“I didn’t. Just over in Calcasset.”
“Huh.” That was four. Four huh noises. How many made up a true exclamation? What was the exchange rate? “So what I’m noticing about this is that it’s in the style of a guy named Carl Kittery. He made decoys from, oh, I want to say about 1940 to 1980. I think his last piece might be 1982. Do you see how the wing is painted? This pattern?” The wings had painted white Vs, made of very thin lines and neatly lined up, alternating bigger and smaller rows. “This is his very specific way of painting feathers, like a signature. Although I’ve never seen a wood duck from him, so that would be unusual. And the other thing is, he has a mark that you generally find on his decoys, and it’s similar to this, but it’s not quite this.”
“Oh.”
“See this ‘CKM’？ That’s for ‘Carl Kittery, Maine’ in his mark. But it should have a year after it. It would say ‘CKM65’ or ‘CKM78’ or what have you. And on top of that, his mark would have had three little dots underneath the circle that signify his wife and two daughters. There’s some variation in the first ones, the very early ones, that don’t always have the full mark. He hadn’t even developed it yet, his daughters weren’t born and he was a young man making pieces for hunters. But for one of those early ones to turn up now would be a real surprise, and this doesn’t look that old. I’ve sold Kitterys myself, and I’ve never heard of partial marks like this. So this looks a little more like it was somebody trying to imitate the mark without quite forging the mark.”
Laurie nodded. “So it’s…it would be a stretch, believing this is the real thing.”
“It would, but on the other hand, there are makers who change their marks, or who, for reasons of their own, don’t mark pieces at all. Nobody can tell you it’s impossible. Since I’ve never seen a wood duck from Kittery, it could be that this was something he tried out as an experiment and didn’t ever sell, and maybe he didn’t complete the mark for that reason. It’s very similar to a Kittery to not be a Kittery, and it’s been made with a lot of care.”
“So it’s just hard to be sure.”
“I’m afraid that’s right. Probably the only way to know for sure would be to find some kind of a record of how your aunt got it. With this mark and no history of how it came to her, it’s going to be hard to authenticate, so it’ll be hard to sell.”
“If it was real, would it sell for a lot? I have a plane ticket I’m trying to cover.”
He smiled. “You’d want to know if it was a real Kittery, that’s for sure. A 1962 Kittery sold for a little under eighty thousand dollars last year, and as I said, this is the only wood duck I’ve ever seen from him, if it is from him, and that would make it worth more. So I’d say, yeah, it could cover your plane ticket.” He made a couple of scribbles in a spiral notebook. “Give me an email address, and what I’ll do is I’ll send you a picture of what the full stamp looks like from one that I sold a few years ago, and you can see if any other information about it turns up. If it does, let me know, because he’s interesting, this fella. It’s a beautiful piece of work, whether it’s really a Kittery or not.”
“I like it.” Laurie laid her hand on the duck’s back. “I’m just curious about it. I’m not necessarily trying to sell it.”
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “I’m a pretty casual decoy guy; if you want the best shot at a good appraisal and some expert advice, go through Wesson & Truitt, they’re in Hartford. Single best auction house for decoys, best resource you can find. If anybody can give you a reliable ruling, those are the guys. Talk to Jim Baines.” He scribbled on another sheet from his spiral pad, tore off the page and handed it to her. In his somewhat shaky handwriting, it said, Wesson & Truitt, Hartford, Jim Baines. “And write down your email address for me, I can get you the information on that mark.”
“I appreciate it, Joe.”
“If you find anything else you want to sell, bring it right over. Look around and you’ll see, I carry a little bit of just about everything.”
* * *
—
It took a couple more days for Laurie to get well and truly sick of going through souvenirs and table linens and holiday decorations, as well as stir crazy from being by herself listening to podcasts during the day and reading books at night while her back ached. She broke it up by taking what her father used to call her critter walks, peering at tree stumps and stopping for every rustle of leaves. And then on that Thursday around suppertime, she was listening to Dot’s Doris Day records and drinking red wine when she opened a closet in the third bedroom that she hadn’t explored yet and saw thirty-three identical blue fabric boxes in five tall stacks.