The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold by Regina Doman Read Free Book Online Page A

on the coffee table for nibbling. Mother and Rose both ate them with relish, but Blanche didn’t take any until after Bear had helped himself a few times.
    Rose read the poem by A. Denniston with interest and passed it to Bear, who perused it with a frown on his face.
    “I like the rhyme scheme,” Rose said. “Really good for someone our age. What do you think?”
    Bear coughed. “Well, I think it’s a bit overdone myself,” he admitted. “But I can be pretty critical.”
    “The images are good,” Mother said, looking it over as she rocked on her rocker.
    “Well, what don’t you like about it?” Rose wanted to know, sipping her hot chocolate.
    “It’s an okay rhyme scheme, but I get the feeling the guy who wrote it didn’t know much about death, or suffering,” Bear said. “He just seems to answer the question too easily. It’s sort of trite, really.”
    Blanche cupped her warm mug in her hands and felt her cheeks flame with annoyance at his criticism, almost as though she had written the poem herself.
    “I think it’s a remarkable attempt,” Mother said, taking another cookie. “It makes me think of our apple orchard back home.”
    Mother handed the poem back to Blanche as Bear asked casually, “Where’d you find a piece like that?”
    “Sister Geraldine read it to us in class,” Blanche said quietly, still hot. “She said it was the best poem she’d ever seen written by one of her students.”
    “Did she?” Bear shrugged. “Well, I still like Robert Frost’s poem—the one it’s copying off of—better.” He paused, and quoted, “‘So Eden sunk to grief. So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.’”
    There was a stillness in the room, and Bear looked so pensive that Blanche almost forgave him for not appreciating A. Denniston’s poem. She admitted to herself that he really did seem to have a genuine love for poetry.
    “Sister Geraldine is one of those rare specimens of people,” Rose announced, after some musing. “I don’t think she’s really who she says she is. Well, I suppose that she really is a nun, but she’s more than just an old schoolmarm. I think she was a queen who became a nun. Or better yet, a battle-maiden who forsook her shield and sword for holy vows.” She eyed Bear carefully. “Do you know what I mean?”
    “I’m not sure,” said Bear, looking interested.
    “Have you ever felt that there was something going on in life that not everyone was aware of?” Rose asked, turning her mug around in her hands. “As though there’s a story going on that everyone is a part of, but not everybody knows about? Maybe ‘story’ isn’t the right word—a sort of drama, a battle between what’s peripheral and what’s really important. As though the people you meet aren’t just their plain, prosaic selves, but are actually princes and princesses, gods and goddesses, fairies, gypsies, shepherds, all sorts of fantastic creatures who’ve chosen to hide their real shape for some reason or another. Or have forgotten who they really are. Have you ever thought that?”
    “You know, Rose, I think you’re right. I think there’s a lot of people who have forgotten who they are in the larger scheme of things,” Bear said thoughtfully.
    “Can you imagine anything more tragic?” Rose asked. “To be born a princess—native and to the manor born—and then to forget who you are and settle for being something horrible like an—an accountant!” Then a terrible thought struck Rose. Turning to Bear, she asked, “By the way, what do you do for a living? You’re not an accountant, are you?”
    Breaking into open laughter and subsequently choking on his cookie, Bear asked, “Why? Do I look like one?”
    “No. But I didn’t want to hurt your feelings in case you were an accountant in disguise,” Rose explained.
    “Well, I just pump gas part time, so you don’t have to worry about me,” Bear chuckled.
    “Oh, good. That makes sense,” Rose nodded. “You seem