CH 55
The door to the gymnasium was unlocked when I arrived at seven, the building vacant aside from Bernard and one other man taking jabs at each other that didn't make contact.
"Quicker with your feet," Bernard said.
The man hopped around, back and forth from his left foot to his right foot.
"Yeah, that's much better."
The two men shook hands before the one I was not familiar with said he needed to shower before class and excused himself.
"Kept your eyes closed, eh?" Bernard asked as I approached.
"Like a child on Christmas Eve," I answered.
"You ever get anything good from Saint Nicholas?" Bernard asked as he grabbed a towel and patted his face, then stuck the towel down his shirt to his armpits, and down his trousers to his groin.
"No, it…it was merely an expression," I answered.
"Eh. I got a new pair of shoes every year for ten years from Saint Nicholas. And they was always filled with apples, pears, and candy. I had big feet, so I always got lots of candy," Bernard said, grinning proudly. "All the other children got a pear and maybe some shoelaces, so I sure as hell thought Saint Nicholas loved me more than any other child in Wissant with my yearly bounty."
I smiled at the thought of a miniature yet somehow burly Bernard delighted Christmas morning at the discovery of shoes and treats.
"When did you know it wasn't real?" I asked.
Bernard tossed his towel down. "What do you mean?"
"St. Nicholas," I said. "When did you realize that he isn't real?"
Bernard made a face. "Professor," he admonished. "You gotta believe in St. Nicholas. Unless you never got nothin' Christmas morning?"
"It…it stopped when I was seven," I answered.
I wanted to tell him my childhood had ended abruptly, that everything had vanished along with Erik. I had gone to bed Christmas Eve, hopeful that Erik would be returned days before his fourth birthday and the hellish months of missing him and being an outcast within the small home I shared with my uncle and cousin would somehow become a magical and joyous celebration.
"What happened when you were…oh," Bernard said.
Oh. A single word described how deflated my hopes had been Christmas morning, at the age of seven and a half, when I woke and found my brother's bed empty as it had been for months. But still I tossed the covers back from my own bed and rushed into the empty great room that served as a kitchen, dining room, and parlor, hopeful that the only gift I had wished to receive was waiting for me.
No one else was awake to witness the sheer devastation that I had felt on that Christmas morning. There were no gifts to open, no stockings hung, or new shoes with fruits and candy. Worst of all, there was no Erik.
Sometime later in the day Alak had quietly presented Valgarde with a small gift when he thought I wasn't looking, but he had not spoken a word to me. The day continued as any other, with Val and Alak together and me slipping out unnoticed into the woods, my eyesight blurred by unshed tears as I trekked to the shore and walked the length of the playground Erik and I had claimed as our own, still hopeful that I would find him.
"If I'd of known you as a kid, I woulda given you an orange," Bernard said as he handed me a length of cloth to wrap my hands.
I had no doubt that he would have shared his wealth of gifts with me, that he would have handed me something given to him by Saint Nicholas when he learned that I'd received nothing.
"If I had known you, I would have gladly helped you build a fort in the woods," I said. "But since we only met recently, I suppose I will settle for you punching me in the jaw."
Bernard paused. His stern expression slowly melted into a crooked grin while his body jiggled with laughter. "Best I can do is knockin' you on your ass."
"How generous."
Bernard lightly punched me in the shoulder. "I ain't gonna hurt you," he said. "Just like last time, yeah? For practice. But be mindful of your left hand so you don't end up on the ground."
Once we shook hands and stripped down to our trousers, Bernard put his hands into position and nodded for me to do the same.
"You don't got to go in order," Bernard said. "Show me what you got and let's have some fun."
"Fun?"
"Yeah. It'll be a good time."
I felt less than confident I would be a worthy opponent, but I took a breath and came forward, my bound fist gently tapping him on the chin.
"That was a real nice one," Bernard said. "Didn't think you'd start with a power hook. Put a little bit of force behind it next time. I can take it."
I hit him in the chest with two crosses, calculating both punches to soften the blows.
"Good, Professor."
Before I could thank him, Bernard struck me with two jabs and a cross. Without a defense in mind, I retreated.
"Weren't expecting that, were you?"
"I was not," I panted.
He gestured for me to step forward. "I think if there were a ring, you'd be three rows back."
"You're much quicker than me," I said.
"'Cause I been doing this longer than you," he said, clapping his hands together. "That don't mean I have the full advantage."
I inhaled and stepped toward him, hands up and elbows down, eyeing his weaker knee that made it more difficult for him to pivot. His disadvantage, however, was not truly a way for me to capitalize as I still had to strike him with my left hand.
"Don't overthink it," Bernard said, jabbing at me again.
I managed to connect with a hook, but hit him in the neck rather than the jaw, followed by two jabs to the chest that had little effect on my more physically impressive opponent.
Bernard went for a straight right-hand punch and struck me in the nose hard enough for it to smart, and I responded with an overhead right-handed punch that hit him in the ear, followed by two jabs that caused him to shuffle around me and out of range.
"Good," Bernard said.
"Did you allow me to do that?" I asked, surprised I had connected.
"Nope," he answered. "But you allowed me to do this."
He came at me with a right and left hook and I blocked both head shots, but failed to protect myself from a hook that struck me in the ribs and a cross that would have knocked the wind out of me had he not restrained himself. Two more jabs hit me in the torso before I finally hit him with another overhead right-handed punch that was much harder than I intended.
Bernard wiped his lip with the knuckle of his thumb and smeared blood across the cloth wrapped around his hand.
"That was not intentional," I swiftly said.
"It's boxing," he said with a shrug. "You're bound to bleed, intentional or not. Besides, I was already a little banged up. Didn't take much to make it bleed again."
"Do you want to stop?" I asked.
"With you as the victor? Hell no, keep going. We're just getting warmed up."
We went one more round, both of us taking several hard blows to the chest before I aimed for his cheek and he turned his head, causing my fist to connect hard enough with his nose to cause it to bleed with an alarming gush of fluid that spilled onto the mat.
"My God," I said under my breath as he cupped his face with both hands and cursed under his breath. "Bernard, I am so–"
"My fault," he said, swiftly unwrapping his hand to use the cloth as a bandage. "You used your left hand and everything."
I left his side in favor of the medical kit that was secured to the wall and grabbed several pieces of cotton, which he stuffed up his nose the moment I handed it to him.
His eyes had already started to show signs of renewed bruising, his swollen nose beet red and still gushing despite the cotton.
"Do me a favor and go knock down an icicle from outside the building," he said.
I hesitated for a brief moment, seeing his hands tremble, aware that the mistake on my part was probably quite painful.
"I ain't gonna stab you with it," he promised.
More embarrassed than anything else, I turned and walked out the door, breaking off a sizable chunk of ice, which I gave to Bernard. He was seated on the ground when I returned and wrapped the ice in a cloth, which he held it to his nose.
"You found the advantage," Bernard said, pinching his nostrils with his right hand.
"Not intentionally."
"Yeah, I know."
"Is there anything I can do?" I offered. "A free shot between my eyes when you have the bleeding under control, perhaps?"
"I already took my best shot at you. Remember? Rattled your brain."
"Quite unforgettable."
Bernard sucked in a breath through his parted lips. "Hell, I should have known better than that. I been feeling old all of a sudden," he said. "I swear these injuries didn't hurt that bad three years ago."
"Perhaps your body is saying it's time to retire," I said.
"Mind and body both," he said, adjusting the cotton in his nostrils. The ice against his nose slowly dripped down the side of his hand onto his trouser leg. "I might need that bank job after all."
Val was the last person I wanted to speak to, but I nodded in agreement with Bernard. "I will put in a good word for you."
"You owe me a little, yeah?"
"More than a little."
"I'm messing with you, Professor." Bernard leaned his head back against the wall. "Say, you don't got that drawing with you, do you? The one of my Bea?"
"I do," I answered, reaching for my satchel. "I should have my copy finished this afternoon and then you can decide which one you prefer to take with you to Wissant."
"I just want to take another look," he said. "But if you could hold it for me, I don't want to get blood or nothing on it."
I dug through my satchel, pulling out several sketchbooks until I found the one with Beatrix. "I have another drawing to show you as well," I said, holding the book open.
Bernard looked at Beatrix first, then the drawing of himself, which he stared at for a long moment.
"You drew me?" he asked, his tone a familiar grumble. I couldn't tell if he was pleased or surprised.
"Last night."
Bernard leaned forward, a curious smile afixed to his lips. "I ain't never been drawn before."
"With your permission, I'd like to show my broker."
"Your broker?"
"Yes." Again, I couldn't tell by his tone if he was pleased or merely surprised. "I would like my broker to consider it for the gallery at the main office here in Paris."
Bernard slowly smiled. "Oh yeah? You think they'd put this in a gallery?"
"I would like them to have it placed up for sale once I've cleaned it up a bit, yes. Unless you oppose it, then I will keep it in my own collection or gift it to you."
"An art gallery." At last Bernard nodded and smiled to himself. "That ain't nothing I'd ever expect to hear in a million years. Drawing of me for sale in Paris by a real artist. And I look…I don't look bad."
"Of course you don't look bad. You appear as I see you."
Bernard appeared truly fascinated by the depiction. "I don't think anyone has ever seen me like this before, Professor. I look…I don't know how to describe it."
"You appear as Beatrix viewed you," I said. "At least that was my intention."
Bernard smiled at the drawings I held side by side.
"It would take a little longer, but I'll attempt to combine them," I offered. "So that you have a painting of you with your daughter."
Bernard's face started to crumple, but he cleared his throat. "That would be something real special."
"And I should mention, my broker also wanted me to ask if you would loan the drawing you purchased from them at Gupil and Cie, the one of my brother. There is an opportunity for it to be displayed over the summer in the Louvre with a temporary exhibit. Once the show is over, it will be returned to you. I will see to it personally."
Bernard's smile widened. He tossed the icicle onto the discarded towel he'd used to pat himself dry with and slapped me on the knee.
"The Louvre, yeah? In the new frame? I'll be damned, Professor, that's real good."
I nodded, amused by Bernard's reaction. "With your permission as the buyer. And I can ask about the frame."
"Hell yeah I give my permission to hang one of your scribbles in the Louvre. Does the collector man know it'll be there?"
"The curator? He stopped by and spoke to my broker, which is how this whole situation came about."
Bernard could not have been more tickled. "Would you look at that? All 'cause you gave the kid a pass to the museum, I bought a drawing and now it's gonna be hanging in the Louvre."
Given that I'd bloodied Bernard's already broken nose, I decided against correcting his statement and allowing him full credit.
"It's not guaranteed yet," I explained.
"If it ain't, I'll talk to the curator again and he'll change his mind real quick."
"That's certainly one way to get into the Louvre," I said under my breath.
oOo
The Bohemians held a grand celebration for Celeste with an abundance of food and small tokens that left my cleaning assistant speechless.
"I cannot wait tell Bern when he comes for me," Celeste said.
Due to the amount of chatter and well-wishing, class was delayed by twenty minutes, and as my students finished their portraits of Celeste, who volunteered to be the subject, I spotted Elizabeth peering through the open doorway.
Excusing myself, I walked the length of the room and caught her before she made it to the stairs.
"Class is running late," I said, "but you are more than welcome to stay if you like."
"You don't mind?" Elizabeth asked.
"I never mind seeing you. In fact, I look forward to seeing you."
She eyed me for a long moment. "What happened to your cheek? And your lip?"
I gingerly felt my face. "Boxing," I answered.
Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "You've taken up boxing? Does Father know?"
"I've taken two lessons. Hardly a professional endeavor and no, I have not mentioned it to your father. I don't believe it's something I need to mention as I have no desire to worry him, my most favorite niece."
Elizabeth's bottom lip unexpectedly wobbled. "Am I still your favorite?" she whispered, voice quivering. "Even after last night?"
"Of course you are still at the apex of my list. You have been for the last sixteen years and counting."
"Are you still angry with me?" she asked, folding her arms as she looked away.
There were plenty of moments where Elizabeth allowed herself to be carried off by her emotions, preferring to stamp her feet rather than think rationally. It was an unfortunate trait that we shared: mine as a frequently fiery tempered man and hers as an inconsolable girl.
The way that she folded her arms around herself, however, made me certain that she was genuinely concerned that I had not forgiven her and perhaps would not for quite some time.
Same as with Erik, I had never harshly reprimanded Elizabeth when she was much younger. It was rare that I raised my voice with her and despite moments when she was truly intolerable, I'd never threatened or considered physical punishment.
"I was upset with you last night," I admitted. "For the way you treated a friend of mine. Do you think my disappointment was justified?"
Elizabeth nodded without looking me in the eye.
"Bernard said you didn't apologize."
She pressed her eyes shut, causing several tears to slide down her cheek. "I was going to apologize," she said. "I was going to do what you said."
"What happened?" I gently asked, wanting to hear her point of view on the matter.
Elizabeth pressed her palms against her cheeks and sniffled. "He asked me if I was well."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I told him I was quite well," she said, her voice high and tight with emotion. "But he asked me again and I told him yes of course, of course I was fine. What an absurd question, isn't it, Uncle? Why wouldn't I be fine?"
Elizabeth attempted a laugh that sounded far more like struggled to choke back a sob. She wiped her eyes, lips quivering as she turned and stared over the stone railing to the first floor and empty lobby below.
Why wouldn't she be fine? I had thought the previous evening. She was sixteen and had every basic need met: fed, clothed, housed, and educated plus a host of other comforts I had never been afforded. As far as I was concerned, she had no reason to act out.
"Were you telling the truth?" I asked.
A single inquiry crumpled her face and released a steady flow of tears. Without another word, she started down the marble steps, face shielded from my view with both hands.
"Eliza," I called out, catching up to her quite easily as she could barely navigate the stairs in her sullen state and long skirts. "Wait a moment."
I walked her back up the stairs and into my private office, which I'd never used in all my years at the university. It was a wardrobe-sized space with a long window that didn't open, which made it excruciatingly hot when the sun hit the room in the morning and I was certain I could have baked several loaves of bread in the heat if I'd had pans available.
"Forgive me," I said once her hyperventilation turned into little hiccups and she was comfortably seated behind the tiny desk the university provided.
"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth sullenly questioned.
"Forgive me for not seeing that you were upset last night. I should have asked if you were unwell when you didn't seem like yourself."
"Uncle Phelan–"
"You are my favorite niece, Eliza. In fact, you're my favorite person in the whole family."
"Aside from Uncle Erik," she pointed out.
I smiled back at her. "My most favorite person I see on a regular basis in the family," I clarified. "And as my most favorite niece, I offer my apology for not truly noticing that something was wrong."
"It's nothing…" she started to say, her voice trailing away.
Bernard's words rang through my head. No sixteen year old girl is telling her uncle how she's feeling.
"I am aware of how nothing can certainly feel like a very overwhelming something," I said, leaning against the desk that took up most of the room within my unused office.
Elizabeth looked up at me and searched my face with her tear-damp eyes. She no longer shed the tears of a little girl over broken teacups and scraped knees; her reaction was more grown-up than I wanted to believe, and whatever she grappled with was the concerns of a teenage girl, not a child. Undoubtedly the emotional terrain was foreign to me.
"It's just that…" Elizabeth started to say. She took another deep, ragged breath. "You don't want to hear it."
"I assure you, my Eliza Beth, I want to hear whatever you wish to share."
"No, you do not."
"What makes you so certain?"
She clasped her hands, sighing heavily. "I know you wish I was still six instead of sixteen."
I tilted my head to the side. "That isn't quite true."
"Yes, it is. I know you wish I would stop growing up, that you are disappointed in me."
"May I answer for myself?"
She hung her head, but nodded.
"Eliza, you've had the pleasure of knowing me as an adult your entire life," I said.
Elizabeth risked a glance up at me.
"Or at least, pretending to be an adult," I said lightly. "Whereas I've had to cope with meeting you as an infant, then watching you grow into a toddler and the best stage of all, a little girl with the most fascinating mind. I truly thought you would remain a delightful little girl for at least twenty years, but here you are, before my very eyes, an intelligent sixteen-year-old young lady." I feigned taking a labored deep breath and briefly closed my eyes. "Forgive me, I feel light-headed thinking of you as sixteen when I am certain I am still nineteen." I winked at her. "I suppose my bones disagree with that statement."
Elizabeth made a face and rolled her eyes. "I am quite sorry to inform you, but you would never pass for nineteen, Uncle," she reminded me. "You have too many gray hairs, I'm afraid."
"I absolutely do not."
"Around your temple–"
"That incredibly harsh and brutally honest statement aside, I am fortunate to have seen you grow up," I told her. "Fortunate and terrified that you have become a real person before my eyes and that I must treat you as such. Six was definitely easier on both of us, but that doesn't mean I will cast you aside simply because you have more mature thoughts and require more than silly answers. If there is something you wish to discuss, you have my word that I will always listen."
Elizabeth remained quiet for a long moment, her head still bowed and hands clasped.
"I was awful to that man," Elizabeth wept. "To your friend. If he had not caught me stepping out of the carriage, I would have broken my arm, my leg…I would have been severely injured, I know it, but still I wanted to tell him that he was a repugnant monster and I would rather suffer a fall than have him lay a finger on me."
I was glad she had not spoken those words aloud to Bernard, words I was certain he had heard many times over his life.
"I wanted to ask you how you could possibly befriend someone like that," Elizabeth continued. "Someone so foul of appearance. I was angry at you for choosing him over me."
I leaned against the wall and fought the urge to add my own thoughts on the matter, allowing my niece to express herself in the way I had always been denied by own uncle.
There had been so much I had wanted to share with Alak, so many ideas that remained unspoken, so many thoughts that were fleeting. When he looked at me, I saw nothing but contempt, and his loathing for me–for his nephew–kept me silent.
Elizabeth took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her eyes again. "He is hideous," she said under her breath. "So hideous he should have been drowned in the ocean by his own mother."
I stared at the top of her head, aware that she had been behind us in the line longer than I had suspected.
"What a wretched thing to tell someone, Uncle," Elizabeth said, staring up at me with her bloodshot eyes. "How hateful, how abhorrent, how…how very much like the thoughts I had in my head." She sniffled and wiped her nose, tears once again falling from her eyes. "I cannot imagine saying those words to anyone, but I was not ashamed to think them."
She remained quiet for a long moment, her breathing still unsteady.
"Monsieur Montlaur must think I am intolerably cruel. A witch with a shriveled, blackened heart."
There it was, the little peek of her dramatic flare in a moment of gloom. I appreciated her description, my darling niece.
"That would be a reasonable assumption, but from my observations thus far, Bernard Montlaur doesn't adhere to social expectations."
Elizabeth sullenly eyed me. "What does that mean?"
"That means that you should still offer an apology," I said. "Even though Monsieur Montaur will most likely tell you that it isn't necessary."
"Because he is accustomed to people like me treating him poorly," Elizabeth said, sounding quite devastated by the realization. "I am a callous, heartless person. He has every right to think of me as a true monster."
"You are not a callous, heartless person, Elizabeth. You are clearly aware that you were unkind, which means a sincere apology on your behalf will be a welcomed change, don't you think?"
She nodded. "Uncle?" she questioned suddenly. "May I speak to you of something else?"
"Anything at all."
Elizabeth looked at me for a long moment. "I'm worried about…I'm worried about someone."
I nodded. "A friend of yours?"
She shook her head. "No it's…it's someone I know, but not a friend of mine, so to speak."
"What has you concerned about this person?"
Elizabeth looked away from me. "She's been very ill, I think, but she won't tell anyone."
"How do you know this person is unwell?"
"Because she's not been herself and I don't know what to do for her," Elizabeth said. "I've tried to offer my assistance, but she pushes me away or mutters comments that make me feel as though she dislikes me."
I studied Elizabeth for a long moment.
"And I cannot tell anyone," Elizabeth said under her breath. "She would not forgive me if she knew I was speaking of her, even if it is because I want to help her."
"This individual is quite fortunate to have someone in her life that clearly cares for her."
"I love her," Elizabeth said under her breath. "I love her more than she knows."
My lips parted, and despite being quite certain I knew of whom Elizabeth spoke, I merely nodded, afraid if I interjected, she would bristle and stop the conversation abruptly.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No, she won't allow it."
"Well, is there something I can do for you?"
Elizabeth frowned. "I don't know."
"Despite being such a mature young lady, would you allow your ancient uncle the privilege of a hug? Before my brittle bones turn to dust?"
"I didn't say you were ancient. I said you weren't nineteen."
"For which I am incredibly grateful each and every day," I said.
Elizabeth stood and I placed my arms around her gently at first until she hugged me the way she had when she was younger, as if she needed to test her strength and suffocate me with the biggest hug she was able to provide.
"You're squeezing the life from me," I said, pretending to be quite strained in her embrace.
"Death by an Elizabeth hug," she said through her clenched teeth.
I had almost forgotten our comical exchange, the way she would play along when I pretended she would suffocate me with her affection. I wasn't sure when it had ended, probably around the age of ten or eleven, when she found me embarrassing and my attempts at humor poorly executed.
She hugged me harder, as she always did, and I looked down to see her smiling with her eyes closed. It was as close I could possibly ever come to experiencing the same type of hug Erik had gripped me with when we were children, both of them with their arms practically trembling from holding on so tight.
From behind my closed office door, I heard my students calling my name as they searched for me.
"I should go," Elizabeth said.
"They're off to their next classes," I assured her. "You may stay as long as you like."
"I have to return to school," she said as she stood. "Would you be able to write me a note saying that I stopped here to see you and that's why I'm tardy returning after lunch?"
I opened my desk drawer despite knowing it would be empty. "Of course. University Professor must certainly come with some clout, wouldn't you agree? I'll need to fetch paper from my actual desk in my actual studio. Come inside. There's plenty of food if you want a bite to eat since you missed your lunch."
Elizabeth looked around the room. "This is like a tiny prison cell."
"You've clearly never stepped foot in a prison if you think they have windows," I commented.
"Have you been in a prison cell?" she questioned.
"Me? Never," I answered. "As you are aware, I am without flaws and thus I would never be found in prison."
"Flawless indeed."
"Which you inherited from me," I said. "Short of extortion, murder, and treason, I will always consider you perfect, Eliza Elaine." I looked her over one last time. "Honestly, you could extort the wealthiest families in France and overthrow the government and you'd still be perfect in my eyes."
At last Elizabeth smiled at me and rolled her eyes as I opened the office door. The hallway was filled with students leaving the studio and saying their final good-byes to Celeste.
"Elizabeth!" Celeste said as soon as she noticed my niece. "Oh, how lovely to see you again!" She looked past the two of us and waved. "And there's Bern!"
Bernard limped up the final two stairs and slowly made his way toward us.
"Christ, you university types like your stairs," he grumbled, clearly winded from the two flights. "I should have just whistled to tell you I was here, kid."
Celeste's jovial expression immediately changed once Bernard approached. "What happened to your nose? And your eyes? Did someone hit you?"
"A little practice match," Bernard answered. "Ain't nothing to get upset over."
"Who was it? Irish James?" Celeste fretted. "Did he strike you?"
"No, and I'm fine, so don't you start getting worked up, you hear?"
Celeste frowned. "But you're injured again."
"The way you're looking at me hurts more than my nose," Bernard replied. He glanced at me, then Elizabeth and did a double take. "Hey Professor. Good morning, Professor's niece. I apologize, but I ain't good with names. I'm sure you said it, but I don't remember."
"Elizabeth," I said.
Bernard nodded. "You don't look like an Elizabeth to me."
My niece looked quite shocked by his statement. "I–I don't?"
Bernard shook his head. "You look like an Eleanor."
"I think you look like an Elizabeth," Celeste assured her. "A very beautiful Elizabeth."
Elizabeth blushed. "You are a very lovely Celeste as well."
Celeste grinned back at Elizabeth and looked to Bernard, who nodded at her.
"Ready, kid?" Bernard asked Celeste. "We gotta go see Abi, I want to get these boots shined, and pick up the laundry before the Gold Medallion tells us we got to kick rocks."
Celeste readily nodded, but Elizabeth stepped forward.
"Monsieur Montlaur, if you have a moment to spare, may I speak to you?" Elizabeth requested before they departed.
Bernard squinted at the clock in the hall. "Our train's been delayed, so I got….nine hours and seventeen minutes," he said.
"You can use my spare office if you'd like," I said to Elizabeth, gesturing toward the room we had just left.
"Five minutes of your time?" Elizabeth asked.
"I'll triple that." Bernard walked into the office behind Elizabeth and left the door cracked open.
"I need to write Elizabeth a note for her teacher," I said to Celeste. "And I also need to at least start the preliminary sketch for you before the train arrives."
She nodded and followed me into the studio where she nibbled on a cookie while I removed a reference book used by first year students for portraits from the shelf and opened it facing her.
"What's this?"
"Inspiration," I answered. "An entire book of faces, eyes, lips, noses and even ears with different sections for men, women, children, and babies."
Celeste flipped through the pages, amused by the assortment of noses, particularly the hook nose, which made her giggle as she thought it looked quite like a bird.
"Who injured Bern?" she asked as I reached for my sketchbook and folder of pencils.
I stared across the desk at Celeste as she sat with her arms crossed, sternly meeting my eye as she looked up from the book.
"I did," I answered. "On accident."
"How was it an accident?"
"We were practicing. I should have struck Bernard on the jaw, but he turned his head and I hit his nose instead."
Judging by her expression, I could tell the answer I provided was less than satisfactory.
"I do not like boxing," she said. "It makes me very sad to see him injured."
"As I said, it was an accident. I was not pleased either when it occurred and apologized at once."
Celeste continued to frown at me. "You have a red mark as well, right here," she said, indicating on her own face where I knew my cheek had started to bruise. "Why must men be so foolish?"
"Because we ain't good at thinking with our heads," Bernard said as he walked into the studio with Elizabeth behind him. "We think with…" Bernard came to an abrupt stop several feet inside the studio. "I ain't sure. What do men think with, Professor?"
I was not about to answer his question in front of two young ladies.
"Probably our toenails or something," Bernard said, answering his own question. "The black ones when they get all bruised and then fall off."
"Bern," Celeste said, looking truly aghast at his description.
I shook my head at Bernard and swiftly penned an excuse for Elizabeth, using my official ink stamp from the university that had not seen the light of day from my desk drawer in ages.
"There," I said, handing her the note. "University paper, a university envelope, and my stamp. This should be satisfactory for your teacher."
"Like you're a real professor," Elizabeth said.
I furrowed my brow. "Which I most certainly am, according to the placard on my door, name tag, and most especially the compensation I receive from the university," I assured her. "You had better be on your way before I relinquish your note, my most cherished and cheeky niece."
"Thank you, Uncle Phelan," she said, lightly hugging me one last time before she waved at Celeste and paused, offering Bernard a genuine smile.
"Thank you, Monsieur Montlaur."
"You ain't gotta call me a formal name," he said, offering his hand. "Bern is fine, Ellie."
Elizabeth's lips parted. "It's actually…"
"Eleanor," Bernard said. Apologies for shortening your name."
Elizabeth didn't argue. She pursed her lips, shook Bernard's hand, and looked at me one last time.
"I'll see you Saturday," I promised.
Immediately she lit up. "Saturday? What is happening Saturday?"
"A matinee?" I suggested. "I'm sure you'll find something for us to see, just the two of us."
Elizabeth readily nodded. "I would love that, Uncle Phelan. Thank you."
She turned to walk out of the studio when Bernard said, loud enough for Elizabeth to hear, "What'd I tell you, Professor? She's a good kid."
oOo
Bernard fixed himself a plate of food while I started the preliminary drawing of Celeste's mother and father. Now that I had successfully completed the drawing of Beatrix, I was far more confident in my ability to draw someone I'd never met with the help of a description.
Book in hand, Celeste swiftly selected the appropriate features almost faster than I was able to make notations in my sketchbook.
"I may not have anything completed before you leave tonight," I cautioned, afraid that like Bernard she would want something to take with her on the train. "But I'll show you what I've finished before you leave."
"I don't mind," she said.
"Ready?" Bernard said, nodding toward the door.
Celeste took one last look around the studio and slowly nodded. "We will see you tonight, Professor?"
"Of course," I assured her. "When is the new train departure time?"
Bernard slowly stood, grimacing as he put weight on his right leg. "Seven thirty-seven, or so they claim. Gentleman at the ticket counter said it could be pushed back to nine."
"Why the delay?" I asked.
"All the trains are still backed up 'cause of the ice, I guess." He limped forward several steps before he was able to walk without much trouble. "I got a private sleeper car, so you don't got to sit up the whole time or nothing,"Bernard told Celeste. "And in the morning, you get a hot towel for your face followed by cucumbers for your eyes. Sounds nice, don't it?"
"You are a man who enjoys luxury," I said.
Bernard shrugged. "Once in a while, yeah. Ain't nothing wrong with some pampering after a match. One time I even got a massage from a gentleman straight out of the Orient. He was small as a mouse, but holy hell, it felt like he beat me up all over again the following day. While he was digging his elbows into my back, though, it was pretty damn good. You ever get a massage?"
Celeste nodded while I shook my head.
"Where at?" Bernard asked Celeste.
"A lodge in Russia."
"Oh yeah?"
"I fell asleep," she sheepishly admitted.
Bernard smiled and nodded. "See, this is why we're gonna get along real well."
"You could use a good massage, Professor," he said, nodding at me. "Loosen you up a bit."
"I will take that into consideration."
"Kid," Bernard said, nodding at the door. "He's got to do art professor stuff and we got all kinds of stuff to do before we leave."
"Are we getting massages?" Celeste hopefully asked.
Bernard made a face. "Not if you don't hustle."
Celeste scampered out of the room, shrieking as she ran into the hall where she burst into laughter.
"That one," Bernard said with a shake of his head. He dug into his coat pocket and placed an orange on my desk along with a folded piece of paper.
"What's this?" I asked.
"An orange. You ain't never seen an orange before?"
"Of course I have. Why are you giving me an orange?"
"It ain't from me," Bernard said as he turned away. "It's from Saint Nicholas. A few years late, but you know..."
I stared at the orange left on the edge of the desk and smiled to myself, recalling his words from our morning in the gymnasium before our practice boxing match. Unfolding the paper, there were two words scrawled in questionable penmanship: The Louvre!
"Thank you, Bernard."
"Ain't from me," he said over his shoulder. "It's a gift from Saint Nicholas, Professor."