.”
“You gotta have time for shopping. If I were there, I’d be shopping. Make sure you get me that shirt. I want it to be just like Roland’s favorite, the one Papa got him last time he went to Italy.”
“You mean the one you destroyed?” Jarret had been so jealous when he discovered Roland was going to Italy that he ripped apart the shirt Papa had given Roland.
“That’s the one.” He sounded cheerful.
“I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I’ll get one for Roland, too.”
“No. That’ll blow my whole reason for getting it. And you’re not gonna see what you can do. You’re getting me that shirt. So promise me now, and I’ll tell you why I’m working on that house.”
Even four thousand miles apart, Jarret could still manipulate him. But he did want to know. Keefe shook his head, lamenting his own weakness as he caved in. “Okay, I promise to get you the shirt. Now tell me what you’re up to.”
“I want a car. You know I’ve got some cheese saved, but it’s nowhere near enough for what I want. I moaned to Papa about it. And he said he’d pay the balance if I helped the Finns get in their new house. He probably thinks the job will keep me out of trouble while you guys are gone. But that’s a sweet deal, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, wow. You’re getting a car?” A twinge of jealousy struck him. They were twins, after all. If one got something, shouldn’t the other?
“Hey, you ain’t got room to complain. You’re in Italy and I’m not. And hey . . .” He snickered. “Our dear little brother found out what I was doing—but not why, of course—and he and all his friends came over to help. So guess what. Job’s almost done. Hello, new car.”
“That’s great. I guess. Roland doesn’t know about the car?”
“Heck, no. He thinks I’m doing a good deed.”
“Keefe!” Papa came up behind him. “Did you get our appointment changed?”
Keefe lowered the phone. “Uhh.”