Kaleidoscope by Dorothy Gilman Page A

but—”
    â€œBut?” asked Madame Karitska, bringing in coffee and placing the carafe on the table with three cups. “But what, Kristan?”
    â€œBut to earn money to live on now—and for further training . . .” He got up and removed the framed sketch from the wall. “You have more of these?”
    â€œYes,” said Betsy.
    â€œGood. You’re willing to start small?”
    â€œSmall?” she echoed, confused.
    â€œI have connections with two greeting card companies here in Trafton, and although it is only summer they begin already to plan for Christmas, and they’ve a penchant for angels. I would say that one of these companies would be seized with delight at such luminous faces, possibly both of them. They do not pay extremely well, but enough to keep bread on your table, and enough for you take a class when you can afford it, to see if you can draw bodies as well, and to support extending your talent. Here,” he said, and reached into a paper bag he’d brought with him, and from it drew out a hand-carved, jointed figure of a man. “With this you can practice. You see the joints? His figure stands. He sits, and you can sketch him seated. You move arms and legs and sketch him running. With this you can practice how the human figure moves.”
    â€œYou mean—” began Betsy in surprise.
    â€œYes, I lend it to you.”
    Betsy stared at him with wide eyes. “But this is so . . . so very
kind
of you.”
    â€œI am not kind,” he said brusquely. “I am only an artist who appreciates. Now I want you to go home, gather up all the sketches you have made, and take them to each of these companies downtown. I have written their names down for you here, and the names of the man or woman you must see, and when you are ready to visit them, here is my phone number; I will call and tell them you’re coming.”
    Betsy looked overwhelmed and a little frightened, and his voice turned kinder. He said gravely, “I can assure you that if they are in their right minds, one of them will surely be eager to use your work; if not, there is still New York. In the meantime I say to you that your drawings are wonderfully original and fresh.”
    â€œYou, too?” she marveled. “Madame Karitska said— but I didn’t dare—how can I
ever
thank—”
    He cut her off, looking pained. “I return now to my painting,” he announced, and to Madame Karitska with a suddenly teasing, boyish smile, “To my snakes.”
    With a nod he opened the door and walked out, closing it behind him.
    When he was gone Betsy looked at Madame Karitska with a sense of wonder. She said, “I want you to know that I never expected
help
, or anything like this. I came back for . . . for comfort, I guess. To tell you I refused to go with Arthur— Alpha, I mean—and there was no one else to tell. I just knew I couldn’t let Alice—our daughter—go to that place, the Guardian place.” Her hand moved to the bruise on her cheek.
    â€œHe hit you.”
    Betsy nodded. “He left two days ago. He was furious. It’s taken so much out of me, I’ve felt so shaken and lost—”
    â€œThen I’m glad you came.”
    â€œBut now—I was going to look for a waitress job,” she said, and suddenly smiled; her smile was radiant. “Now I have something to go home for, something to do. How can I ever thank you and Mr. Seversky?”
    Madame Karitska said lightly, “There are some who say there are no accidents in life, and it may be that we were meant to meet.” With a glance at her watch, “Now you must go home and collect your sketches—I assume you’ve done more since I saw you—and look to your future, not your past.”
    â€œOh I will, I will,” promised Betsy.
    Madame Karitska lifted the framed sketch from her wall. “Take this with you—on