story had had, and moved on, grunting disparagingly at another student’s efforts. As he approached her, Caitlyn went back to work, afraid to be caught slacking. He came to stand behind her, watching her attempts, and despite her best efforts her arm slowed and then dropped as she was overcome with self-consciousness.
“Do you, too, have a brilliant artist locked in your head?” he asked.
“No. I’m beginning to think I don’t know a thing about art.”
“Class! Do you hear? She knows nothing about art! And she proves it in her drawing.”
Caitlyn cringed.
“This,” he went on, laying his hand upon her head, “is the proper state of mind for learning to draw. Your mind must be blank of your old ideas and old ways of seeing. You must start fresh, like a baby who has never seen the world.” He dropped his hand from her head and pointed to the area she’d shaded with parallel lines. “This is nice.”
“Thank you,” Caitlyn said in soft surprise.
He nodded in acknowledgment. “Keep listening. With open ears, you will be one of the few who learn.”
Caitlyn felt a stab of pride. Monsieur Girard’s smallest compliment was worth a dozen times more than the gushing praise of a gentler person.
After class, Caitlyn and Naomi walked together back to the dormitory wing of the castle. It took up the top three floors of the west side of the box, which was the only side that came right up to the edge of the cliff. The other three sides of the square château were surrounded by formal gardens, a kitchen garden, riding stables, an open meadow, and, just to the south of the castle, a chapel perched atop the cliff. It was a world unto itself, sequestered inside the outer defensive walls. The village of Cazenac was a half mile from the base of the cliff, and the larger, historic town of Sarlat-la-Canéda was close enough that any girls with money for a taxi could go there for a day of shopping and restaurants.
“We have geology together, too, don’t we?” Naomi said.
Caitlyn nodded. She liked Naomi’s casual confidence; the girl didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of her, and that made her strangely comfortable to be around. “How long have you been at the Fortune School?” Caitlyn asked, seeking a way to prolong the conversation.
“This is my second year. I’d gone to a boarding school outside London since I was ten, but my parents decided I’d be safer here.”
“Safer from what?”
“Who knows!” Naomi rolled her eyes. “The evils of London, I assume. They imagine drug pushers and drunken parties, and don’t want to see me in a tabloid, falling out of a car without my knickers.”
“Why would anyone put you in a tabloid?”
“They wouldn’t, I’m sure. But my mother is queen of the Ashanti tribe, and she thinks that everyone is looking at our family.”
Caitlyn’s brows shot up. “Queen? Jeez, everywhere I look around here there’s a princess!”
Naomi laughed. “Which tells you we’re nothing special. Being a princess is overrated.”
Caitlyn doubted that.
“I’m first in line to be queen, but I don’t want to be,” Naomi went on, as blandly as if she were discussing not wanting to go into the family shoe repair business. “I want to go to university in the States, and then to law school. Someday I’d like to do international work for the rights of women.”
“Wow.” Caitlyn was impressed. It was such a noble goal, and Naomi would give up being queen for it! All she’d ever aspired to was getting away from Spring Creek; she hadn’t spent a lot of time considering what she wanted to move toward .
What did she want to do with her life?
Of course, now the Sisterhood was going to decide that for her. It might not be her choice; she’d signed it away before she’d even begun. She frowned at the thought.
“What about you? How did you end up here?” Naomi asked.
“Scholarship,” Caitlyn confessed.
“So you’re a genius?”
“Far from it!”
“You’re
“Do you, too, have a brilliant artist locked in your head?” he asked.
“No. I’m beginning to think I don’t know a thing about art.”
“Class! Do you hear? She knows nothing about art! And she proves it in her drawing.”
Caitlyn cringed.
“This,” he went on, laying his hand upon her head, “is the proper state of mind for learning to draw. Your mind must be blank of your old ideas and old ways of seeing. You must start fresh, like a baby who has never seen the world.” He dropped his hand from her head and pointed to the area she’d shaded with parallel lines. “This is nice.”
“Thank you,” Caitlyn said in soft surprise.
He nodded in acknowledgment. “Keep listening. With open ears, you will be one of the few who learn.”
Caitlyn felt a stab of pride. Monsieur Girard’s smallest compliment was worth a dozen times more than the gushing praise of a gentler person.
After class, Caitlyn and Naomi walked together back to the dormitory wing of the castle. It took up the top three floors of the west side of the box, which was the only side that came right up to the edge of the cliff. The other three sides of the square château were surrounded by formal gardens, a kitchen garden, riding stables, an open meadow, and, just to the south of the castle, a chapel perched atop the cliff. It was a world unto itself, sequestered inside the outer defensive walls. The village of Cazenac was a half mile from the base of the cliff, and the larger, historic town of Sarlat-la-Canéda was close enough that any girls with money for a taxi could go there for a day of shopping and restaurants.
“We have geology together, too, don’t we?” Naomi said.
Caitlyn nodded. She liked Naomi’s casual confidence; the girl didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of her, and that made her strangely comfortable to be around. “How long have you been at the Fortune School?” Caitlyn asked, seeking a way to prolong the conversation.
“This is my second year. I’d gone to a boarding school outside London since I was ten, but my parents decided I’d be safer here.”
“Safer from what?”
“Who knows!” Naomi rolled her eyes. “The evils of London, I assume. They imagine drug pushers and drunken parties, and don’t want to see me in a tabloid, falling out of a car without my knickers.”
“Why would anyone put you in a tabloid?”
“They wouldn’t, I’m sure. But my mother is queen of the Ashanti tribe, and she thinks that everyone is looking at our family.”
Caitlyn’s brows shot up. “Queen? Jeez, everywhere I look around here there’s a princess!”
Naomi laughed. “Which tells you we’re nothing special. Being a princess is overrated.”
Caitlyn doubted that.
“I’m first in line to be queen, but I don’t want to be,” Naomi went on, as blandly as if she were discussing not wanting to go into the family shoe repair business. “I want to go to university in the States, and then to law school. Someday I’d like to do international work for the rights of women.”
“Wow.” Caitlyn was impressed. It was such a noble goal, and Naomi would give up being queen for it! All she’d ever aspired to was getting away from Spring Creek; she hadn’t spent a lot of time considering what she wanted to move toward .
What did she want to do with her life?
Of course, now the Sisterhood was going to decide that for her. It might not be her choice; she’d signed it away before she’d even begun. She frowned at the thought.
“What about you? How did you end up here?” Naomi asked.
“Scholarship,” Caitlyn confessed.
“So you’re a genius?”
“Far from it!”
“You’re
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