by Anya Allyn
19. Return of the Dolls
JESSAMINE
If you name something, it makes it yours.
Perhaps that is why my dolls have returned to me. I do not know how my dolls have come back and I do not know if I am pleased or no. They sleep soundly in their beds.
The dolls are older. They did not stay as they were. They could never manage to stay unchanged, however much I instructed them to do so. And that is a great pity. For staying unchanged is like staying within a memory forever.
I tried to protect them all—to keep them in the darkness, safe and secure. I kept them from knowing too much. For knowledge brings pain. Knowledge has bent and twisted me, like the roots of a tree that know the sky. Deep under the earth there is rest and sleep. Up there in the world, there are only things that will hurt you.
Clown and Raggedy lie still in their beds. I don’t make them walk with me, anymore. I don’t make any of them walk with me anymore. I don’t pretend to walk upon solid ground or have flesh or the need to breathe. I have no needs or wants and this is good.
Except, the dolls have disturbed my rest. They have made me remember things I don’t wish to.
It disconcerts me that they have brought boys with them. If they are like Evander, I shall have to act accordingly. And when they wake, I shall determine names for them.
Names are so very important, yet people rush them onto babies without the consideration due such a momentous event. Names inform the person—past, present and future. This cannot be emphasized enough.
My Philomena I named for the child who took Grandfather’s book into the silver mines. It was fitting, as that little Indian girl was a great-great aunt of Philomena’s. I know that because Henry researched the pasts of every doll who arrived here at the dollhouse—he was always wanting to know which one would hold the secret to finding the book. I do not know why he thought any of them would hold the secret, but Henry believes things like that.
Missouri I named because her eyes were the exact color of the sky when our circus pulled into the state of Missouri one morning when I was ten. The last year I was truly happy, before my father died.
Sophronia could not be renamed—for her name means wise, and there is not a more apt word to describe her. Prudence was another I could not rename—I feared she would not stay long in my dollhouse and therefore would not benefit from renaming.
Angeline of course, was named for being an angel—a messenger—only I did not know at the time what message she would bring. I now know her message was Calliope—for Angeline’s presence would bring Calliope to the dollhouse.
Evander I named after Evander from Virgil’s The Aeneid—the good man. Henry was always fond of Virgil’s writing and would tell me the stories late at night after the circus was done. Evander of course, was just a vile boy, but I hoped that his new name would lead him to correct his ills and conduct himself decently.
Lilith lies in a bed along with the others. But she was never my doll. I could not bring myself to like her or keep her—so willing as she was to bring girls here to a fate she considered so terrible. I named her after the one from myth who devours children. But I myself did no wrong—my thought was only to rescue and instruct. Something burrows into my mind—a memory—an image of my dolls with large haunted eyes and a most distressing pain on their faces. No, that was not my doing. I could not possibly have caused them discomfort or grief.
My gaze now rests on Calliope... the naming of her disturbs me still. Once named, I could not un-name her, yet the burden of such a name was clear to me. At this moment, I see her human nightmares racing beneath her closed eyes. Had she stayed here with me, I could have saved her from such a fate.
I knew Calliope from the first time I saw her, and I named her thus. In Greek myth, Calliope is the eldest daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne—the poetry muse. Indeed, I read the writings of that dreadful Evander boy and I saw that he was driven mad by the girl he entered the dollhouse with, driven to write page after page of poetry about her. Even Prudence’s poetry was about this girl.
My governess, Miss Kitty, told me that in the myths, people in Hades drank from the river of Lethe so that they would not remember their past lives when they were reincarnated. But if they drank from the pool of Mnemosyne, they would remember everything. And there is nothing worse than to remember things that might cause you pain.
And I knew that Calliope would be the one to find the pool of Mnemosyne and drink from it. She would be the one to know too much. And you must pay the ultimate price for knowing everything. I tried to warn her, but she would not listen. When she left here, she journeyed to the serpent’s cave and plunged deep into the pool of Mnemosyne.
But I didn’t tell Henry what I knew about Calliope. He does not use knowledge for good purposes.
Something new lies on grandfather’s rocking chair. A letter. A letter in grandfather’s writing.
I don’t know if I should look at this. If I move from the point in time when grandfather left me, then I will know other things. Things I may not wish to know.
Knowing too much is the worst of fates.
20. And Mermaids Pray
CASSIE
The smell of wet moss permeated my nostrils. Panic and confusion hazed my mind as I woke. Missouri, Aisha, Philomena and Sophronia slept in their beds, but they didn’t wear their makeup or proper clothing.
I startled. Strange boys slept in the spare beds—neither of whom were Ethan. Had more kids been brought into the dollhouse?
An icy breeze crossed my face.
Jessamine had just been in here, watching us sleep.
With a crush, everything came back to me—the weight of everything that had happened since my escape from here. I was in the dollhouse, but I had been away a long time. I’d escaped, and now I was back.
The horror of Balthazar and the castle edged in, and the loss of the otherworld Molly and Aisha... and the loss of my parents. I felt like I was balancing on the sharp edge of a knife.
My gasping breaths disturbed Molly. She sat in her bed, her hair falling around her face the way it had the first time I had ever seen her, here in the subterranean light of the bed chamber. Above us, the stone angel stared down, amused by all our earthly struggles, impervious to our pain.
Molly and I glanced at each other in mute acknowledgement of where we were, and how much had changed since we were here last.
“Jessamine was here, in the room,” I told her softly.
Molly nodded. “I know. I sense her, too. Let’s go.”
We woke the others, giving them time to adjust to where they were. Aisha’s eyes were haunted as she gazed about the bed chamber. For her and Molly, the days of the dollhouse were as though they were less than a week ago—they had each almost stepped straight from a coma back to here.
Ben and Raif woke with a start, terror in their eyes at having fallen asleep in the bed chamber.
“It’s time to leave this room,” Molly told them.
Picking up our lamps and flashlights, we stepped out together to the corridor.
“Wait....” Sophronia advised us, pointing toward the dressing room.
We nodded at her in unison—all except for Ben and Raif, who seemed to be trying to steel themselves for whatever came next.
“What’s going on?” Ben asked. “What’s in there?”
Stepping inside with her lamp, Molly silently handed each of the girls a dress. Heading back into the dressing room, she picked up Ethan’s old clothes from the rack and gave them to Ben and Raif.
“What are we meant to do with these?” Raif gave Molly a shrugging frown.
“You are meant to dress in them,” Sophronia told him.
“What the—?” Raif shook his head. “Hell to the no.”
“Just do it,” Aisha told her brother.
Frances held her white dress with the pink ribbons against her tiny body. Last time I’d seen her in this dress, the hem had been dragging on the ground. Now, it rose over her ankles. “Jessam
ine wants us to dress in our nice clothes. It makes her happy.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever makes Jessamine happy. If it’s her that keeps that shadow thing away, I’m good to go.”
The girls and I headed into the bathroom to change into the dresses, leaving the boys holding Ethan’s old clothing.
Shivering, I pulled my winter clothing from my body and stepped into the dress. We completed our grooming with the heavy makeup that still sat on the cabinet. Lacey’s fingers faltered as she picked up the red theatrical paint. She’d never had to dress and look like a doll, as we had.
Ben and Raif stared at us open-mouthed as we emerged from the bathroom, standing awkwardly in their vests and jackets. Ben was too tall and thin for the trousers and jacket, while Raif looked like he was born to wear such clothing. A hollow place opened in the center of my chest as I pictured Ethan in that suit—so handsome my heart used to clutch like a fist. If he returned to the museum before me, I hoped he’d forgive me for leaving like I did.
My body chilled inside the thin material of the gown—making me keenly remember the constant cold of the dollhouse, the constant hunger and fear.
We filed along the corridor to the ballroom.
The boys stopped dead at the thresh hold to the huge space of the ballroom, staring rigidly at the figure who now sat in the rocking chair.
Jessamine rocked to and fro—a reproving expression on her face. She looked the same as she ever did, as though not a second had passed since we escaped. I didn’t know why I expected that she would—she had never looked any different. “Should I count my disappointments with you?”
Molly bent her head slightly in acknowledgement. “We’re sorry.”
Jessamine stilled the rocking chair. “At least you had the decency to change out of that dreadful clothing.”
“May we enter?” Molly waited for an answer.
“Of course.” Jessamine sucked her lips in. “This is your home.” She cast an eye over the boys. “Though must you bring ruffians with you?”
“They came as our chaperones,” said Molly quickly. “We needed someone to guide us through the snow outside or we would have lost our way.”
“Is it winter?” Jessamine asked.
“It’s a never-ending winter,” Molly told her.
Jessamine cast a cool eye over the boys. “I can tell that the tall one is not such a hothead as Evander was. But the other—he would do any manner of beastly thing to get his own way.” She glared at Raif reprovingly.
I looked about the room for the letter—finding it on a shelf in the library. Jessamine must have moved it. I could only just see it in the gloom. “We brought you a letter.”
“I saw it,” she said.
“Did you read it?” Molly kept her voice even.
“Of course not. It is not my concern.”
Aisha looked as though she were trying hard to contain her impatience. “But it’s from your grandfather!”
Jessamine’s face closed—like a trinket box snapping shut. “Did you not understand? It is not of interest to me. You all returned here rather suddenly and unannounced. I am already finding this visit rather wearisome. Perhaps you would all like some tea?” Her expression clouded. “But there is no more tea....”
Rising, she began pacing the floor. “You were all rather greedy and took all of it, all the tea.”
Frances pointed toward a toy tea set on the shelves. “We could pretend?”
Jessamine pulled her mouth down. “I’m not in a desirable mood to play pretend.” A flicker of a frown crossed her forehead, confusion darkening her eyes. “Philomena, your dress does not fit you. Were you naughty and you cut the hem?”
She shook her head. “I grew bigger, Jessamine.”
Jessamine’s expression grew distant. “Such a shame. Such a great shame. You were perfect as you were. A little doll.”
I exchanged glances with the other girls, then turned back to Jessamine. “Are you perhaps in the mood for a riddle?” I said carefully.
Jessamine stopped in her tracks. “What sort of riddle?”
“Any sort,” I replied.
Molly’s mouth formed an O and she blew out a long, slow breath. “Yes, could we? It’s been so long—”
Jessamine lifted her chin. “None of you were ever good at guessing my riddles. It isn’t fun to play when you know you will outwit your opponents from the outset.”
“Perhaps we can start with riddles we know?” Making my way over to the library, I pulled a book of old riddles from the bookshelf—it was still in the place it had been before. All the books were in their places. Jessamine must have meticulously replaced them. The title read, Wehman Bros.New book of fun magic and mystery: a big collection of parlor magic, tricks with cards, fortune telling, flirtations, funny readings, toasts, money making secrets, amusing experiments, jokes, riddles, conundrums, parlor amusements, puzzles and problems. 1905.
Jessamine eyed the book without interest as I turned the cover around to her. “A riddle isn’t a riddle if you already know the answer.”
“Then may I tell you a new one?” I asked.
“There is little merit in riddles, when all is said and done. A riddle can only be used once on an opponent before it must be tossed away. And there is no real end point to riddles either. Perhaps we should engage in a round of chess, or dominoes?”
My breath seemed to come from a deep place, from a faraway place. Jessamine was testing me. She knew that we were here for a reason, and she was not going to give anything away easily.
The game had already begun.
I met her gaze. “There is merit in all riddles, for a game has a beginning—when the question is posed, a middle—when the opponent attempts to figure it out... and an end—when the opponent either solves the riddle or the first player gives the answer. And then there is a new riddle, and it all starts again.”
She drew her fair eyebrows together, a stern look steeling her eyes. “You mustn’t think things need go round and round. We are not carousels.”
“Then which way should things go?” I asked her.
“Things should go whichever way you want them to. Backwards, forwards... or as dead and still as a dormouse.”
We were playing a game, but by Jessamine’s rules, and I couldn’t guess what those rules were. But we were not back in the days of the dollhouse and Jessamine didn’t rule over us and make us cower anymore. She was just a young girl who was used to having everything her own way down here—a young girl who was afraid and lost. I didn’t fear her, anymore.
I looked at the hands of the ruined grandfather clock, which Jessamine used to make spin in any direction she chose. “Show me things going backward?”
Her eyes lit up. “You are all here again! That means everything has gone back as it was. Things reset themselves.”
I shook my head. “Look at us, Jessamine. We are all changed.”
She turned her head stubbornly away toward the carousel.
Sophronia nodded at me, her dark eyes determined. “The dollhouse changed me,” she told Jessamine. “My leg broke in two here, but it did not reset itself—not in the way it was before.”
Raif cringed, staring down at Sophronia’s twisted leg.
Jessamine remained staring at the carousel. “You, Sophronia... you practiced a deception the whole time you were here. You made us all think you had no voice. You pretended to be my assistant, while all the while you were plotting against me.”
“You also, were playing a game, were you not?” Sophronia replied. “This is not a dollhouse, and we are not dolls. Yet you insisted we be your playthings.”
Jessamine turned and stared at her in surprise. “I offered you safety from the world. I gave you order and routine—a haven. All any of you needed to do was to follow my instruction.”
Ben silently whistled under his breath, his eyes wide beneath his tousled locks of fair hair.
Sophronia took a hobbling step toward her. “But we were not toys. Could it be that we ou
rselves are the riddles? Each of us spending our lives trying to figure ourselves out? Perhaps the worst thing of all is to die and never find the answer to ourselves.”
Jessamine’s eyes shadowed. “If we are riddles, then that cannot be—for as Calliope said, a riddle must have an end, an answer.”
Molly put a hand on Frances’ shoulder. “Perhaps we must go around many times before we find our answer.” Frances stared up at Molly, smiling.
“Henry says that we should stop ourselves from going around. We should not live again, on other earths. We should keep ourselves as we are.” Jessamine gave an uncertain and rigid nod.
Wriggling away from Molly, Frances ran to sit on the rug next to Jessamine. “I remember all the games you used to play with me.”
Jessamine’s gaze settled on Frances, her expression lightening.
Frances eyed the shelves of toys somewhat wistfully. She’d been taken and brought to the dollhouse when she was only three. I guessed that the underground had quickly become her everyday life—and playing games all day long with a strange, ghostly girl had replaced whatever family life she used to have. Standing, Frances walked to the carousel, touching her favorite horse on his nose. Just as the carousel always had, a touch brought it to life. Tinkling, metallic notes danced over each other in the air. Frances climbed on board and up onto a horse.
Jessamine watched the carousel slowly spinning, but she seemed distracted, almost as if something were taking her away to another place and time. “The blue horse was made for me, in celebration of my fifth birthday. I had the very first ride on it, before the carousel was opened to the circus crowds. They called me Sparrow, back then....”
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to gather strength. “Who are you now, Jessamine?”
Slowly, she moved her head around to me. “I stepped off the carousel, Calliope, a long time ago. That’s who I am.”
“Then you are no longer part of the game,” I told her. “You have to be in the game to win and get to an end point, and start again. Just like a carousel ride.”
