Twenty-Five

My parents weren’t that impressed about the scholarship,” Bianca said as she and Sarah walked from the streetcar to the Art Academy.

“My father was excited. And Sammy,” Sarah said.

The Art Academy occupied a graceful stone building that had once been a church. Students sat on the wide stairs talking, laughing, eating, and flirting. Sarah noticed one long-haired boy wearing pants spattered with every color of paint imaginable. He smiled good-naturedly and said “Hello” as he caught her eye. Startled, Sarah didn’t smile back. That bothered her the rest of the day.

Following the directions of the woman behind the reception desk, they walked down a wide hall smelling of linseed oil, paints, and new canvas. The door to Studio B opened onto a large high-ceilinged room with sunlit arched windows. Students were sitting at easels, heads of brown, black, blonde, and auburn bent toward their paintings.

A thin, pale man dressed in black, with light brown hair fringing his forehead and ears, materialized from behind one of the easels.

“We’re the scholarship students,” Bianca said.

He frowned, cupped his chin in his hand, index finger on his nose. “Ah! It must be Wednesday then.”

“Tuesday,” a student called out. “1893.”

“Did you bring portfolios?”

Miss Benedict had prepared them well. They each handed him a large brown envelope containing samples of their work.

“Find a chair while I look through these.”

Sarah spotted a stool half hidden under a piece of canvas. She pulled it out and sat down, leaving room for Bianca to perch alongside her. They watched the teacher’s pale face for some hint of what he was thinking. It was excruciating.

He handed the portfolios back to them. “How old are the two of you?”

“Fifteen,” Bianca answered.

He directed his gaze at Sarah. “Your name?”

“Sarah Goldman.”

“How important is art to you, Sarah Goldman?”

Sarah felt he was holding her over a pit and would drop her if she didn’t say the right thing. She fought to keep her voice steady. “More important than anything…except for my family.”

The pale gaze switched to Bianca. “And you?”

“The same as Sarah.”

“Most students in this class are older and probably more experienced than you are,” he said, gray eyes leveled at them. “You’ll have to summon the best in you to keep up. If you’re not ready to do that, for your sake and my sanity, I strongly advise you to go to the younger class which is also in session now.” His gaze was cold and penetrating.

Bianca looked at Sarah, who nodded. “We want to stay.”

He gestured at some vague spot in the back of the room. “There are easels in the rear corner. Set yourselves up. You’ll be drawing with charcoal. Supplies are in the blue cabinet. Begin by drawing a single tree.” He started to walk away, then paused. “Miss Goldman, I am Roland Damien.”

He put out his hand. Sarah, surprised, thrust hers into his firm, surprisingly warm grasp.

“Miss Fiore.” Bianca received the same handclasp. “I also studied with Miss Benedict. A remarkable teacher.” He half smiled and Sarah saw that he was younger than he had seemed at first. He turned and walked away with the lightness of a dancer.

Sarah and Bianca exchanged glances. They would not have survived Roland Damien without each other.