The Friendship Doll

by Kirby Larson

  She whirled around, peeking behind a painted silk screen to come face to face with five Japanese dolls, each about the size of her four-year-old cousin. Bunny stared intently. Five pairs of hands rested on five silk kimonos. Of course. They were just dolls! Had she expected them to be clapping?

  She peeked under the draped table to see if someone was hiding there. It’d be so like Mary Louise Miller to play this kind of trick! She was probably waiting for the right moment to pop out and startle Bunny.

  No one was under the table. Bunny let the table skirt drop.

  She must be light-headed from lack of food, and it was making her hear things. That was the only possible explanation.

  As she straightened up, her eye fell on the doll wearing an orange kimono sprayed with pale blue flowers. Chrysanthemums. Leaning against her was a pint-sized silk parasol, adorned with a single chrysanthemum. Bunny looked down the row of dolls. Each had its own parasol, as well as numerous travel essentials: fans, tea sets, a spare pair of sandals—too many accessories to take in. Bunny moved toward the doll in orange silk, scarcely aware of the four others on the table.

  A creamy white card rested in a stand at the doll’s sandaled feet. “Miss Kana-gawa,” Bunny pronounced slowly. “That’s a tongue twister.” She smiled at her own little joke, but one look at the doll and her smile quickly faded. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt as if the doll was looking straight at her. “You’re just a doll,” she said.

  No answer came.

  Bunny felt in her pocket for the aggie. The commotion it would make on this slick floor—she smiled again to think of it. What about a quick test run? She pulled out the marble and knelt down, holding it mere inches from the floor. Bunny held her breath and let it drop. Even from that height, the clatter was sufficiently and deliciously loud. She stood, repocketing her prize.

  Upright again, she found her eyes drawn back to the doll’s. Fringed with dark lashes, they were as dark as the bark of the elm trees lining Bunny’s street. But it wasn’t simply the color—so different from her own green eyes—that caught her. It was silly, really. This was a doll, after all! But Bunny couldn’t avoid the look of disapproval in those eyes. It was almost as if the doll knew what she had planned. Bunny stuck her tongue out. So there!

  The doll glared back. Bunny stepped closer. Two could play at this game. “Mother says ‘pretty is as pretty does,’ ” she told the doll. “Maybe they don’t teach that where you come from.” She lifted her head, imitating Winnifred’s told-you-so manner.

  This time when she looked at the doll, she saw something else in those eyes, something that felt unpleasantly familiar.

  Well, this child is pretty enough, though I much prefer my silky straight hair to those horrible curls. And I can see that her hands are clean. A small blessing.

  I gaze back at the child and catch her in the act of sticking out her tongue. Little wretch!

  Hmm. Those green eyes of hers are intriguing. The color of a rice paddy in the early spring. As I study those round American eyes, I see something else veiled behind the boldness and conceit.

  Miss Japan, look at that girl’s eyes. Tell me what you see.

  I see spring rice fields.

  I can sense Miss Japan’s impatience.

  But it matters not what I see. It is what you see that is important.

  I continue to study the girl. How odd that Miss Japan, usually so perceptive, can’t see what I do: loneliness. A vision, like a painting on a silk fan, unfolds in the air in front of me. A vision of this child—at school, at play, at home—with others around her, but always alone.

  The Best-Laid Plans

  It was almost as if the doll’s eyes were the two lenses of a stereoscope, only instead of a scene from a European cathedral, Bunny saw a scene from school. One that had happened the other day in the cloakroom. The girls were hanging up their things after a nature walk in Central Park. Mean-spirited Clemmy Moore was buzzing around, making her usual stinging comments. She fluttered in front of Belle. “So how is your father doing in the hospital, dear Belle?”

  Bunny’s coat hook was next to Belle’s. She couldn’t help but notice the stricken look on Belle’s face. The look passed quickly and Belle’s face was once again unreadable. “He’s much better, thank you,” she answered tightly.

  “Father says it’s such a shame.” Clemmy fluffed her curls in the cloakroom mirror. “But then, many weak men can’t handle their drink.”

  Bunny was stunned. Certainly there had been rumors around town about Belle’s father. But to throw them up at her, here, in front of all the other girls … Bunny wouldn’t have thought even Clemmy could sink so low. Without thinking, Bunny placed her hand on Belle’s arm. “Don’t listen to her.”

  Belle didn’t move for a second. Then she turned. “Please remove your hand,” she’d said, shaking Bunny off. “I don’t need any help from a Dumb Dora like you.” She’d turned on the toes of her perfect white boots and stomped back into the classroom.

  It was so like Belle, Bunny hadn’t given the episode another thought.

  Until now. Why would she think of it now?

  I feel a twinge inside my muslin chest, under the left side of my kimono. Since the day I was created, I have never had a moment of feeling unwell. What is causing this pain now?

  I have heard it does hurt a bit, Miss Japan comforts me.

  What does? I ask.

  Being awakened.

  What do I do to make it stop?

  But Miss Japan gives no answer.

  The ache in my chest makes me feel so strange. Snippets of Master Tatsuhiko’s words swirl in my head. “Bad and good are intertwined with one rope,” I remember him saying once. This feeling inside me is certainly bad. What good can be intertwined with it?

  Other words I had heard from Master Tatsuhiko come to mind. Sayings like “One kind word can warm three winter months” and “Spilt water will not return to the tray.” All of it was as clear to me as a bowl of mud then, and is no clearer now.

  I turn my attention back to the girl, who is looking at me intently. My gaze in return is equally intent.

  Bunny stared at the Miss Kanagawa doll. Its eyes were as still as a steamy New York summer night. She looked into the eyes of each of the other four dolls. Nothing.

  This was so silly. They were dolls. Nothing more. Bunny’s imagination was running away with her. Perhaps she should go find Father.

  But something drew her back to the end of the table. To Miss Kanagawa. She reached out to stroke orange silk, her fingers hovering inches from the gown.

  “Oh, there you are.” It was Mary Louise Miller. “Mr. Reyburn says we must all wait in the mayor’s office.”

  Bunny dropped her arm but otherwise didn’t move.

  “Come on!” Mary Louise tugged at her sleeve.

  With a lingering backward glance, Bunny followed Mary Louise. But her thoughts were still inside the reception room. With Miss Kanagawa.

  “Ready, Bunny? Mary Louise? Let’s find the other girls.” Mr. Reyburn bustled over, gathering up the members of the Welcome Committee. It wasn’t until he lined them up that Bunny realized she was standing next to Belle. Thoughts about the doll quickly vanished. This was perfect for her plan!

  But then something jabbed her in the chest. She had the sensation of being poked by an umbrella. No, not an umbrella. Something less pointy. More like the end of a parasol.

  Absurd.

  Bunny shook herself.

  “Stand still, won’t you?” Belle said. Her voice sounded parched and thin.

  Bunny started to say something snippy in return. Then she caught sight of a perfect pearl-sized tear rolling out from under Belle’s eyelid and down her cheek. Belle? Crying?

  “Are you all right?” Bunny asked.

  Belle bit her lip, shaking her head no. “I’m going to make an awful mess of it,” she said. “I wish they hadn’t chosen me.”

  I wish they hadn’t chosen you, either, Bunny thought. She fingered the ma
rble in her pocket.

  Our actions make the fragrance of our lives.

  Bunny’s head snapped left, then right. Where had that voice come from? Oh, why hadn’t she eaten breakfast? Bunny shook her head to clear it. What was going on?

  “It’s time.” Mr. Reyburn cued the string quartet. The girls peeked out of the mayor’s office to watch the dignitaries file into the reception room. The screen had been set aside and there the dolls were, in full view of everyone. When the girls were given the signal to enter the reception room themselves, Bunny focused her gaze on the mayor, who was stepping up to the podium.

  Would you smell of plums? Or vinegar?

  Bunny glanced behind her. No one else seemed to hear anything. All eyes were intent on the mayor.

  Bunny discreetly tapped at her left ear. Where was this voice coming from? And what did it mean? She saw the mayor gesture right to the special envoy and then left to the dolls. But nothing he said was penetrating through the strange words in her head.

  The quartet launched into another piece. Bunny quietly cleared her throat, as if that would clear the puzzling thoughts.

  Well? What will you choose?

  Bunny tossed her head like an impatient horse.

  “Stand still,” Mary Louise hissed. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

  “Sorry.” Bunny gave her head one last stealthy shake.

  There, that seemed to do the trick. Now the only thing she heard was the quartet playing the first notes of the American national anthem. Bunny relaxed. Smiled. Stood a little taller. When the music quavered to a close, Mr. Sekiya, the special envoy traveling with the dolls, stepped to the podium and began to speak.

  Bunny’s hand slipped into her pocket, reaching for the smooth, cool marble. She glanced right. Belle was as pale as Mother’s best Irish linen. She looked as stricken as she had that day in the cloakroom.

  As if she hadn’t a friend on this earth.

  Bunny did want to be noticed. But not for smelling like vinegar. She unpocketed her hand and put it on Belle’s arm. This time, Belle did not shake it off.

  “You’re going to be wonderful,” Bunny whispered.

  Belle looked at her in surprise.

  Bunny nodded so hard all eight ringlets bounced around her head. She heard Belle take a deep breath as Mr. Reyburn waved her forward. “And here to accept Miss Japan on behalf of the children of New York City is Miss Belle Wyatt Roosevelt.”

  Belle hesitated for an instant.

  “You’re a Roosevelt,” Bunny whispered again. “Charge!”

  Belle stepped forward and gave her little speech. It wasn’t as clever as Bunny’s, but she said it nicely and only stumbled once. When she finished, she glanced Bunny’s way with a shy smile that softened her sharp face. She looked almost friendly. Bunny smiled back.

  Then a trumpet sounded and the musicians launched into the Japanese national anthem. During the majestic march, Mr. Sekiya moved solemnly over to the tables where the Ambassadors of Friendship were on display. He bowed three times to the dolls and said something in Japanese. Then he gently and carefully lifted Miss Japan off the table. He turned and slowly made his way across the shiny marble floor to Belle. When he was in front of her, he bowed to her as well. She curtsied and reached out her arms for Miss Japan. He handed her the doll.

  It must’ve been heavier than Belle expected, because it wobbled in her arms. Then she wobbled. A sharp gasp came from the row of dignitaries. The mayor rose halfway to his feet.

  In an instant, Bunny whisked to Belle’s side, helping to hold the doll until Belle could get a firm grasp. The room burst into applause as Bunny stepped back in line, ducking her head shyly. Bunny caught sight of Father, who gave her a little salute. She realized that the unpleasant poking sensation had disappeared. She felt light. Happy. And proud. As proud as if she’d given a speech herself.

  After the ceremony, after all the compliments from the adults and the other Welcome Committee girls, Bunny made her way to the table where the remaining dolls stood. She stopped in front of Miss Kanagawa, staring into her eyes. This time, she heard nothing. Saw nothing.

  How silly to expect anything different! She was only a doll, after all.

  But still …

  For ten days, all five dolls were on display at Lord & Taylor. They attracted crowds of admirers, of all ages, which pleased Mr. Reyburn no end because most of the visitors also purchased something from his store. Many came to call more than once. A ladies’ lunch group so enjoyed the dolls that they returned on the weekend with their families in tow. A local doll collectors’ association paid their respects no fewer than three times in order to fully appreciate not only the dolls but also the accoutrement that accompanied them. The association members disagreed amiably among themselves about which were more charming—the painted silk parasols, the diminutive tea sets, or the lacquered kimono boxes.

  None of the visitors, however, signed the guest book more often than one eleven-year-old girl who cajoled her nanny into taking her to call each day of the dolls’ short stay in the city. Once, Bunny bumped into Belle Roosevelt, also visiting the dolls. Bunny had heard from Mary Louise that her name had been removed from Belle’s spite book. But at the store, Belle only nodded at Bunny and went on her way.

  Every afternoon, Bunny paid her respects to Miss Kanagawa while Nanny eased her bunions in the tearoom. And every afternoon, Bunny waited for another message from the doll. But nothing came, not even one whispered word.

  On the last day of the dolls’ engagement at Lord & Taylor, Bunny was more like a snail than like her bouncy namesake. “I’ve never seen such a child!” exclaimed Nanny. “First you bustle me along the streets like there’s a fire, then you dawdle as if you’re headed for a spanking.” Nanny shook her head. “You are a puzzle.” She took off her gloves in the department store’s vestibule. “Shall I stand with you?”

  “No!” Bunny’s answer came out more sharply than she intended. “No, thank you, Nanny. I’ll meet you in the tearoom when I’m done.”

  Nanny glanced at her bodice watch. “Four o’clock?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bunny nodded, then hurried off to the dolls’ display.

  This crowd was the smallest yet. Most of the city’s residents had already been to gawk at these wonders of Japanese artistry. Bunny was glad, really, that it was a quieter day. Fewer visitors meant she could get closer to the dolls. Well, closer to Miss Kanagawa. Still, she had to hug the edges of the room for a good long while, waiting for the right moment, until there was no one around.

  Bunny was good at speeches. But when it came to finding the words on this day, it was more difficult than sitting through one of Reverend Speers’ Sunday sermons. Silly, too, were the tears stinging the back of her eyes, threatening to pop out and roll down her cheeks in a childish display of emotion. She was much too old for this piffling business of dolls.

  And yet. Here she was, tearing up at the thought of this good-bye. Ridiculous.

  A newly installed placard explained that the dolls would be sent, in groups of six, to various parts of the country; the Friendship Doll Committee hadn’t yet decided where. Only Miss Japan’s traveling days were over. She was going to the National Museum in Washington, D.C., her new permanent home.

  When Bunny finished reading all these details, she found herself alone in the room. Now was her chance.

  She cleared her throat. “Do you remember when we first met?” She looked to see if Miss Kanagawa responded. Those dark eyes stared straight ahead. “You seemed so haughty and standoffish.” Bunny grinned a wobbly grin. “Well, I don’t think I was so charming myself. But you did something to me that day. I don’t know how. I truly don’t. And maybe I made it all up, because you haven’t spoken to me since.” Bunny put her hands in her pockets. “Father said his buttons popped right off his vest when I came to the rescue, he was so proud. Mother can’t stop telling all her friends about it. And Winnifred has written my name back on the coming-out tea guest list.” Bunny roll
ed her eyes. “Not that that’s any great prize.”

  Bunny thought that remark might get a tiny reaction from her quiet friend. But no.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you. So I wanted to give you this.” Bunny pulled something from her right pocket, and then set it inside the doll-sized steamer trunk that rested at Miss Kanagawa’s feet.

  “Good-bye.” Bunny bowed, three times, to the doll, as she had seen Mr. Sekiya do.

  “Bunny! Oh, there you are!” Nanny bustled over. “I nearly had apoplexy. You were to meet me at four! And now it’s nearly a quarter past the hour.” Nanny’s wrinkled cheeks flared pink with worry.

  “I’m so sorry, Nanny. I lost track of time.” Bunny hugged the old lady. “I’m ready now.” She twined her arm through Nanny’s and they made their way to the front of the store. Bunny didn’t glance back. She didn’t dare. It was the only way to keep from blubbering.

  Lord & Taylor’s front doors closed promptly at five p.m. Shortly after, a specially hired crew appeared to pack up Miss Japan and her six companions. Each accessory—from black lacquer fan case to tea tin—was carefully wrapped in cotton batting. After each doll’s possessions were cared for, then began the process of placing doll and belongings in the trunk, like fitting together a jigsaw puzzle.

  “What’s this?” asked the frizzy-haired woman in charge of Miss Kanagawa.

  “Looks like a marble,” said one of the other packing committee members.

  “Shall I remove it?” asked Frizzy Hair.

  “If it’s in the trunk, it must belong there,” said a third packer.

  Miss Kanagawa felt herself lifted off the stand she’d rested on for ten long days. Gently, she was wrapped in muslin and placed in her trunk. The lid closed, locks setting with a double click. In the dark, Miss Kanagawa felt something resting under her graceful hand. It was round and smooth and polished.