Read The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold Online
Authors: Regina Doman
The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold
Books by Regina Doman
The Fairy Tale Novels
The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold
Black as Night: A Fairy Tale Retold
Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold
The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold
For children:
Angel in the Waters
Edited by Regina Doman:
Catholic, Reluctantly: John Paul 2 High Book One
Trespasses Against Us: John Paul 2 High Book Two
Summer of My Dissent: John Paul 2 High Book Three
By Christian M. Frank
Awakening: A Crossroads in Time Book
By Claudia Cangilla McAdam
Text copyright 1997 by Regina Doman (under the title Snow White and Rose Red: A Modern Fairy Tale, published by Bethlehem Books, Warsaw, ND)
Second printing 2003, revised paperback edition by Bethlehem Books, Bathgate, ND
Third printing, 2007, 10th anniversary edition by Chesterton Press, Front Royal, VA
Fourth printing 2008, revised edition by Chesterton Press, Front Royal, VA
Interior artwork copyright 1997 by Joan Coppa Drennen
2007 cover design by Regina Doman
All rights reserved
“Only to Rise” copyright 1996 Nathan Schmiedicke, used with permission
It’s Only a Paper Moon, by Billy Rose, E.Y.Harburg, Music by Harold Arlen, copyright 1933 (Renewed) Chappell & Co., Glocca Morra and S.A. Music Co.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Chesterton Press
P.O. Box 949
Front Royal, Virginia
Summary: When Bear, a mysterious young man, lands on Blanche and Rose Brier’s doorstep in New York City, the two sisters have conflicting opinions on whether or not he is dangerous. Even as Blanche learns to trust him, her fears that Bear’s friendship threatens their family prove terrifyingly true. A modern retelling of the classic Brothers Grimm fairytale.
ISBN: 978-0-981-93180-7
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter 1
THE TWO GIRLS were alone in their house that night.
Inside was safe enough—the living room crammed full of the books and comfortable worn chairs from their old country home. But right beyond the window was New York City, vast and dirty and dangerous. And a howling January snowstorm was wreaking its fury upon it.
Where was Mother? It was almost an hour past the time when she should have been home. As Blanche gazed at the blank glass square of the living room window, she couldn’t help thinking that if her father hadn’t died, then her mother wouldn’t have to go out to work in the middle of a blizzard. But of course, then everything would be different.
Rose obviously wasn’t worried. In theory her red-haired sister was studying trigonometry, but in reality, she was chanting poetry and drawing lines around the border of her notebook, while her multicolored paisley skirt in a jewel box of colors—blue, purple, green, and gold—lay spread out around her in a perfect half-circle. Blanche seriously doubted that Rose had even noticed that Mother was late.
Blanche, prosaic in a pale yellow sweater and blue jeans, was wondering again if anything mattered—life, faith—specifically, finishing homework assignments. She twisted her fingers in a long strand of her poker straight black hair and tried to read Camus while ignoring the disturbing thoughts that continually circled inside her head, like Matthew Arnold’s ignorant armies clashing by night.
All at once she became aware of the noise of a car—two cars—turning down their street. One car pulled to a stop, and a car door slammed. Maybe that was Mother coming now: but Blanche forced herself to sit still and not jump up to run to the door like an anxious child.
But she did jump an instant later as tires squealed, a woman cried out, and a deep masculine voice yelled just outside their window. Pushing aside the quilt she had wrapped around her legs, she ran to the window, and lifted one of the blinds. The only things she could see in the swirling darkness outside were the window boxes, snow-covered humps where the rosebushes had been. Frustrated, she shoved aside the floral print curtains and the blinds and pressed her face to the pane, trying to decipher the darkness.
On the street, she could just make out their family car. Two shapes were moving around the vehicle. The one that appeared to be Mother was on the ground waving her arms, while the other larger shape loomed alarmingly over her.
“What’s happening?” Rose was looking up from her book, finally aware that something was happening.
“Someone’s outside with Mother.”
Rose got to her feet in one flashing movement, jerked open the door, and dove into the little entranceway, where she began to undo the bolts on the house’s outer door. In two seconds, she was creaking it open while Blanche stood, half-paralyzed, wondering if she should make for the door or the phone.
Rose yanked the door wide, letting the full-blast of the storm inside. “Mom!” she cried out.
“I’m all right, Rose,” her mother’s voice came reassuringly through the wind and snow.
Now Blanche felt safe enough to go to the door beside Rose as their mother came towards them, limping slightly, her arms full of wet plastic grocery bags, her long grey-brown braid trailing out the side of her damp parka hood. But behind her towered a tall dark form.
“A car skidded towards me when I was getting the groceries and I slipped,” Mother explained. “I’m all right, mostly because this man came to my rescue.” She smiled sheepishly at her two daughters and handed the bags to Blanche. Then she turned to the looming shape, which hung back in the dark, out of reach of the house light. “Come on in for a minute, sir.”
The shape approached the steps and started to set down the three plastic bags on their stoop. All Blanche could see of him was a dirty brown winter coat with a furry hood.
“Just bring those things inside,” Mother said, and the shape reluctantly straightened and shuffled up the steps behind them. A moment later, the bulky hooded form filled the little entranceway. Blanche could see that there was a face beneath the fur-trimmed hood—a red face, surprisingly young looking, with large brown eyes, a straight nose, and a scrub beard.
“Here’s your groceries.” His rough, deep voice sounded embarrassed.
“I really appreciate this,” Mother said, pushing the door shut, squelching the noise of the storm. “Could I give you some money?” She fumbled in her pockets for her wallet.
“No, I’m fine,” the hooded form murmured, ducking his head as Rose took the bags from his arms. “I just wanted to help. I couldn’t leave you on the ground there, could I?”
Mother eyed him critically. “You look as though you’ve been outside for a while. Why don’t you come in and warm up?”
Blanche, who had been carrying the groceries to the kitchen in order to be closer to the phone, heard this and groaned inwardly. Her mother was determined to be a ministering angel. If their dad had been alive, Blanche wouldn't have minded so much. But her mother and sister seemed to forget the serious fact that their family was alone in New York City, with no strong masculine presence to defend them. It was foolhardy to bring this burly stranger into their home under these circumstances.
“I’m okay,” the man said. “I’ll be all right.” But he did seem a little reluctant to plunge back into the cold.
“At least get your breath back,” Mother said. “That was impressive, the way you dashed to pull me out of the way of that out-of-control car.”
“No problem,” the stranger muttered again. “I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Yes,” Mother said thoughtfully, looking him over. “What did you say your name was?”
“Bear,” the young man said, after a faint hesitation.
Blanche mentally raised an eyebrow. What kind of name was that?
“I very much appreciate what you did, Bear. If you don’t mind my asking —do you have someplace to go now to get out of the weather?”
“Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about me.”
“How far is it from here? Do you have to walk?”
“It’s a little ways, but I’ll make it.”
“How about if I give you a subway token? It’s very cold out there.” She turned to Rose, who was hanging on the doorjamb. “Go get me a token from the can, please.”
Rose dashed obediently to the kitchen but Blanche had already dug one out of the tin by the phone and handed it to her. Looking surprised, Rose took it.
“Bear, you’re only wearing canvas sneakers!” Mother exclaimed suddenly just as Rose swirled dramatically to her side with the token.
“Um, yeah.” Bear, who had been scuffing the snow from his feet, looked awkwardly down. Blanche saw that his feet were caked with frozen ice.
“Can you feel your feet?” Mother demanded, kneeling down to examine them.
Bear turned red but sounded nonchalant. “Well, sort of.”
“How long have your feet been numb?” asked Mother.
“Well, maybe a couple of hours.”
“That’s very dangerous! Bear, come inside this house at once,” Mother said imperiously, her blue eyes snapping with authority.
Bear hesitated, and then gingerly came into the living room. Mother shut the apartment door and waved him towards the couch.
“Take off your shoes while I get some water from the kitchen,” she said, hurrying past Blanche.
“Sit down,” Rose said, unconsciously imitating her mother’s anxious tone, and Bear meekly obeyed, sitting down on the very edge of the sofa. After a moment, he pushed off his hood, revealing a head of long, dark, matted hair in twisted dreadlocks, and a familiar face.
Blanche drew in her breath sharply, and Rose, perched next to Bear on the arm of a chair, looked at her.
He’s here,
Blanche thought numbly to herself.
We’ve let him in…
