“She is,” Lexie reminded her.
“You’re right. She’s going farther than either of us is likely to go.”
Lexie looked sadly at Emily Grace. She stood near the center of the line of dolls, smiling out at the audience as if she knew adventure lay just ahead and couldn’t wait to begin. “I’ll miss you,” Lexie whispered.
A ship’s horn blasted outside on the river, briefly overwhelming conversation in the warehouse as everyone settled into seats.
“You okay?” Jack asked again, dropping into a folding chair beside Lexie. She nodded, giving him the big smile she had practiced. No one was going to watch her heart break.
“You look like the Cheshire Cat,” he said. When she made her smile even bigger, he laughed and turned to talk to a friend in the row behind. At least he was sitting beside her. She had half expected him to find a seat across the room.
The high-school band tuned their instruments at one side of the dolls’ table. Excitement crackled as everyone waited to hear who, of all the girls in the class, would be going to San Francisco with Emily Grace.
Lexie looked at the other dolls. Many were from schools or towns in Oregon. Others were from the nearby states of Washington and Idaho. She knew that many groups from churches to parent-teacher organizations and Girl Scouts had helped buy and dress the dolls.
“Look there,” Grandma said. “That one’s dressed up like one of Florence Nightingale’s nurses. Weren’t they supposed to look like average American girls?”
“That’s what the instructions said.” Lexie was surprised by the clothing choices, too. Another was a boy doll dressed in a police uniform. What would the people at the girls’ festival in Japan think of that?
Jack elbowed her in the side. She glanced at him, then to the head of the room. Mr. Wilkins had just walked to the front. He stood beside the dolls and waited for the audience to grow silent.
Jack leaned closer to whisper, “He’ll have a lot to say and all of it boring.”
Lexie giggled, then put a hand over her mouth when Grandma gave her a warning look.
Jack was right. Mr. Wilkins did talk too long before the band played and again when they finished. She stopped listening and instead mentally listed things she could have been doing instead of sitting here pretending to be happy for someone else.
1. Sleeping.
2. Nestling into Grandpa’s rocking chair with a book.
3. Playing with Annie.
4. Writing to Mama. But what would she say, that she’d lost their one chance to be together?
She forced a smile to her lips. She was going to congratulate the winner, whoever it was.
Jack leaned closer, his thoughts apparently following hers. “Did you find that letter?”
“No.” Since she’d met him, Jack had played a lot of tricks. Could Jack have taken the letter? Could that be his idea of a joke?
She pushed the thought away. Even Jack wouldn’t make a joke of a letter he knew meant everything to her.
At the front of the room, Mr. Wilkins was finally running out of words, or at least turning to new ones. “The dolls will not leave until January fourth,” he said. “We are celebrating today, before the Christmas break, so our winner will not be left in suspense.” When he introduced Mrs. Phipps, a parent volunteer who was in charge of the letter-writing contest, Lexie felt her heart leap. Despite herself, she leaned forward to hear who had won.
Mrs. Phipps smiled at Louise’s father. “Mr. Wilkins’s generosity has made it possible for our sixth-grade class to send a doll to Japan for the girls’ festival of Hinamatsuri. We are grateful to him.”
After applause, she turned to the audience. “All those who entered the contest put their thoughts and hearts into their letters,” she said. “However, the exceptional work of one stood apart from all the others. It was a clear winner from the beginning.”
Fresh pain gripped Lexie. No one put their heart into their letter more than I did. But no one would hear the letter she had lost.
To her surprise, Grandma clasped one hand over hers. The warm touch helped her relax a little.
“Since none of the boys were interested,” Mrs. Phipps continued, “it gives me great pleasure to announce the name of the young lady who will receive a paid trip for herself and her chaperone. The two of them will accompany all these fine dolls to San Francisco, California.”
Despite Grandma’s comforting touch, Lexie sank lower in her chair. Excitement swept through the crowd. It made her feel the loss of her letter even more. The paper must have slipped from her book while she walked to school, but she had looked and looked for it. Her eyes blurred, but she would not cry. She would smile and congratulate the winner. Somehow.
Mrs. Phipps unfolded a paper. “The young lady who impressed us with her letter and will be traveling with the dolls to San Francisco is” — she paused, glancing over the crowd with a smile while an expectant hush hung over everyone — “Miss Louise Wilkins.”
Lexie’s breath caught sharply. Louise. Of course it was Louise. Hadn’t she always known it would be?
She felt Grandma look at her, probably wondering if she would remember to smile and congratulate the winner. She couldn’t think of a single thing she would rather do less.
Beside her, Jack said with surprising loyalty, “She brought in the most money. Maybe that’s why they chose her.”
In silence, not trusting her voice, Lexie watched Louise thread her way from the audience and walk to the front of the room. She looked proud and not at all surprised.
“Congratulations, Louise,” Mrs. Phipps said. “Your letter is lovely. We would like to have you read it to everyone.”
Louise looked startled. She took the paper Mrs. Phipps was handing her and looked over at her father, then out at the audience. Her gaze brushed Lexie before moving away.
There was a long pause. Mrs. Phipps said, “Go ahead, dear.”
Louise looked at the paper again, then said with defiance in her voice, “This is what I wrote.” When she began to read, her voice rang over the crowd.
Jack nudged Lexie. “Her letter sounds a lot like yours.”
It did, but they must have all written the same things about hoping the girls in Japan would welcome Emily Grace and telling them the doll brought their friendship with her.
“I decided to include a Japanese poem to say how I felt,” Louise finished. “It’s called a haiku, and this is what it says:
“My doll travels far,
Her arms open wide for hugs.
Will blossoms greet her?”
Lexie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. While the audience murmured appreciation, she sat in stunned silence. “Grandma,” she said, her voice sounding strangled.
Jack shot to his feet. “You didn’t write that poem! Lexie did! You’re the one who stole the letter from her desk!”
“Jack Harmon!” While Lexie looked at him in astonishment, Mrs. Wilkins rose from her chair. Her face flushed such a bright pink that the feathered dove on her cloche looked in danger of bursting into flame. “How dare you spoil Louise’s proud moment?”
“She shouldn’t be proud,” Jack said, setting his chin at a stubborn angle. “She didn’t write that.”
“I did too write it.” Louise darted a glance between her mother and Jack.
Who did Grandma believe? Remembering the night she had had to burn the doll dress, Lexie lurched to her feet. This time, she meant to stand up for herself. “Jack’s right. I wrote that haiku.” She pointed at Louise. “You took my letter from my desk.”
“When could I have done that?” Louise asked in a smug voice that reminded everyone that her parents were important.
“At noon recess,” Lexie shot back. “I looked for you. You weren’t on the playground. Alma said you were looking for woodpeckers.” And Jack said the only woodpeckers Louise’s mama cared about were on her hat, but she had better not say that.
“Wicked stories,” Mrs. Wilkins exclaimed.
“The idea!”
“It’s not a story!” Lexie rushed on. “You weren’t anywhere on the playground, Louise. You were in the classroom stealing my letter!”
Mrs. Wilkins turned toward Lexie like thunder rolling in. “Young lady, you should be ashamed of yourself. We all know you have proven to be less than truthful.”
Like everyone else in the audience, Grandma had been turning from one speaker to another. Now she surged to her feet. “Eleanor Wilkins, you are the one who should be ashamed. To attack a child!”
That sounded like Grandma was on her side, Lexie thought with a rush of hope. Grandma didn’t like Mrs. Wilkins, so that might have been part of it. But she sounds angry for me, not at me. Despite the tension in the room, she felt a corner of her heart dare to grow warmer.
“Ladies, please!” Mrs. Phipps held out her hands as if to separate the two women. “Please. We hope to prevent a war with these dolls, not start one!”
The audience laughed uneasily. Mr. Wilkins stepped forward. “Well said, Mrs. Phipps. If the two girls and the ladies will join me in private, we will get to the bottom of this.”
He turned to the rest of the parents and children. “In the meantime, the first-grade class will entertain with a song popular in Japan called ‘The Blue-Eyed Doll.’ Here is Esther Hall to tell you the story behind the song.”
Six-year-old Esther marched importantly to the front of the room, dressed in a kimono. The rest of the first-grade class lined up behind her, twirling paper parasols painted with butterflies and flowers. A flashlamp blazed. A reporter from the newspaper must have been there.
Grandma marched through the crowd toward the door where Mr. Wilkins waited, towing Lexie with her. Onstage, little Esther began, “The song is about a celluloid doll that came on a ship.”
Jack made his way through the audience, following them to the smaller room. Lexie gave him a quick, grateful smile. The moment the door closed behind her, Mrs. Wilkins said to Grandma, “I hope you are not forgetting a certain lie over the matter of the doll’s dress.”
Grandma’s mouth took a dangerous set.
Mr. Wilkins motioned to chairs around a long table. “Please, everyone. Sit down.”
Lexie sank into a chair beside Grandma, feeling excited and scared and angry all at the same time. Was there a chance she might be declared the winner after all? The winning letter was hers, even if it did have Louise’s name on it.
She wasn’t the one lying. She hadn’t lied about the dress, either. She just hadn’t found a good time to tell the truth. But she should have. Would all this be different if she had been truthful with Grandma from the start? Could when you told the truth be as important as how you told it?
“Louise,” said Mr. Wilkins, breaking into Lexie’s swirling thoughts, “have you anything to say?”
Louise leaped to her feet. “I wrote the letter and the poem. If she says she did, she’s lying. Again.”
“You’re the liar,” Lexie said. She started to get up, but Grandma reached over to press her hand and she sank back down.
Mr. Wilkins said quickly, “Young lady, you will have your chance to speak.”
Jack jumped to his feet. “Then I’ll speak. Lexie read her letter to me days ago. We talked a lot about the poem she was putting in it. That’s her letter Louise read.”
“He’s mad at me,” Louise told her father, tears brimming in her eyes. “Because I won’t kiss him. Like she does. He’ll say anything for her!”
“What?” Lexie exclaimed.
Jack’s cheeks blazed red. “I don’t want anybody kissing on me!”
“Enough!” Mr. Wilkins strode to the door and held it open. “You may rejoin the others, Jack. You have had your say.”
“But . . .” Jack looked at Lexie. She shrugged, wanting to sink through the floor. Fiercely, she wondered, what would Mama do? She knew the answer to that. Mama would hold her head up and laugh at someone trying to embarrass her. Lexie didn’t feel much like laughing, but she raised her chin and stared straight at Louise.
Louise was too busy looking sorrowful to notice. Anger and disappointment crashed together inside Lexie, helped along by outrage. How could anybody believe Louise, with her pout and phony tears?
“Louise,” her father said, returning to his seat after closing the door behind Jack, “tell us about the letter. You are the only one who included a Japanese poem. How did you think of doing that?”
“She didn’t.” Despite the pressure of Grandma’s hand, Lexie couldn’t keep silent. “I did! We all wrote haiku in class. Mine was best, and Jack Harmon said I should put it in my letter. Then I wrote a different one because the first one was sad. That’s the one Louise stole!”
Louise looked at her father with fresh tears shining. “Jack did suggest putting in my haiku. That was when I talked to him about my letter. He must have told her. When she kissed him.”
Lexie silently promised never to kiss a boy again in her entire life. She had only done it to spite Louise. She glanced at Grandma and saw her eyes flashing. She looked like Mama when someone who should say hello remembered that she sang in clubs and looked away instead.
This was hurting Grandma, Lexie realized. She had been so upset over losing the letter, she hadn’t thought about Grandma’s feelings. The new warmth inside tightened into a cold lump.
“Perhaps we can solve this with a simple test.” Mr. Wilkins walked again to the door, this time calling, “Mrs. Phipps, Miss Tompkins, will you join us, please?”
Miss Tompkins knows I wrote the best haiku, even if she didn’t see the second one. She knows my letter disappeared. Relief swept through Lexie.
Mrs. Phipps came inside, looking as if rotting fish had been discovered under a table, causing all the guests to hold their noses. “I had such high hopes for this day,” she said in a wistful tone that still managed to hold accusation. “We need to settle this quickly.”
Miss Tompkins took a seat near Mr. Wilkins with a troubled look on her face. It was the same look she had had when Mr. Wilkins said there wasn’t time for Lexie to rewrite her letter. But Miss Tompkins knew the truth. Didn’t she?
“The girls will each write a new poem in the Japanese style,” Mr. Wilkins explained. “Mrs. Phipps, we need your expertise. You read all the letters submitted for the contest. Miss Tompkins, you are familiar with the girls’ work. With that understanding, we would like you both to read the two new poems and tell us which is most likely to have been written by the girl who wrote the letter.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Phipps clasped her hands together. “Mr. Wilkins, I’m not sure that would be a fair test, considering the pressure they are feeling.”
“Nonsense! We are not asking the girls to create art, just to prove they can write. Miss Tompkins, will you please locate pencils and two sheets of paper?”
Grandma said in a flat tone, “Electra will not have a problem.”
The dove on Mrs. Wilkins’s cloche fluttered as if about to fly off. “Louise will do fine.”
Lexie couldn’t wait to prove that Louise had stolen the letter and pretended she wrote it herself. To write haiku, you had to be calm. She tried to put everything from her mind but a new poem. Still, her thoughts jittered faster than the dove on Mrs. Wilkins’s hat.
Miss Tompkins asked each girl to move to a separate end of the table. She handed out pencils and paper and told them to begin.
Lexie was sure that Louise would not write a haiku as good as the one she had. Sure, she knew how many syllables to use, but Louise had not studied the feeling a haiku should raise in the reader. Mrs. Phipps was wrong. This was going to be a fair test. It would prove who had written the letter. Lexie bent over the paper, eager to begin.
At first, she felt the others in the room watching her, but gradually the haiku took over her mind. She counted syllables, chose words, counted again, and chose new words. The feeling had to be right.
“We’ll stop now,” Mr. Wilkins announced. “Those are short poems, are they not? The
y require only a few words. The girls have had plenty of time. Louise, stand and read your poem.”
Louise stood, holding her paper in both hands.
“The dolls are leaving.
They will all sail to Japan.
We must say good-bye.”
Lexie saw Mr. Wilkins nod. Didn’t he know the poems usually included nature?
“Thank you, Louise,” Mrs. Phipps said. “Electra, read your poem, please.”
Lexie stood. The paper trembled in her hand. She drew a breath to sound more confident.
“Emily Grace glows.
Her warm smile carries friendship.
Sunlight after rain.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Wilkins. “You may both take your seats. Mrs. Phipps, in your judgment, which of these girls wrote the letter?”
Mrs. Phipps looked as if she had been asked to choose among her own children. “Oh.” She twisted her hands together. “Poetry is very personal. Everyone hears the words differently, depending on their own life experiences.”
“I believe we have a question of style rather than one of art, which indeed can be subjective.” Impatience stole into Mr. Wilkins’s voice.
“Both girls have written well,” Miss Tompkins said, “particularly when asked to create without warning and under considerable stress.”
“But one poem must rise above the other,” Mr. Wilkins warned, adding, “Mrs. Phipps, may we have your conclusion?”
Mrs. Phipps touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, which must have become dry. “They are quite similar. After all, they both address the subject of the doll leaving for Japan.”
Lexie knew suddenly that Mrs. Phipps would not offend an important man who was also the head of the school board. No one was going to hear Mrs. Phipps tell Mr. Wilkins that his daughter was a liar and a thief.
Mr. Wilkins pulled out his pocket watch and gave it a meaningful look. “May we have your answer, Miss Tompkins?”
Lexie held her breath.
“As you say,” Miss Tompkins said after a cautious pause, “one poem rises somewhat above the other.”
Ship of Dolls Page 9
