Books of a Feather by Kate Carlisle Read Free Book Online Page B

just say his mother back home will be very pleased.”
    I’d never heard anyone use the word
plenipotentiary
in real life, so I was impressed. “I’d love to hear all about it.”
    â€œI’m afraid it would put you to sleep,” he said, smiling so beautifully that I was momentarily captivated and willingly dropped the subject.
    â€œDo we still have time for the tour you promised me?” he asked.
    I checked my watch. “Sure. The Audubon unveiling doesn’t happen until nine.”
    â€œThat gives us a good half hour,” Derek said. “Shall we start in the Children’s Wing?”
    Looking wistful, Crane scanned the room. “Is it too late to grab a cocktail?”
    â€œOh dear.” I felt like a terrible hostess. “Absolutely not.”
    Derek pointed in the direction of the bar. “The lines have dwindled somewhat. Let’s give it a shot.”
    â€œLead the way,” Crane said with a sweeping gesture.
    Ten minutes later, after securing a gin and tonic for Crane, westood in front of one of the most popular exhibits in the recently opened Children’s Wing. It was a display of a dozen ingeniously designed pop-up books from different artists around the country.
    I felt a little silly showing him my book arts work instead of the more somber restoration work I’d done that was on display in the main hall. For instance, there was an extraordinary copy of Goethe’s
Faust
, part of the Winslow collection that was still on exhibit in the main hall, and there were all the finely bound English women authors’ books I’d restored last winter for the library’s celebration of women in literature.
    But this was one of Derek’s favorites, so here we were.
    â€œIt’s
Alice in Wonderland
,” Crane murmured, staring at the book in the middle. He glanced at me. “Are you telling me you created this?”
    â€œYes.”
    He stooped down and leaned in, getting as close to the glass as he could get in order to study my interpretation of the climactic scene in the book. An entire deck of cards swirled up and out of the book, flying two feet off the page and then plunging down as if to attack poor Alice, who valiantly fought them off.
    A calligraphed banner lay at the base of the book that read YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A PACK OF CARDS!
    â€œThe cards look alive, don’t they?” Derek said.
    â€œAnd somewhat diabolical,” Crane said. “I wouldn’t want them coming after me.”
    I beamed. I couldn’t have asked for a better review. “Thank you.”
    â€œThat is spectacular,” Crane said, straightening. “You are a remarkable artist.”
    â€œThank you so much,” I said, delighted by his compliments. “I love creating book art. Of course, I also love restoring old books, but that’s an entirely different aspect of my work.”
    â€œRestoration, the way you do it, still requires an artistic temperament,” Derek said. “It’s much more exacting, though, with more rules to follow.”
    â€œI approve of that description,” I said, then felt my shoulders droop. “I suppose that means I’m good at following rules. Not exactly what you’d call an artistic temperament.”
    â€œDo you think following rules makes you less of an artist?” Crane asked. “I certainly don’t. I believe it makes you more considerate and wise.”
    I blinked. For some reason, his words made me choke up a little. “Thank you, Crane.”
    He continued. “When it’s your free choice to follow the rules, it means you are being true to yourself. And that truth will naturally make you a better artist.”
    I thought about it for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”
    He gestured toward the display. “When I look at this marvelous book, my first thought isn’t, I wonder if she’s following some rule. No, I’m thinking,