by Kirby Larson
As she lay there, a dull ache pulsed under the left side of her orange silk kimono, like a toothache.
Or a heartbeat.
Middles
In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
MUSEUM TO AUCTION ITEMS
Making room for a New and Exciting Focus, says Board President
CHICAGO, MAR. 30, 1933 (AP) — The Wrobel Museum of Illinois History has a new leader with a fresh vision.
“We’re very pleased that the museum and its exhibits will be returning to a focus on state history,” said Mrs. Marvin George, museum board president. She declined to comment further, promising that more information would be made available next month.
In the meantime, in order to make room for new acquisitions and exhibits, the museum will be auctioning off surplus items. One of the objects headed for the auction block is a doll sent to the children of this country by Japanese schoolchildren in 1927.
MISS KANAGAWA
Not that I would ever grumble, but these Americans have strange ways of treating an honored guest. When we first arrived, my sisters and I were feted and celebrated. The parties! The crowds of admirers! The photographers and reporters!
After touring the country for a time, we went our separate ways, to museums. At first, so many people wanted to pay their respects that visitors were required to make appointments. Then, like the water in a late summer stream, the public’s interest waned. One day, no appointments were needed, and some time after that—I have no idea how long it was because time passes much differently for a doll than it does for a human—I was rudely removed from my display and once again closed up in my trunk with all my belongings.
Ah, well. It is restful in here, wrapped not only in muslin and cotton batt but in warm memories. I cannot help but think of the girl with eyes the color of rice fields in early spring. That little scamp.
I saw right through her, snip-snap, and those plans of hers to ruin the moment for the other girl. Why I bothered about such affairs, I have no idea. I was created for bigger things, after all. Miss Japan was the one always going on and on about opening one’s heart. Oddly, my elder sister could not see beyond that girl’s bright green eyes to the cloud of loneliness beneath. It was up to me to be of service, trusted emissary that I am. Thanks to me, that girl could not carry through her wicked deed.
What’s that noise? Could it be? Oh, yes! The lid of my trunk is now opening. The light! It will feel heavenly to see again after this long, dark rest.
Ooof! That clumsy oaf needs to take more care in setting me on my feet. Doesn’t he realize I’ve been cooped up for ages?
My goodness. What a lot of dolls! None as attractive as me, of course.
A roly-poly baby doll greets me: Another visitor from another land. Welcome.
Master Tatsuhiko would have shuddered to see this doll—a toy, really—with a button on her stomach that a child could push to make the doll clap her hands. How unrefined!
Ah, mon amie, I completely agree with you. A slim Bleuette doll in a black beret and red velvet cloak is standing to my right. Some people have such odd ideas about dolls. They think us mere playthings.
I remember this from my Waking Time before. There were children who had come to the museum to see me and were quite dismayed to learn they could not undress me or comb my hair. It is my job to accept strange customs, I explain to the Bleuette doll, who lets me know her name is Brigitte and that she is from France. I am an ambassador. An Ambassador of Friendship from Japan.
Ooh-la-la. It is an honor, Madame. I am at your service.
Now that my eyes are adjusting to the light, I can see I am in a vast room filled with dolls of every shape and variety. Some have been modeled after children, and some after animals, like that elephant and brown bear in the far corner. Some are elegant, like myself and my French friend, but others are nothing more than bits of yarn and muslin, like that raggedy brother-and-sister pair with the unruly red hair and striped stockings. And there are some dolls made simply from paper. It is amazing. Astonishing.
Brigitte, what is this place? There are so many of us.
That I do not know. But, alors, here comes the bearded man. He is the one who has brought us all here. Brigitte has alerted me to a portly figure, puffing into the room, carrying an armful of doll stands. He is speaking to a younger, slimmer man.
“I tell you,” he says, “even at ten cents a head, we’ll make a fortune with this exhibit. They say that over one million people will attend the fair. Think of it! One million.” The bearded man stops to pat his forehead with a dingy handkerchief.
“I sure hope so, Pop. With so many people out of work, though …” The younger man’s voice is tinged with doubt.
“This Depression is all the more reason for people to come! You watch. They’re hungry for something bright, something shiny. And this Chicago World’s Fair is just the ticket.” The bearded man stuffs his handkerchief into his back pocket. “Come on, we’ve got another shipping crate to unload.” They bustle out of the room.
A World’s Fair! That sounds important, very important indeed. That’s why I was sent here. Greeting visitors from all the world over will be an enormous responsibility. I look around the room again. It is no wonder the bearded man enlisted my help. With such a ragtag collection, he is going to need it.
DOWNERS GROVE, ILLINOIS—1933
Lois Brown
March
Lois Brown was five minutes older than her best friend, Mabel Hedquist, and five times more reckless. She’d chipped a front tooth sailing off the banister at age six and wore a dashing scar over her left eye from soaring off the swings into the wild blue yonder in third grade. Now she lay in a heap on the ground, certain some of her parts weren’t working right.
Mabel and her younger brother Johnny came running over. “Is anything broken?” Johnny asked.
Lois closed her eyes. “My shoulder feels funny.”
“You don’t look very good,” said Mabel. She knelt next to her friend, her own face as white as the milk in the bottles on the neighbor’s porch. “Johnny, go get Mrs. Brown. I’ll wait here.”
Johnny’s bare feet flew across the vacant lot and toward the Brown home.
Lois opened her eyes, managing a weak smile. “I was flying there. For a second.”
Mabel shook her head. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.” She glanced up at the barn roof where her friend had been perched a few moments ago.
“I need a bigger umbrella, that’s all.” Lois closed her eyes again.
Dad actually laughed at supper that night when Mom told him what had happened. “She’s a Brown, all right,” he said. “Like a hound on a scent. Gets her mind set on something and tracks it down.”
Mom clucked her tongue. “Howard, don’t you give her one ounce of encouragement. The doctor said she was lucky it was only her collarbone broken. It could’ve been her neck! Next time—”
“The good thing about breaking a collarbone,” Lois interjected, “is that there isn’t much for the doctor to do.” That hadn’t been the case when she’d needed her forehead stitched up. That time, the doctor said there wasn’t another child in Downers Grove that he’d patched up as much as he had Lois. She took that as a compliment. Not Mom. Since there wasn’t much that could be done for a broken collarbone except let it heal, Mom rigged up a sling with an old scarf to help keep the bone in place.
“There is nothing good about breaking a bone, no matter what kind it is,” Mom said. “This fixation on flying has got to stop. You are no Amelia Earhart! The next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll make sure you don’t sit down for a week. You listen to me, now.”
“Yes, Mom.” Lois finished her scalloped potatoes. “May I please be excused?”
“You may.” Dad took another biscuit.
“To your room,” Mom said.
“But—” Lois had hoped to go across the street to Mabel’s to show off the sling.
“No
buts. I think you need some time to consider your rash actions.” Mom folded her arms across her apron. When she did that, no amount of wheedling would work. Lois awkwardly carried her plate to the sink and trudged to her room.
She eased on top of her chenille bedspread, trying to find a pain-free position. Gazing up at the ceiling, she studied the magazine pictures she’d thumbtacked there—Charles Lindbergh and Wiley Post, sure, but lady fliers, too, like Amelia Earhart, Bessie Coleman, and Florence “Pancho” Barnes. And she imagined herself in every photo, in each pilot’s place—standing next to The Spirit of St. Louis, climbing into the cockpit of Amelia’s Canary, bringing Wiley Post’s Winnie Mae in for a landing. It wasn’t that much of a stretch for Lois to dream of being a pilot. There were lots of women aviators! But it took money to learn to fly. Lots of it. And money was in awfully short supply in the Brown household.
Lois shifted her arm so her shoulder didn’t ache as much. One day, she would soar through the clouds. She would. No matter how long it took.
April
Lois knew her mother was upset the minute she stepped into the kitchen after school. And it wasn’t simply because Great-aunt Eunice was sitting at the table across from her, tapping her walking stick on the floor and complaining about Mom’s watery coffee. The two telltale spots of pink on Mom’s face were a sure sign she was peeved.
Lois closed the back door quietly behind her. For one brief moment, she thought Aunt Eunice might not pay her any mind. She tiptoed across the black and white linoleum tiles.
“I see your arm is healed up. I certainly hope it doesn’t end up shorter than the other one. Heaven knows where you get such ideas. Flying!” Aunt Eunice helped herself to another cookie from Mom’s Blue Willow plate. “In my day, girls weren’t allowed to run wild like little hooligans.” She finished the cookie, then held out her age-spotted hand. “Wasn’t today spelling test day? Where is your paper?”
Lois glanced at Mom, who gave her a best-do-as-she-says nod. She unbuckled the straps of her book bag and slid the test out, presenting it to Aunt Eunice.
She looked down her nose at it. “Ninety-nine percent.” Her wrinkly mouth puckered up even more, like she’d bit into a sour apple. “Study harder next time.” She waved the test at Lois as if it were a dead mouse.
“Yes, ma’am.” Lois took the paper and started for her room again.
“I don’t recall dismissing you.” The kitchen chair creaked as Aunt Eunice shifted forward. “Ellie, you must teach this child some manners.”
The pink spots on Mom’s cheeks glowed brighter. She held out her arms to Lois, who stepped into the comfort of her mother’s embrace.
“Let’s see your hands.”
Lois hesitated.
“Hands,” repeated Aunt Eunice.
Slowly, Lois held them out.
“Still biting your nails, I see.” Aunt Eunice seemed almost pleased to find this additional flaw.
“May I be excused, Mom? I have homework.” That was a fib, but Lois was desperate to escape Aunt Eunice’s scrutiny. Next would be a comment that Lois’ hair was too curly or some such, but sooner or later Aunt Eunice would shift her arrows from Lois to Dad.
Today, though, Aunt Eunice went straight from the bitten nails to Dad. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that your husband has found work.”
“Howard is this very day exploring an opportunity in Joliet.” Mom stood up and stepped over to the stove. “More coffee, Eunice?” She picked up the percolator.
Aunt Eunice held her hand over her cup. “No. No more.” She took another cookie—the last. Jeepers! Talk about needing to learn some manners! “Today’s men simply don’t know how to apply themselves. My Milton worked every day of his life.”
Lois wished she had a nickel for every time she’d heard about Uncle Milton being such a hard worker. Dad said he worked that hard because he never wanted to be at home with Aunt Eunice. Mom had laughed when Dad said that, but then had scolded him. “Howard—she’s family.”
Lois didn’t know how Mom could keep her thoughts to herself when Aunt Eunice started in on Dad. It whittled at Lois’ heart to watch him grow quieter and quieter each day he was out of work. He was a crackerjack mechanic. But he’d fixed every car and tractor in town that needed fixing. This morning, he’d hitched a ride to Joliet because he’d heard there might be a job there.
“May I be excused?” Lois asked again.
“Of course,” Mom said.
“Not yet.” Aunt Eunice brushed molasses-cookie crumbs from her fingers before reaching into her enormous pocketbook, from which she produced a colorful pamphlet. With a flourish, she deposited it on the table.
Lois couldn’t help herself. The bright letters on the front cover commanded attention. She edged closer to get a better look. “The Chicago World’s Fair: A Century of Progress.” She’d heard about the fair—who hadn’t? Mabel’s cousin got a job there and he told Mabel it was like working in a Jules Verne novel, with something fantastic everywhere he turned.
“Education is more than simply sitting at a desk,” Aunt Eunice declared. Lois looked up at her, confused. “Experiences are also educational. And I have decided to expand your education, Lois, by taking you to the World’s Fair.”
Lois could hardly trust her ears. To go to the fair! With money as tight as it was, she hadn’t even let herself dream about the possibility. Wait till she told Mabel! Then she stopped. Going to the fair with her great-aunt was another story.
“Isn’t there something you want to say?” Aunt Eunice demanded.
“Th-thank you?” Lois stammered.
Aunt Eunice nodded. “You may keep the pamphlet. I thought we’d go on opening day. May twenty-seventh. We’ll start out early. No need for breakfast. We’ll dine at the Quaker Oats Pavilion. Ten cents for all the pancakes you can eat, cooked by Aunt Jemima herself.”
“This is very generous of you, Eunice,” Mom said. “Lois is so over the moon, she can hardly speak.” She gave Lois a look that meant Say something.
Lois reached for the pamphlet, picked it up, and held it to her chest. “Thank you, Aunt Eunice. This is the best surprise ever.”
Aunt Eunice adjusted her hat. “Very well, then. Now, you may be excused.”
It was all Lois could do not to run to her bedroom. She forced herself to walk slowly and ladylike. She didn’t want to do anything that would make Aunt Eunice change her mind about the offer. Even if it meant going with her great-aunt, she was going to the World’s Fair! Lickety-split, she changed into her play clothes, slipped out the front door, and ran across the street to Mabel’s.
“Oh, you have to remember everything,” Mabel said when Lois told her. The girls sat on a twin bed in the room Mabel shared with her sister, Elaine. “I want to hear about it all.”
“I’ll look at everything twice—once for you and once for me.” Lois hugged her knees to her chest. “I wish you could come, too.”
A wistful look wavered across Mabel’s face. Then she brightened, taking the pamphlet from Lois and spreading it open on the bed. “Come on. Let’s plan out everything you’re going to see.”
Lois edged closer for a better look at the pamphlet, Mabel’s enthusiasm making her feel all the more guilty that she was going to the fair and Mabel wasn’t. She thought about all the times Mr. Hedquist had brought back souvenirs from his business trips, not just for Mabel but for her. It always made Lois feel like a little part of her could claim having been to Pittsburgh or Cleveland or even New York City. She’d about fainted clean away when he brought her that handkerchief from Des Moines. It had a picture of Amelia Earhart’s plane, the Canary, printed on each corner. That had been the last souvenir he’d brought her because, shortly after that business trip, the bank he’d been working for closed down.
“Did you hear me?” Mabel asked. “I said, did you see this?” She pointed to the first page of the pamphlet, which was titled: “The Chicago World’s Fair: What Will It Cost You?” Everything was spelled out. Fifty cents adm
ission for adults, a quarter for children. Mabel read aloud: “All important Exhibit buildings, admission free, such as Hall of Science, Travel and Transport, General Exhibits, Hall of States, and fifty other buildings.” She set the pamphlet down, shaking her head. “That’s a lot to see for a quarter!”
“Look at this!” Lois hopped to her knees. There, on the next page, was something straight out of Buck Rogers. “The Sky Ride. Sky. Ride.” She nudged Mabel. “Read that part!”
Mabel did as Lois asked. “Two towers,” she read, “higher than any building in Chicago—stand like giant sentinels, 1,850 feet apart, seeming to guard the Hall of Science on the Mainland, and the Hall of Social Science across the Lagoon. They are the support of the spectacular Sky Ride, great thrill feature of A Century of Progress. Six hundred and twenty-eight feet they rise into the skies, with observation floors atop them. On a 200-foot level the rocket cars offer you a beautiful and, mayhap, thrilling ride across the lagoon.”
“A thrilling ride across the lagoon,” Lois repeated, then sighed. “Just think—zooming two hundred feet above the ground. It would be like flying!” She got goose bumps thinking about it.
“I don’t think you’d best mention flying to your aunt,” Mabel said. “Or anyone else, for that matter. You don’t want your mother to change her mind about letting you go.”
Lois grinned. “Roger and out.” She read farther down the page. “Look what it says here. The ride costs twenty-five cents.” She flipped the pamphlet closed. Her grin faded. “I guess that lets me out.”
“If I had a quarter, I’d give it to you,” Mabel said. “So you could ride across the sky.”
Lois hugged her. “You’re the best,” she said.
When Lois and Mom sat down that night—without Dad—to plates of lima beans for the fourth night in a row, Lois couldn’t eat. Her insides were plumb full of excitement about going to the fair.
