The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities

But he did what he thought was expected of him. He looked for a better job and found one—as a stonemason, lifting slabs of marble and setting them with precision. He took Rose to his apartment, where Charlotte cooked them a whole ham. He bought her a pair of gloves sewn of lace so fine he was afraid his claws would pull it. When he asked Rose to marry him, he went to one knee, although he still towered over her chair, and shut his eyes. He could not bear to see her expression.

In lieu of a ring, he had scrimped and saved to buy her a pair of diamond earrings. They sparkled in their box like tiny stars. His palm quavered with nerves.

“I cannot marry you,” Rose said, “for you are a bear and I am a woman.”

And so he went away and wept. Charlotte made him a gooseberry pie, but he wouldn’t eat it.

When he returned, he brought with him a long strand of pearls, each one fat and perfect as the moon.

Although Rose wrapped the strand around her neck three times, she replied again, “I cannot marry you. You are a bear and I am a woman.”

Again he went away and wept. This time, Charlotte baked him scones. He picked at a few of the raisins.

“If she doesn’t love you,” said Charlotte, “she will only bring you sorrow.”

“I love her enough for us both,” said Liam and Charlotte could say no more.

The third time he went to Rose, he brought with him a golden ring as bright as the sun.

This time, greed and desire overtook her, and she said, “Even though you are a bear and I am a woman, I will marry you.”

The bear’s happiness was so vast and great that he wanted to roar. Instead, he took her little hands in his and promised her that he would put aside his bear nature and be like other men for as long as they were wed.

This time, Charlotte baked them a wedding cake, and Liam and Rose ate it together, slice by slice.

After Liam and Rose married, Charlotte moved out of the little apartment and took a room above the taxidermist’s shop.

She had more time to help out, and so the taxidermist showed her how to cut wires and wrap them in perfumed cotton to give life to the skins. He showed her how to choose glass eyes that fit snugly in the sockets. He told her about Martha Maxwell, one of the founders of modern taxidermy, whose work he had once seen.

Time passed and Liam seemed happy as ever, doting on Rose. But Rose grew distant and vague. She stopped sewing and sat around the house in a dressing gown, plates piling up in the sink.

“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked, when she came over to bring them her very first attempt at taxidermy—a tiny bird with black eyes and feathers it had taken her a whole day to arrange. The taxidermist had told Charlotte that she had the touch, nodding approvingly as he walked around the piece.

Rose curled her lip at the sight of it. “Liam’s not home.”

“Can I leave it for him?” Charlotte asked.

Rose looked resigned, but allowed her into the house. As Rose turned, Charlotte saw the swell of her stomach.

She grinned and would have embraced Rose, would have babbled on with congratulations, would have offered to knit blankets and pick out ribbons, but Rose gave her such a look that Charlotte hesitated and only set the little bird down very carefully on the arm of Liam’s chair.

Two nights later, Liam roused Charlotte from her bed in the middle of the night.

“There’s something wrong with her,” the bear said. “She’s dying, Charlotte.”

“What happened?” Charlotte said.

He shook his massive head. “She took something—I found the vial. To get rid of the baby. She said she could feel the little claws scratching at her insides. She said she dreamed of sharp teeth.”

There was no doctor for many streets, so Charlotte woke the taxidermist from his bed, thinking he might know what to do. Rose had gone into labor by the time they got there.

All night long they laid cold compresses on her brow and grabbed her hands as she screamed through contractions. But the poison in the vial had stained her tongue black and robbed her of strength.

After hours of struggle, the child was born. A small bear child, already dead.

Rose died soon after.

Liam fell to all fours. “I tried to live as a man,” he said, “but I am a bear in my blood.”

“Liam!” Charlotte called, running to him and touching his back, sinking her fingers into his fur. “Bear or man, you are my brother.”

But he turned away, lumbering down the stairs. He cast away his clothes and his boots as he came to the outskirts of the city. He entered the forest and would never walk upright or speak again.

Charlotte held the bear child to her, though it was cold as snow.

“I will call the necessary people,” said the taxidermist. He looked uncomfortably at Rose’s body, growing pale and strange. Death was something he was used to seeing at a remove. “You shouldn’t have to see this—a young lady like you—”

But Charlotte ignored him. She recognized the scent of the child, the smell of Liam, as familiar as her own. “He’s warming up,” said Charlotte.

The taxidermist frowned. “The child is dead.”