“Mercy, child,” Grandma exclaimed. “Where will you ever wear that?”
Lexie pressed Mama’s headband closer. “I could wear it to school.” Before Grandma could say, What a silly idea, she added quickly, “I guess I’d look funny. People — the others in school — they wouldn’t understand.”
Grandma surprised her by looking thoughtful. “It’s a pretty thing, all glittery like a star.” She glanced at Grandpa, then back. “What would you say to slipping it over the tree, right below the Christmas star?”
Lexie jumped up to wrap both arms around her grandma, surprising them both. “I’d like that a lot. It will be like Mama’s here sharing Christmas with us!”
Grandpa pushed himself up from his big chair. “Can a grandpa get in on that hug?”
Lexie rushed to hug him, too. She couldn’t see either one of them very well because her eyes were suddenly blurry.
The day of the trip to San Francisco arrived very slowly, but came at last. On an unusually sunny day for early January, Grandpa drove Lexie and Grandma to the dock. When he hugged her, Lexie held on tightly, reluctant to say good-bye. She wasn’t sure when she would see him again.
Grandpa chuckled. “You have a good trip, now. Mrs. Harmon is all set up to feed me along with her boarders, so don’t worry one bit.”
“I wish you were coming with us,” Lexie said softly.
Grandpa tousled her hair. “You just make sure to take a good long look at everything you see. I want to hear all about it when you get home.”
Home . . . The word stabbed through Lexie. It was hard to leave. But in her heart, home would always be with Mama.
Mrs. Wilkins’s sharp voice cut through the bright morning. “Why, look, Louise. Your little friend has come down to wish you safe journey. Show your upbringing and thank her.”
Louise stuck her tongue out at Lexie and hurried toward people boarding the ship.
“Slow down, Louise!” her mother exclaimed. “Wilkins ladies do not run in public!”
Lexie murmured to Grandma, “She was just walking fast.”
Mrs. Wilkins’s mouth set tighter as she turned toward Grandma. “I’m sure she appreciates your coming to see her off. It’s simply that she finds it difficult to forgive someone who has publicly embarrassed her.”
Grandma’s hand tightened on Lexie’s, but her smile could have sugared oatmeal. “Lovely weather to begin a sea journey, isn’t it? Come, Electra, let’s find our cabin.”
She walked past Mrs. Wilkins, who was surprised into silence for once. Lexie couldn’t resist grinning back at her as she followed Grandma up the ramp and onto the ship.
Even while tied to the dock, the ship shifted with the river. Swells rolled beneath and slapped against the hull. Lexie bounced on her toes, enjoying the feel of the ship as they were directed to their cabin along with several other passengers.
Again, Mrs. Wilkins raised her voice. “Louise! A Wilkins lady does not gawk.”
Grandma rolled her eyes. “Apparently, a Wilkins lady does screech at her daughter in public.”
Giggling, Lexie followed Grandma into their cabin. As far as she was concerned, Louise deserved all the screeching she got. Inside the snug cabin, it was hard to stand still and impossible to sit quietly. The trip would take a long time, but at last she was on her way!
As soon as Grandma gave permission, Lexie raced on deck with her soft doll, Annie. She leaned against the rail, fascinated by the activity. On the ship and dock, men called orders. Planks creaked. Cables clanked against a noisy winch while they were raised into their holds.
Overhead, seagulls screeched and swooped. Lexie laughed as one snatched a fallen crumb from a visitor’s breakfast roll, passing so close to the man’s feet that he shouted and jumped backward.
She knew that Emily Grace and the other dolls had been packed into their boxes and then into bigger crates and stored in the hold. “I wish Emily Grace could watch all this with us,” Lexie told Annie as the ship’s engine rumble grew louder. Slowly, a tugboat nudged the ship into the Willamette River, headed toward the far wider Columbia. “Grandpa says it can be rough crossing the bar into the ocean,” she warned Annie. “When we get there, be sure to hold on tight.”
She ran along the deck toward the bow, eager for the first sight of the sea, even though she knew the ship had to travel up the Willamette while the pilot tug guided it beneath bridges. Then they would travel for hours along the Columbia before reaching the Pacific Ocean.
Willing the ship to move faster and holding Annie with one hand and the rail with the other, she made her way forward. She stopped at the sound of a girl’s voice.
“You’re so pretty,” the girl was saying. “Your satin dress is the same blue color as your eyes.”
That was Louise. Who was she talking to? Lexie moved silently around a corner of the wheelhouse. Her breath caught in her throat. Louise sat on the deck in front of the structure. She held Emily Grace in her lap.
Lexie’s hand tightened on Annie. She backed around the wheelhouse in disbelief. Louise had Emily Grace on deck. How was that possible? All the dolls were supposed to be in their boxes in the ship’s hold.
The answer rocked her. Louise had special privileges. Again. And it wasn’t fair. Lexie wanted to rush around the corner and snatch the doll away.
Louise’s voice came clearly on a twist of the wind. “You’re my only friend, Emily Grace. You don’t care if I can buy gumdrops to share or if my papa might have a job for your papa.”
Lexie didn’t feel sorry for Louise, the cheat. If she didn’t have friends, it was her own fault. How had she gotten the doll from the hold?
As if she had asked the question aloud, Louise answered, still talking to the doll. “I’m so glad I thought to ask for you after the program. Did you hear me, Emily Grace? I used my sad voice and said I needed to carry you to San Francisco. I said that would make up for the way Lexie Lewis and Jack Harmon spoiled my special day.”
Fresh outrage shot through Lexie. She hadn’t spoiled Louise’s day. Louise had spoiled a day that should have belonged to her! No one would listen to the truth. Not Mr. Wilkins or Mrs. Phipps. Not even Miss Tompkins.
Louise was still talking, and her voice ground through Lexie. “Papa said that would be fair since I won, but I’m not supposed to take you from the cabin, Emily Grace. So don’t tell anybody.”
I hate her, Lexie thought furiously. I should tell her mother she has the doll on deck.
But then she heard her own mother’s voice in her memory. Mama was saying, “We don’t carry tales. That’s something a crummy person would do, and you, kiddo, are not a crummy person.”
Mama didn’t like crummy people. Lexie thought those people were like dumb Doras or bozos, people who didn’t care about others. Whatever they were, she was glad Mama didn’t think she was one.
She decided not to rush around the corner and fight with Louise. That was another thing a crummy person would do. She was on her way to Mama, after all. Louise didn’t matter when Mama would be waiting on the dock in San Francisco.
Mama would probably have rhinestones sparkling on her ears. Maybe she would wear the pretty red top that reached to her hips and the skirt with pleats that swung when she walked. She would be glowing with excitement, so glad to see her daughter again that she would run to the gangway to grab Lexie into a wildly welcoming hug.
Lexie almost ran to the rail to look for the dock and Mama, but the ship was still on the Columbia River though the basalt cliffs of the eastern end were far behind. The forested banks spread wide, with farms here and there. A deer drank briefly from the river’s edge before darting back into the trees.
Lexie looked once more at the corner of the wheelhouse and pictured Louise with Emily Grace. “You’re not worth the trouble,” she whispered. With her head high, she walked back along the deck.
She didn’t see Louise again until later that day in the dining salon. With wide eyes, Lexie looked around the vast high-ceilinged room in
the middle of the ship. A waiter drew out a cushioned chair for Grandma. Lexie sank into another at a round table covered with a white cloth that draped almost to the polished floor.
As other passengers found their tables, their voices murmuring around her, she traced the gold-banded rim of her china plate. She could hardly believe she was still traveling on a seagoing ship.
An older couple joined them at their table. They seemed used to dining aboard and, after greeting Grandma and smiling at Lexie, began discussing menu choices. Moments later, a tall man with worried brown eyes and an unsmiling little girl of about five took the remaining two seats. The man sat next to Grandma. He introduced himself as Mr. James and his daughter as Millicent. When Grandma tried to speak to the girl, the father said quietly, “Millicent has decided not to speak for a while. Her mother . . . There was an accident. We lost her. I’m taking Millie to her grandparents in San Francisco.”
Grandma murmured sympathetically. Lexie wanted to tell Millicent that she knew how she felt, but she didn’t think she should call around Grandma and Mr. James. Millicent wasn’t listening, anyway. She had her face pressed against her father’s sleeve.
Then Louise, her complexion a yellowish color, sat with her mother at the next table, and Lexie forgot about Millicent. The elegant dining salon had almost made her forget how angry she was with Louise. Suddenly she remembered again.
“My goodness,” Grandma said with a glance their way. “I’m afraid Louise doesn’t take well to ship travel.”
Maybe Louise would lose her lunch among all this elegance and embarrass herself and her mother. If that was a vengeful thought, Lexie didn’t care. But she didn’t say it out loud.
Mrs. Wilkins had the kind of sharp voice that made you listen whether you wanted to or not, and her comments came clearly to their table. “Louise, do not watch other people eat. Sit straight. And take small bites. Remember, you are a Wilkins and a lady.”
“She doesn’t get a chance to forget that,” Lexie whispered while a waiter poured tea for the adults.
Grandma picked up her teacup. “Fortunately, we need not concern ourselves with Louise or her mother.”
“Because Lewis ladies don’t do that,” Lexie said.
Grandma covered her smile behind her napkin, but it glinted in her eyes. “Exactly,” she said when she had her voice under control.
Mrs. Wilkins said in a tone she probably thought reached only Louise, “Your outside fork, Louise. You know a dinner fork is not for salad.”
Memory struck, and Lexie said softly, “Mama’s mother must have been a lot like Mrs. Wilkins. Mama said she got so tired of trying to be perfect for her mama that she gave up and just did whatever worked for her.”
Grandma looked startled. After a moment, she said, “She still does. That explains a lot.”
“She said she wouldn’t raise me like that,” Lexie added. “She said I was already the bee’s knees just being me.”
Grandma sipped her tea, then replaced the delicate china cup in its saucer. “You’re doing very well being you,” she said, looking straight into Lexie’s eyes. “Most folks couldn’t ask for better.”
Lexie’s heart filled with too much warmth to leave room for an answer, but Grandma didn’t seem to expect one. She had turned to a waiter to ask how the salmon was prepared.
By the time lunch was finished, the river had grown so wide, the shores were far away at either side. “We’re nearing the bar,” Grandma said. “It’s going to be rough while we cross the surf into the ocean. We’ll wait in our stateroom.”
“Can’t I watch?” Lexie asked, picturing waves crashing into the ship’s bow.
Grandma left no room for argument. “No. You may not.”
After all the warnings, Lexie felt let down by the bar crossing. She had expected the ship to bounce up and down and maybe lurch from side to side. But this was no fishing trawler. The ship was big and heavy and simply plowed through the surf. She might have felt jolts if she had been at the bow, but the lack of thrill-ride action in their stateroom disappointed her.
Later, while Grandma rested, Lexie asked if she could walk on deck again.
“Wear your hat,” Grandma warned, somehow seeing with her eyes closed that Lexie was bareheaded. “And if it starts to rain, come inside before you catch your death.”
Lexie pulled her knit cap over her hair, then carefully wrapped the pink knit scarf around Annie. “Wait until you see the ocean,” she told the doll. “It goes on forever, all gray and bumpy, with the tops of the waves blowing away in the wind.”
Remembering Louise with Emily Grace, Lexie walked forward toward the bridge and looked around the corner. She didn’t expect to see Louise, but she was there, sitting on a coil of rope with tears streaming down her face.
Lexie thought about walking away but couldn’t bring herself to do that. She tucked Annie into her coat. She didn’t need to hear Louise’s opinion of a hand-sewn cloth doll. Then she stepped into sight to ask, “Should I get help? Are you sick?”
Louise scrubbed her sleeve across her face. “I hate this ship. My stomach churns all the time. And Emily Grace is gone!”
“Gone!” Lexie felt sure her heart had dropped to her shoes, as if Louise’s words had smashed it right out of her chest. Wind whipped across the deck. She clutched Annie tighter beneath her coat.
Louise’s nose was running, and tears slid down her face. Lexie hesitated, then offered a handkerchief from her pocket. Momentary sympathy faded. “Where is Emily Grace? What do you mean, she’s gone?”
“I don’t know! I got sick. From the water moving all the time.” Little hiccups choked Louise between her words. “I put her here. Inside this coil of rope. I had to go to the rail. I thought I would throw up. Then Mama came out and called me for lunch.”
She looked at Lexie, her expression tragic. “I had to leave Emily Grace. What else could I do?”
Taking care that Annie didn’t slip, Lexie braced her hands on her hips the way Grandma did when she was upset. Rain was coming. She felt it in the damp wind. Maybe they were steaming into a storm. “You left Emily Grace out here? Alone? During the bar crossing!”
Louise began crying again. Lexie didn’t have patience for tears. Not with Emily Grace missing. Not with a storm coming. “Stop that. Tell me what happened!”
Still sobbing, Louise said, “I told you. I had to leave her. And then I had to go with Mama to lunch. And when I came back, she was gone!”
She began crying harder, leaning forward with her head in her arms across her knees. Lexie looked at her, wondering what to do. Maybe there wasn’t anything she could do. Maybe she should just leave Louise here.
Louise looked up, her flushed face glistening with tears. “You have to help me.”
“Help you!” Did Louise remember who she was talking to? “You wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t stolen my letter! And Emily Grace would be in the hold where she belongs. Why should I help you?”
“Don’t you understand? They expect me to look good for them, like their fancy house and their big Packard. I have to be the best at everything because that makes them look better! And now I’ve ruined it all!”
They? Them?
She meant her parents. Lexie sank onto a crate and resettled Annie inside her coat. Grandma doesn’t worry that something I do might make her look bad, she told herself. When she worries, even when she gets cross, Grandpa says it’s because she wants me to grow up to be sensible and honest.
Grandma was stern — sometimes too stern — because she loved her. Grandma and Grandpa just care about me growing up happy, and that means being a good person inside.
She looked again at the loneliness and misery on Louise’s face and even though she had thought she could never feel that way, she felt sorry for her. She remembered when she had felt like Louise did and thought that living with Grandpa and Grandma, especially Grandma, was the worst thing that could happen.
But they loved her. She knew that now. She had known
it when they used the rainy-day money to buy tickets so she could go to San Francisco.
Sympathy vanished. Emily Grace was lost on the deck with rain coming, maybe even a storm. She might have bounced off when they crossed the bar. What if she had rolled over the side? She couldn’t let herself think about that. “Why did you even bring her out here?”
Louise should at least have looked ashamed. Instead, her eyes flashed as if someone had done harm to her. “Because Mama just let me look at her, not play with her. ‘Don’t mess her hair,’ she said. ‘Don’t wrinkle her dress.’”
“She isn’t yours to play with,” Lexie snapped. “She’s for girls in Japan.”
“My mother will say I disgraced her. And my father . . . !” Louise put her head on her arms again, her body shaking. “Please help me, Lexie.”
I won’t feel sorry for Louise, the cheat, Lexie told herself. But she knew that if she had brought Emily Grace on deck and lost her, Grandma would be horrified. Then she would help find the doll, not worry about how bad it would look for the family name if Lexie lost her.
Again, unwanted sympathy for Louise tried to creep into Lexie’s heart. They’d made the same kind of mistake, after all. I should have told Grandma about taking the doll from Miss Tompkins’s room that day. But I didn’t know Grandma then, not the way I know her now.
And somehow her own voice was saying, “Stop crying. We’ll find Emily Grace together.”
Maybe not together. She corrected herself at once, pulling back. She hadn’t forgiven Louise, even if she was sorry for her. If she had to spend time with Louise, the sorry would disappear fast.
“You look one way. I’ll look the other.” She glanced across the deck at boxes and crates. Finding one small doll on this huge ship seemed impossible. She held Annie tightly through her coat, almost afraid she might get lost, too. “There’s a lot to cover, and it’s starting to rain.”
Ship of Dolls Page 11
