Ship of Dolls

by Shirley Parenteau

  “I would like to hear your poem. Do you have a copy?”

  “I know it by heart. It’s just seventeen syllables. That’s what haiku poems are. Seventeen syllables in three lines. They’re supposed to be about nature and feelings.”

  “Why don’t you recite your poem for me?” Grandma sat back to listen.

  Lexie closed her eyes for a moment, bringing the words to mind, then put Emily Grace on the bed and stood up. “It goes like this:

  “We feel cold inside.

  Our doll must go to Japan.

  New friends wait for her.”

  The poem made Lexie sad again. She glanced at Emily Grace. Already, the doll felt as if it belonged to her. It would be hard to send her away to Japan.

  “I see you have the best part of your mother,” Grandma said. “What I know of her, she likes songs and singing.”

  Lexie wondered if Grandma thought that was a bad thing, but Grandma stood up and gave her a hug. “It’s a pretty poem. I can hear you put your heart into it.”

  Now, Lexie told herself. Now is the time to tell Grandma about taking the doll by accident. “Grandma,” she began.

  “You just make sure it’s the best parts of your mother you take,” Grandma said, as if Lexie didn’t have good sense after all.

  Grandma would find a way to blame Mama for the accident with the doll. She always found a way to blame Mama, even when she didn’t say it out loud. Lexie had seen the blame in her eyes. Resentment curled through her. Maybe she should wait a little longer to say what had really happened.

  All through the weekend, she couldn’t get away from knowing she had to tell Grandma the truth. But she couldn’t find the right words or the right time to admit that she had taken the doll from the teacher’s rented room without permission.

  Her haiku said she felt cold inside. And she did.

  As she started for school on Monday, Jack surprised her by catching up and walking with her. He pointed to the box with Emily Grace. “Who takes something that doesn’t belong to them, and for punishment gets that same thing? Cripes! Who does that?”

  Lexie thought she knew the answer. She thought Miss Tompkins had a kinder heart than she let on. When Miss Tompkins had heard about Mama and Toby and that Lexie needed to write the best letter so she could see Mama in San Francisco, the anger had left her face. She had understood then why Lexie needed to hold the doll. Would Grandma understand, too? Lexie was afraid to find out.

  “So that’s your punishment?” Jack’s tone said he didn’t believe it.

  “I’ve never sewn anything before,” Lexie told him. “I only have three weeks to work on it after school, and the dress has to be nice enough to go to Japan!” Her heart thudded. The other kids would never let her forget it if she ruined Emily Grace’s second dress.

  She didn’t want to talk about that. “The letter is what’s important,” she told Jack. “It has to make the girls in Japan like Emily Grace.” And win the contest.

  “Why wouldn’t they like her?”

  “She’ll be different, with her blue eyes and blond curls.” Lexie frowned. “Maybe the letter should ask those girls to be nice.”

  Jack kicked a stone from the path. “Isn’t that like saying they might not be nice?”

  “Maybe the letter should say Emily Grace is bringing a hug from girls who want to be friends.”

  “Put that in along with your haiku and you’ll have it done.” He walked away to join friends throwing a ball over the school woodshed to a team on the other side. They whooped and laughed as he joined them. One made kissing sounds toward Lexie.

  She wanted to tell Jack she liked his idea about putting the haiku in the letter. Now was not the time. Raising her chin, refusing to look at the whooping boys, she walked to the school porch to watch over Emily Grace in her box.

  The school bell hadn’t rung yet when shouts broke out on the playground. “It’s a fight!” someone shouted, running toward a gathering crowd.

  Louise glanced over as she came up the walk. “Boys.”

  Someone else yelled, “It’s Oliver! And Jack!”

  Jack! Lexie ran toward the crowd. She heard Jack shout, “Take it back!”

  Oliver Johnson, a red-​haired boy who sometimes offered to carry her books, yelled back, “You luuve her! Ow!”

  Lexie stopped short. Loved who? Oh, no! That kiss! Could they be fighting because of the kiss? Jack was never going to forgive her.

  The principal, Mr. Anderson, raced from the building.

  “Hit him again!” someone yelled.

  “You got him, Jack!” another shouted.

  A third screamed, “Come on, Ollie!”

  The shouting stopped as suddenly as it had started. The boys scattered as Mr. Anderson waded in. Moments later, he came past Lexie, towing Jack with one arm and Oliver with the other. Both boys were red faced, their shirts pulled loose and dusty. Blood oozed from Oliver’s lip and reddened Jack’s cheek.

  As the principal hauled him toward the school, Jack looked straight at Lexie. The hard look on his face was one she had never seen before and never wanted to see again.

  Jack and Oliver arrived in class just after Miss Tompkins rang her bell, but she made them sit at the front on opposite sides of the room. There was no chance for Lexie to speak to Jack. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  He didn’t want to talk to her. He made that clear at noon recess. She hated feeling responsible for his fight, especially when he kept rubbing his forehead as if it hurt. Ollie’s swollen lip didn’t bother her. He probably deserved it.

  Since Jack was at the front of the room, he was one of the last to leave after school. When he saw Lexie waiting by the door, he snapped, “I’m not walking with you.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  His head hurts. That’s why he’s mean, she told herself. “What was it about? The fight?”

  His face flushed. “Your eye should be turning black, not mine. You took the doll from the teacher’s room. This should be your punishment.”

  She hadn’t expected that. “I was punished.”

  “Yeah. Punished. By getting to sew a dress. By getting to hold the doll, even take her home. You were punished, all right.” He brushed past her and ran toward the street.

  Lexie yelled after him, “At least I’m not dumb enough to get into a fight!”

  Lexie couldn’t stop feeling that it was her fault Jack was mad. She hoped he didn’t get in trouble with his mother for fighting. After supper, she climbed into the tree between the two houses and threw twigs at his window. His blind was pulled all the way down. He didn’t raise it, although she saw his shadow when he moved past. She also noticed that the window was open an inch at the bottom.

  Leaning as near as she dared, she called, “Jack? Are you all right?”

  No answer.

  She threw another handful of twigs. When the blind stayed down, she gave up and crawled back to her room.

  She hadn’t told him to fight Oliver. And if he did want to fight, he should have known better than to do it at school. “Louise said it right,” she muttered. “Boys!”

  The dress was almost finished. Grandma kept her promise to help, and over the next three days, taught her to use the treadle sewing machine. That turned out to be even harder than Lexie expected and a lot harder than it looked. Her first practice scraps of material slipped and twisted under the needle. Her seams were so crooked, she wanted to hide them.

  Grandma tsked her tongue but said only, “Never mind. It’s all part of learning.”

  While they sat side by side at the machine, Lexie felt closer to Grandma than she ever had before. It confused her when she thought about it. She felt close to Grandma, but she wasn’t friends with Jack anymore. It was easier to keep her mind on the sewing.

  Rocking her feet on the treadle while her hands guided the material was like patting her head and rubbing her stomach at the same time. Threads tangled and broke. Bobbin thread snarled. Somet
imes she pulled the fabric too fast and the stitches got too far apart. Just when she had it, the needle broke.

  That sharp snap! went through Lexie almost as if the needle had poked her hand. “Oh! I broke it!”

  “We have another.” While Grandma unscrewed the tiny wheel and replaced the broken needle, she got a faraway look on her face. “Did I ever tell you about the first needle I broke?”

  As they worked, Grandma told stories about her own first lessons on the treadle machine. She put her hand over Lexie’s to help guide the fabric. She felt warm and comfortable, and Lexie liked hearing her stories.

  Jack had avoided Lexie since the fight on Monday. She told herself she didn’t care. If he didn’t talk to her, he wouldn’t play jokes on her, and that was just the way she wanted it.

  On Friday, she hurried from school eager to finish the dress, but stopped in the hall. Grandma and Grandpa were talking in the kitchen. Mama always said eavesdroppers never heard good about themselves, but a sharp tone in Grandma’s voice held Lexie in the doorway, listening.

  “I have more common sense in my little finger than that woman has in her entire body,” Grandma said, her voice rising. “It’s not right to raise the child’s hopes.”

  Grandpa answered more quietly. Lexie couldn’t make out his words, but her breath caught when she heard her name. They were talking about her.

  “Who would accompany her?” Grandma demanded. “She could not travel alone, and steamship tickets do not grow on trees.”

  Lexie’s thoughts swirled. Steamship tickets . . . travel. The need to know more propelled her into the kitchen. “Have you heard from Mama?”

  Grandpa glanced at Grandma. There was no gentleness on her face as she shoved an envelope into her apron pocket. “If a matter concerns you, young lady, you will know soon enough. Right now, I believe you have homework.”

  Lexie looked at Grandpa, hoping he would say something, but he simply picked up his newspaper and settled into his chair by the stove. Later, Lexie decided, watching Grandma busy herself at the table with the envelope still in her pocket. I’ll ask her again when she’s in a better mood.

  That night, she dreamed letters flew about her, just out of reach. She grabbed for them, but they fluttered from the tips of her fingers while Mama’s voice laughed lightly from their folds.

  The chance to ask about the letter crammed into Grandma’s pocket never quite came. Grandma kept busy and kept Lexie busy. Grandpa’s thoughts seemed always on his work at the bank.

  Grandma helped set sleeves into the doll’s dress and make a sash of contrasting blue. There was enough of the blue material to make a matching collar. After supper on Sunday, Lexie sat at the kitchen table, hand-​sewing the hem with tiny stitches because Grandma said machine stitches would show.

  The brassy sound of big-​band music curled around the room from Grandpa’s radio. He rocked in his chair near the cookstove, reading his newspaper. Nearby, Grandma worked on her ironing. A tempting smell of cinnamon apples from a pie set out for later scented the room along with the warm smell of freshly ironed cotton.

  We’re a family, Lexie thought, almost surprised. We really feel like a family at last.

  Now might be the right time to explain about needing to hold the doll and accidentally taking her down the ladder. Lexie turned words in her head, trying to choose the ones that would make Grandma and Grandpa understand. She still had to ask about the letter from Mama. Which should she do first?

  She took a solid grip on her courage. “Grandma . . .”

  The front doorbell jangled. Relief rushed through Lexie, but she ground her teeth. Now that she felt ready to go ahead and explain everything, she wanted to get it over with.

  Grandma set her iron on its metal stand and walked into the hallway to the front door. Voices came to Lexie. She recognized Mrs. Wilkins’s sharp tone.

  Something about it made Lexie lower the doll dress to her lap. She noticed Grandpa look up from his newspaper. Then Mrs. Wilkins said clearly, “That’s what Louise heard from Jack. I just thought you should know.”

  Jack! As a sharp sense of betrayal stabbed her, Lexie heard the door close. Grandma came into the kitchen with her eyes snapping. “I have received distressing information. Electra, I believe you have something to tell us.”

  Resistance tore through Lexie, feeling even deeper than her disappointment in Jack. She knew that expression. Grandma had already made up her mind to think something bad. She had probably found a way to blame Mama, too. Lexie bent over the doll dress, forcing her needle to take tiny stitches in the hem, refusing to think about anything but the stitches.

  “Electra?”

  It was like Mama’s letter. Grandma had made up her mind not to share, even when the letter was clearly about Lexie. She hadn’t listened when Lexie tried to tell her about the accident with the doll because she was busy cleaning for her book club ladies. Now it was too late. Her mind was set.

  “Do not ignore me, young lady.”

  “What difference does it make?” Lexie muttered.

  Grandma moved one step closer. “My own mother never put up with muttering from young people old enough to speak clearly. Let me hear you, Electra. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Lexie raised her head, pain making her angrier. Why didn’t Grandpa say something? He never questioned Grandma, as if she were ruler of the household. Papa was like that, too. He had laughed at Mama sometimes, but he never said she was wrong. This was why. He’d learned how to keep peace from Grandpa. No help would be coming.

  Silence forced Lexie to speak. “You’ve already decided I’m wrong.”

  She glanced at Grandma in time to see a strained look cross her face. Lexie felt her body grow tight in defense.

  They’d been so friendly together, like a family. Now everything had changed, and deep inside, she knew it was her fault for taking the doll from Miss Tompkins’s room.

  “Do you hear yourself?” Grandma demanded. “In my day, a flippant answer was not tolerated. But you get that from your mother.”

  Lexie lurched to her feet, glad to aim the hurt away from herself. “I knew you would blame Mama! You always blame Mama! But my mama would never listen to a lady saying mean things at the door. She would shut the door in her face!”

  As Grandma drew in a sharp breath, Grandpa set his paper on the table and got to his feet. He stepped behind Lexie and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Sophie, give the child a chance to tell her side of the matter.”

  “That is exactly what I am trying to do.” Grandma visibly controlled her temper, though her cheeks had become bright pink. “I will ask you again, Electra. What happened at the Harmons’ boardinghouse with that doll meant for Japan?”

  An ache spread through Lexie, blurring her thoughts and stabbing her heart. All she really knew was how desperately she missed Mama. Grandma blamed Mama for everything. It wasn’t fair.

  Feeling defiance flare inside her, she raised her head. “You aren’t my mama. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  Grandpa’s hands tightened on her shoulders, as if in warning. Too late. The words were out. And she wasn’t sorry. She’d been sorry enough.

  With her eyes too bright, Grandma walked over to the cookstove. “We are happy to have you with us, Electra, but you will not grow up to be as heedless as your mother. Not if I have anything to say about it, and I believe I do.”

  She shoved the lid lifter under the heavy stove lid and pulled it to one side. “To lead me to believe that sewing the doll’s dress was an honor was a lie of omission. To my mind, that is no better than a lie spoken.” Flames leaped from the wood burning in the open firebox. Grandma’s voice snapped like the sparks. “Bring that dress over here.”

  Shock washed the feeling from Lexie’s face and arms to somewhere deep inside. All the resistance left her. Grandma couldn’t . . . She couldn’t mean to burn Emily Grace’s dress. “But . . . it’s almost done.”

  Sounding far away, Grandpa protested. �
��Sophie?”

  Lexie hesitated, hoping Grandpa would somehow make things right.

  Grandma raised the cast-iron lid higher. The fire burning below made a wavering glow on the surface. “A hard lesson is a lesson well learned.”

  Lexie held up the dress, as if it could change Grandma’s mind. “See . . .? The stitches barely show.”

  “Drop it in here.”

  Lexie’s fingers clenched over the pretty flower-​sprigged dress with its blue-​trimmed collar and matching sash. She thought of all the tiny stitches she had hand-​sewn into it. Miss Tompkins would be impressed.

  But Miss Tompkins was never going to see it.

  “Electra.”

  “I was going to borrow Emily Grace to try the dress on her. Miss Tompkins said I could.”

  Without seeming to move her lips, Grandma asked, “Did you hear what I said?”

  Angry tears burned down Lexie’s cheeks. She twisted around to look up at Grandpa but saw no rescue, though his face looked troubled.

  Pride rushed new heat through Lexie’s chilled body. She could be as strong as Grandma. She was as strong. But until she got to San Francisco, she had to do as Grandma and Grandpa told her. Even when she knew they were wrong. Lurching to her feet, she held the dress before her and tried to see it as nothing but firewood.

  Grief could wait. Her entire body felt stiff with the feelings she locked inside as she crossed the kitchen to the cookstove. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t dare. Her courage might not last.

  She brought the dress over the open stove, held it briefly — in case Grandma had an unlikely change of heart — then opened her fingers and let it fall.

  For a moment, the flower-​sprigged cotton lay on the burning wood. Lexie nearly reached in to snatch it back. The cloth caught fire. Flames leaped. Grandma wasn’t finished. “Bring the pattern.”

  “Surely she’s done enough,” Grandpa said.

  Both Lexie and Grandma paid him no mind. Anger rode over anguish within Lexie, driving her to the sewing cabinet. She pulled open one of the small drawers and jerked the folded paper pattern pieces from under the scissors.