“He doesn’t fit. And yet, in another way, he does.”
“What do you know about this guy?” Bear asked casually, scratching his head.
“Well, Dr. Robert Freet is our principal,” said Rose, scraping crumbs from the plate and eating them, unconcerned by her breach of etiquette. “Mr. Edward Freet is his brother. I think he owns an art gallery, and he comes by our school every once in a while to argue with the nuns and scowl at people. He’s quite an enigma.”
“He says art is about form, not truth,” Blanche said, adding as an explanation, “I overheard him say that today to the office manager.”
“Art’s about truth,” said Bear. “Truth and beauty go together.”
“But it seemed to make sense when he said it,” Blanche argued, but feeling that Bear was right. “Art’s almost always beautiful—”
“Because beauty is truth,” Bear said.
“But not always,” Blanche thought she had at last found a point to contest. “What about beautiful witches and siren songs?” Blanche dug in. “And the beautiful girls in bad advertising and things like that? Evil things often look beautiful.”
“But that’s because they’ve stolen the beauty from the good.” Bear was looking uncomfortable. “Evil isn’t beautiful on its own.”
“Well, good people are sometimes ugly—” Blanche said at last.
“I don’t know about that. Not really,” Bear shook his head. “If the good’s there, and you look for it, you’ll see it in some way.”
“I think Bear is right,” Rose said decidedly. “Fairy tales teach you that. No one who’s really good ever stays ugly. It’s always a disguise or an enchantment.” She ruminated. “At least Mr. Freet is a lover of beauty, whatever he believes about it.”
“I don’t like his eyes—” Blanche said, “They’re too cold. He’s got a very—small soul. I think.”
Rose giggled at her, but Bear looked thoughtful. “You may be right, Blanche.”
“But I think there’s something large about him too,” Rose said. “He seems like someone who would understand the deeper meaning. We should try to chat with him sometime.”
Blanche didn’t agree, but she felt she had been talking too much and remained silent. If only Dad were here… She stood up and started clearing off the table.
“Blanche! Don’t take my plate! There’s still crumbs on it!” Rose protested.
“I should be going,” Bear got to his feet.
“A double blow,” Rose said in dismay, but stood up as well. “I’m glad you came over, Bear. I really enjoyed talking with you.”
“Thanks, I did, too.” He looked around at all of them. Blanche met his eyes briefly and went to the kitchen with the mugs.
“You’re welcome to come by again,” Mother smiled at him. “Any time.”
“And don’t just vanish on us,” Rose begged. “We’re starved for company. Come by tomorrow if you can.”
Blanche came back into the room and saw that he was looking at her, a bit uncertainly. He knows that he makes me uncomfortable, she realized, and felt guilty for her ungracious attitude earlier.
“Yes, please come again,” she said.
To her surprise, he smiled back at her. “I will. Thank you.”
“Oh, good!” Rose said. “Come by tomorrow if you can.” She went to get his coat.
Bear chuckled at her. “All right. I’ll take you up on your offer.” He took his coat from Rose and said good night. Blanche followed after her mother who had walked him to the door. As before, he bounded down the steps and vanished into the shadows of the City.
Once again, he seemed part of the wildness outside, and Blanche couldn’t help but be glad when her mother closed the door and locked it firmly.
Chapter 4
DESPITE BLANCHE’S misgivings, she began to look forward to what became Bear’s frequent evening visits to their home. She never saw him on the school grounds any more, and she began to wonder if he might have reformed. There was certainly an aura of
“What do you know about this guy?” Bear asked casually, scratching his head.
“Well, Dr. Robert Freet is our principal,” said Rose, scraping crumbs from the plate and eating them, unconcerned by her breach of etiquette. “Mr. Edward Freet is his brother. I think he owns an art gallery, and he comes by our school every once in a while to argue with the nuns and scowl at people. He’s quite an enigma.”
“He says art is about form, not truth,” Blanche said, adding as an explanation, “I overheard him say that today to the office manager.”
“Art’s about truth,” said Bear. “Truth and beauty go together.”
“But it seemed to make sense when he said it,” Blanche argued, but feeling that Bear was right. “Art’s almost always beautiful—”
“Because beauty is truth,” Bear said.
“But not always,” Blanche thought she had at last found a point to contest. “What about beautiful witches and siren songs?” Blanche dug in. “And the beautiful girls in bad advertising and things like that? Evil things often look beautiful.”
“But that’s because they’ve stolen the beauty from the good.” Bear was looking uncomfortable. “Evil isn’t beautiful on its own.”
“Well, good people are sometimes ugly—” Blanche said at last.
“I don’t know about that. Not really,” Bear shook his head. “If the good’s there, and you look for it, you’ll see it in some way.”
“I think Bear is right,” Rose said decidedly. “Fairy tales teach you that. No one who’s really good ever stays ugly. It’s always a disguise or an enchantment.” She ruminated. “At least Mr. Freet is a lover of beauty, whatever he believes about it.”
“I don’t like his eyes—” Blanche said, “They’re too cold. He’s got a very—small soul. I think.”
Rose giggled at her, but Bear looked thoughtful. “You may be right, Blanche.”
“But I think there’s something large about him too,” Rose said. “He seems like someone who would understand the deeper meaning. We should try to chat with him sometime.”
Blanche didn’t agree, but she felt she had been talking too much and remained silent. If only Dad were here… She stood up and started clearing off the table.
“Blanche! Don’t take my plate! There’s still crumbs on it!” Rose protested.
“I should be going,” Bear got to his feet.
“A double blow,” Rose said in dismay, but stood up as well. “I’m glad you came over, Bear. I really enjoyed talking with you.”
“Thanks, I did, too.” He looked around at all of them. Blanche met his eyes briefly and went to the kitchen with the mugs.
“You’re welcome to come by again,” Mother smiled at him. “Any time.”
“And don’t just vanish on us,” Rose begged. “We’re starved for company. Come by tomorrow if you can.”
Blanche came back into the room and saw that he was looking at her, a bit uncertainly. He knows that he makes me uncomfortable, she realized, and felt guilty for her ungracious attitude earlier.
“Yes, please come again,” she said.
To her surprise, he smiled back at her. “I will. Thank you.”
“Oh, good!” Rose said. “Come by tomorrow if you can.” She went to get his coat.
Bear chuckled at her. “All right. I’ll take you up on your offer.” He took his coat from Rose and said good night. Blanche followed after her mother who had walked him to the door. As before, he bounded down the steps and vanished into the shadows of the City.
Once again, he seemed part of the wildness outside, and Blanche couldn’t help but be glad when her mother closed the door and locked it firmly.
Chapter 4
DESPITE BLANCHE’S misgivings, she began to look forward to what became Bear’s frequent evening visits to their home. She never saw him on the school grounds any more, and she began to wonder if he might have reformed. There was certainly an aura of
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