Ship of Dolls
Page 10
Mrs. Phipps broke in. “Let us consider the handwriting.” She placed the two poems on the table with the letter. “Louise shapes far rounder letters than Electra,” she pointed out. “Electra’s writing also shows a forward slant. Clearly, Louise’s hand wrote both letter and poem.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Wilkins said with a smile for Louise. Lexie felt as if cold water had been thrown in her face. Of course the handwriting was the same. Louise had copied that letter.
“I have not finished,” Miss Tompkins protested. “The style —”
“Yes,” Mrs. Phipps said with a nervous look toward Mr. Wilkins. “The style most clearly belongs to Louise.”
Miss Tompkins countered sharply. “I did not say that. Electra’s poem —”
Again Mrs. Phipps broke in. “If we must discuss style, may I point out that Louise mentions travel and Japan in her poem? I believe we should declare Louise the winner.”
“That was not the criteria,” Miss Tompkins protested.
At the same time, Grandma exclaimed, “Give Miss Tompkins a chance to speak!”
Mrs. Wilkins stood, pushing back her chair. “We have delayed the ceremony quite long enough. Let us return to the others.”
Lexie said, “But I wrote —”
Mr. Wilkins spoke over her. “Thank you, Mrs. Phipps, Miss Tompkins. The school board will wish to reward all the children for their good work. I will be making that announcement.” He strode to the door. Mrs. Wilkins hurried after him, tugging Louise with her.
“That’s a surprise,” Grandma snapped in a tone that said the decision was no surprise to her. “Come, Electra, we are leaving.”
Lexie was glad to join her and even happier to avoid congratulating Louise for stealing her letter.
Mrs. Wilkins paused in the doorway. “Really, Sophie, your attitude does your granddaughter no favor.”
For a moment, Lexie thought Grandma would raise her hand to the other woman. Instead, she lifted her chin and marched out the door while Lexie hurried to follow.
Jack was waiting just outside. “Is it okay?” He glanced from Lexie to Grandma. “I guess it didn’t go too well.”
He caught up with Grandma. “What if I go up on the stage? I can tell everybody Lexie read her poem to me before Louise stole it.”
Grandma kept walking. “They would not believe you. The president of the school board has made up his mind.”
“Thanks,” Lexie murmured to Jack. Outside the building, she nearly walked into Grandma, who had stopped suddenly.
Overhead, gulls wheeled and quarreled. A strong smell of ships’ engines along with a sharp scent of creosote from the pilings blew on a stiffening breeze. Grandma motioned toward a bench. “You two sit here. I have something to do before we catch the trolley.”
Without waiting for an answer, she started down the dock.
Inside the warehouse, the first-graders were finishing “The Blue-Eyed Doll” for the second time. Their clear voices drifted through the door. Lexie listened as the blue-eyed doll in the song asked the girls of Japan to please be her friends.
A wave of sorrow washed through Lexie. She swallowed hard, trying not to think of that celebration in San Francisco and Mama waiting for her on the wharf. “I didn’t get to say good-bye to Emily Grace.”
“She won’t care.” Jack sounded distracted.
Lexie saw that he was watching Grandma hurrying toward an office at the side of the dock, her skirt whipping in the wind from the river. Her hat lifted with every step until she reached up to hold it firmly against her head.
“Where is she going?” Lexie wondered aloud.
Jack grinned. “Maybe she’s going to tell them not to sell a ticket to Louise.”
“They sell tickets in there?” Lexie dropped onto the bench. The sudden hope that rushed into her mind was too big to risk giving it room in her heart. If she was wrong, disappointment would crush her.
Grandma came back from the shipping office looking as satisfied as if she had all her Monday washing on the line before any of the neighbor women. “Come along,” she said. “We don’t want to miss the trolley.”
“We’re ahead of the crowd,” Jack said, motioning toward the warehouse, where the first-graders were still singing. He looked at Lexie. “You doing all right?”
She forced herself to close her mind to the image of Emily Grace standing by her box, ready to go to Japan. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason.” He ran ahead to the waiting trolley.
Questions pounded through Lexie, but Grandma wasn’t in an answering mood. With a sigh, Lexie found a place on the wooden seat and looked out the window, listening to the clack of the trolley wheels on the rails while it carried them from the wharf back into town.
As they walked toward their street, Grandma seemed lost in thought. Jack walked backward ahead of Lexie. “My mom’s gonna have chores waiting. I gotta run.”
“Okay.” Lexie hesitated. “Jack, thanks. For . . . you know.”
“Sure.” He started away, then turned back. “Yours was the best letter. Sorry she stole it.”
“Me, too.” Lexie managed a smile before Jack turned again and raced toward the boardinghouse.
“He’s a good friend,” Grandma said, surprising Lexie. Grandma wasn’t as far away in her thoughts as she’d seemed. But then she raised an eyebrow and asked, “A kissing friend?”
Lexie felt heat rush to her face. “I only kissed his cheek to make Louise mad, but that made Jack mad, and he wouldn’t talk to me for days!”
Grandma smiled. “I thought it was likely something of the sort.”
A question that had been burning through Lexie burst out. “Mrs. Phipps wouldn’t let Miss Tompkins talk. Why did she do that?”
Grandma shook her head. “Cecelia Phipps chose the course that was easiest for her. She will have to live with that decision. Her conscience is not our concern.”
The subject was closed. Lexie could see Grandma turn a key in her mind.
It was after supper, with the dishes washed and put away, before Grandma opened that mental lock. She and Grandpa must have talked while Lexie was out back gathering an armload of firewood from the woodpile.
When Lexie came inside, Grandma was settled in a chair with mending heaped over her lap. She tucked her wooden darning egg into the toe of one of Grandpa’s wool socks to hold the shape while she set to work reweaving the knit pattern across a hole. Lexie knew that when Grandma finished, Grandpa wouldn’t even feel a raised bump under his toe.
Grandpa reached over to turn down the sound on the radio he’d waited in line to buy when the department store first put them on display. “Lexie, honey, we’ve been talking about what happened at the wharf today. Put the wood down and come over here to me.”
Lexie lowered the firewood into the box beside the stove and walked over to Grandpa. A ripple of excitement shivered up her spine. He took both her hands and looked seriously into her face. “Know first of all that we love you. We want to hear in your words, from your heart, who wrote the letter Louise read today.”
“I wrote it!” Shock rushed back, just as when Louise had stood up there in front of all those people and claimed the letter and poem Lexie had put her heart into for days. “I wrote every word of the letter and the haiku!”
Grandma brought the darned sock to her teeth and bit off the thread. “How did Louise lay her hands on your letter?”
“She went in at noon when nobody is supposed to be in the classroom and she copied my letter and my haiku! Word for word! She probably burned my copy in the woodstove.”
“She’ll pay for it, one way or another,” Grandpa assured her.
Lexie could hardly hear past the anger inside. “Everyone at school is going to say I cheated! When I didn’t! It was Louise!”
“You keep your head high,” Grandma said. “You know who cheated.”
“I always hold my head up.” Lexie raised her chin even higher.
“We know you do.”
Grandpa gave her hands a gentle squeeze.
Grandma smiled to herself as she dropped the darning egg into another sock. She looked as if an unspoken thought had amused her, but her eyes were serious when she looked again at Lexie. “Whatever others may say, they will have to wait to say it until you come back from San Francisco.”
“Come back?” Lexie looked from one to the other while hope did a crazy jig inside her. “From San Francisco?”
“You won that trip fair and square,” Grandpa said. “You’re going to join the dolls’ big send-off and enjoy every minute of it.”
“We have rainy-day money put by,” Grandma assured her. “This feels like a rainy day to us. That money will be well used to send you and me on the trip.”
The words danced through Lexie’s head. Mama put money by for a rainy day, but she usually spent it on a new hat or sparkly ear bobs. Could it really pay for a trip to San Francisco? “When?” She was almost afraid to ask the question.
Grandma’s smile was the warmest Lexie could remember seeing on her. “January fourth will be here before we know it. Run upstairs and decide what you wish to take along.”
“But what about Grandpa?”
“I’ll take my meals next door at the boardinghouse,” Grandpa assured her. “And we’ll be sure to explain to Miss Tompkins why you’re missing school.”
Lexie hugged them both, then all but flew up the stairs. She had to think carefully what to take. Because although she and Grandma would go to San Francisco together, Grandma would be coming back here alone.
As she debated how much underwear to pack, Lexie noticed the light go on in Jack’s room beyond the cherry tree. She couldn’t wait to tell Jack the news. She shoved open the window and crawled out onto the branch.
A few twigs tossed at Jack’s window caught his attention. He climbed into the tree beside her. The news rushed out: “I’m going to San Francisco with Emily Grace! Grandma and Grandpa used their rainy-day money for tickets.”
“Great!” He slapped one hand against the tree branch. “You deserve to go. But you shouldn’t have to buy a ticket. You were cheated. When you come back, we’ll make Louise sorry she did that.”
Lexie hesitated. “This is a secret, okay? I’m not coming back. When I get to my mama in San Francisco, I’m going to stay.”
Jack whistled softly. “Your grandparents don’t know?”
“Not yet. And you can’t tell them. They wouldn’t let me go. I know they wouldn’t.”
“They won’t hear it from me.” He leaned against the tree trunk and played with a twig, bending it back and forth until it broke. “You’d like this big tree in the summer.”
“When it’s shady?” Why was he changing the subject? They were talking about San Francisco.
“Not just the shade,” Jack said. “There are big purple cherries on little stems all over. They’re sweet as a cherry gets. It’s good to sit up here and eat one right after another.”
“And spit the pits,” she guessed.
“Well, yeah. I’m pretty good at spitting pits where I want them to go.” He grinned. “You’d probably do okay.”
“Okay? I could out-spit you!” She started to laugh, partly at the idea of competing in spitting cherry pits, but mostly out of happiness.
Jack had just given her the best gift he could have. He had given her more than a story. He had given her a reason to come back from San Francisco. Although it wouldn’t work, it made her feel good that he had told her about the cherries. She almost kissed his cheek again.
But she didn’t.
Grandpa brought a Christmas tree home the next morning. He set it up in the parlor while Grandma brought out a box of ornaments. Lexie put staying with Mama as far as possible from her mind. She was determined not to bring sadness to Grandma and Grandpa’s Christmas.
“May I help?” she asked.
Grandpa said, “Sure, you can.” But Grandma seemed to wince with every ornament Lexie put on the tree. “Not there, dear,” she said at one point. “The larger balls belong on the lower branches.”
Seconds later, she corrected her again. “Lexie, you have placed two red balls next to each other.”
Lexie realized that each ornament had its special place and Grandma didn’t much like change. That was why she still wore her hair in a coiled braid. But she used the rainy-day money for tickets to San Francisco. That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
“Grandma,” she said, “will you tell me where they go so I can put the ornaments where they belong?”
Grandma looked startled, then a smile came into her eyes. “Honey, you go ahead and decide where they look best. Grandpa and I might enjoy a little change this year.”
As Lexie decided just where to put a silver ball with tiny beads on wires around it, Grandma’s smile made her feel as warm as drinking a hot cup of cocoa. With a marshmallow on top.
When she finished, they all agreed the tree was beautiful. But to Lexie it wasn’t the same as sharing a Christmas tree with Mama. She went up to her room as soon as she could without hurting Grandma and Grandpa’s feelings.
Upstairs, she crawled out on the big branch of the cherry tree and twisted until she had pulled off a branch as long as her arm. She brought it inside and stood it in a milk bottle filled with a collection of beach agates. Grandpa had given her the agates, saying they once belonged to Papa. It pleased Lexie to see Papa’s agates holding up her makeshift tree, as if he were there, helping her.
She colored a star on a piece of paper with a yellow crayon, then colored it again with orange to make it a darker gold, cut it out, and glued it to the top of the branch. While she was gluing strips of bright paper into loops for a chain, Jack knocked on the window. “What are you doing?”
Lexie opened the window so he could step inside. “I’m making a Christmas tree for my room.”
“That’s a Christmas tree?” He looked at the bare twig with a gold star glued to the top. “Most have green needles.”
“You have to pretend the green.” Lexie carried her chain to the tree and carefully draped it around the branches. “What’s the matter, Jack? Don’t you know how to pretend?”
“Sure, I do.” His eyes brightened. “I’ll be right back.”
He scrambled through the window while Lexie started another paper chain. In minutes, he was back with a jar full of buttons. “I borrowed these from Ma. If you have some yarn, we can string them for the tree.”
“Perfect.” Lexie rummaged through a bag of odds and ends Mam’selle had given her. Lace . . . rickrack . . . yarn!
Jack said, “They’ll all slide together. Maybe there’s not enough.”
“We’ll tie knots between each button.”
“I’m pretty good at tying knots.” He cut a length of yarn, sank onto the rug beside her, and poured out the buttons.
As they worked, Lexie told him about Christmas with Mama. It felt good to talk about her with Jack. He knew how to listen without finding fault.
“Last year was our first Christmas without Papa. We couldn’t find the ornaments. We must have left them behind when we moved to a smaller place.”
“That’s tough,” Jack said.
“Mama said even though we missed him so much sometimes it hurt to breathe, we weren’t going to be Pitiful Pearls. Papa wouldn’t want that. He’d want us to get on with our lives and that was what we were going to do.”
“Without a Christmas tree?”
Lexie felt memories flooding in. “We had a tree. Mama draped her long ropes of pearls and rhinestones on the branches. She clipped sparkly ear bobs and brooches to the ends.”
Jack whistled softly. “I’d like to have seen that.”
“We laughed and sang carols and had a swell time. And it was the prettiest Christmas tree ever!” Lexie looked doubtfully at the branch in the milk bottle. “It was prettier than this one.”
“Now who’s forgetting to pretend?” Jack looked at the tree. “I’ve seen worse.”
Rain pounded the windows on Christmas morning, but right after church, Grandpa started logs blazing in the big fireplace in the parlor. They had waited to exchange gifts until after church services and a big noon meal. When Lexie felt ready to burst with impatience, Grandma said at last that it was time to open the presents.
The parlor was warm by then. Spicy gingerbread and peppermint smells drifted from a little cookie house with a candy roof Mam’selle had sent to Lexie. That and cinnamon from cider simmering on the iron range in the kitchen made the entire house smell like a big Christmas cookie.
Lexie sat on the floor pretending she was in a fairy forest that smelled of cookies and green trees. Her name on a tag in Grandma’s writing invited her to open a box wrapped in red paper. She glanced at Grandma for permission, then untied a candy cane from the ribbon on top, thanking Grandpa with a grin. The sparkle in his eyes told her that extra gift was from him. She carefully unwrapped the box, knowing that Grandma would save the paper.
Inside, she found a dictionary almost too heavy to use. “That will help with your schoolwork,” Grandma said.
Lexie thanked them both, even though she wouldn’t be coming back here for school and the dictionary was too heavy to take with her. Trying to ignore an ache in her heart at the thought of leaving, she gave them her gift, a silhouette profile of herself she had made in class.
They took turns holding the silhouette, turning it one way and another, admiring it. Grandpa said he would find a nice frame, and Grandma said there was a perfect spot for Lexie’s picture on top of the piano.
Their praise made Lexie smile and ache inside at the same time. It was easier to be with Grandma and Grandpa than it used to be, but she was going to Mama. Nothing could make her change her mind about not coming back.
She had saved a small box from Mama for last. Big red bows all but hid the shiny gold paper. When she had them off and the box open, she lifted out a glittery headband.
She knew that headband. Last Christmas, it had circled the top of the tree, right below Mama’s pretty star-shaped brooch. Lexie pressed the band to her cheek. It smelled of Mama’s familiar spicy perfume and brought her close. Except for Mama herself, she couldn’t have wished for a better gift.