The photograph. The one in the desk downstairs.
“Holy God!” I whispered.
“That’s swearing,” said Lily, frowning at me. “You’re not supposed to swear.”
“Sorry,” I replied. “It’s just so weird, Lily, it’s all so weird. I don’t understand what’s going on. These blue dresses,” I pointed to the dolls, who were now lying side by side in their matching outfits. “I’ve seen these dresses before, Lily— in a photograph downstairs.”
“What photograph?”
“You know that little desk in the corner in the living room? With a china girl in a red dress sitting on top of it?”
Lily nodded. “Yeah. I’m not supposed to touch her, ever. Ever.”
From the expression on her face, I had the feeling maybe she had touched the china girl once and got into big trouble.
“I found the photograph stuck in the back of the drawer in that desk. And Bubble and Fizz were in the photograph, in these same blue dresses. I think they used to live here, long ago.”
Lily looked down at the stiff, silent dolls she had just dressed.
“The dolls? They lived here? When? I never saw them.”
“It must have been a long time ago, Lily. Before we were born.”
I reached out a finger and touched the silky blue pleats on the Bubble doll’s dress. “That style of clothes, and their haircuts— it’s how people dressed in the 1920s— that’s seventy years ago.”
Her eyes grew big. “You mean they were real people, not dolls?”
I nodded my head. “I think so.” Then I smiled. I’d echoed Lily’s little chant.
“But then how did they get changed into dolls?” she whispered. “Did they do something bad? I think so. Did…did a witch put a spell on them?”
“I don’t know, Lily,” I said. “I don’t understand. All I know is that there’s a photograph downstairs of Fizz and Bubble, and they’re real girls, not dolls.”
“But I don’t see how they got changed into dolls and stuck in the dollhouse. Did they die? Are they ghosts?” Lily picked up the Bubble doll and examined her carefully from head to foot.
“She doesn’t look like me. Not one bit.” She frowned. “Why did the ghost call me ‘Bubble’?”
I shrugged. “Search me. Maybe she was expecting Bubble to wake her up and she didn’t take a good look at you.”
Lily laid the Bubble doll carefully in her bed, then picked up the Fizz doll, went around to the back of the dollhouse and laid that doll in her bed. My bed.
“Let them sleep,” said Lily. She peered into the basement kitchen and touched a tiny, perfect kettle that stood on the stove. “I don’t know, Alice,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’d want to be a doll forever and live in a dollhouse, would you?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m not sure they know that they’re dolls. I’m not even sure they are dolls. They seem like regular girls to me. I guess it might all be a dream.”
“It’s not a dream,” said Lily firmly. “It’s magic. Real magic. I think so.”
I opened my mouth and then shut it again. Lily had a happy little smile on her lips and was looking into the distance with starry eyes.
Magic.
“Lilll— eee!” came a faint cry from somewhere deep in the house downstairs. “Lilleee!”
Mary.
Lily took a deep breath and opened her mouth, as if she was going to answer. I clapped my hand over her mouth.
“Shhh!” I said. “Don’t say anything.”
The call got a bit closer, then farther away. “Maybe she’ll think we’re outside,” I whispered, and took my hand away from Lily’s mouth.
“She’ll keep looking,” said Lily. “She always does. She’ll think I’m getting into trouble somewhere. I think so.”
“We better go down,” I said. I hooked each side of the dollhouse closed.
We stood looking at it for a moment. It stood tall and quiet. A perfect house.
“It’s the best dollhouse I ever saw,” said Lily happily.
“I know,” I said. “It’s completely fantastic.” I turned to her. “We gotta come back.”
“Yup,” said Lily. “For sure we gotta come back. I think so.”
Chapter Seventeen
THE YELLOW DOG
Lily and Mary left after lunch, and Mom insisted I go and lie down to have a rest.
“Aww, come on, Mom,” I protested. “Only babies and old ladies have naps after lunch.”
“And people who have concussions,” she said firmly, shepherding me up the steep stairs and into my room. “You’ve got to take it easy for a few days. Doctor’s orders,” she added as I opened my mouth to protest again.
She stood there and watched as I climbed up onto the bed.
“Can I at least have a book to read?” I asked. I had noticed some interesting old books in the toy cupboard by authors I liked, L.M. Montgomery and E. Nesbit.
“No books,” said my mother crisply, whipping the green afghan off the window seat and covering me with it. “You need to rest your eyes.” She pulled all the bed curtains across so I was enclosed in a small green box. “One hour,” she said, and then I heard her footsteps crossing the room and then the sound of the big door shutting.
Sheesh. How was I going to last an hour in here? It was stuffy and hot. I never took naps. I thought maybe I could wait for a few minutes, then creep through the secret passage into the next room, but what good would that do me? I’d be as much a prisoner in there as I was in here. I couldn’t go back up to the attic because Lily and I had locked the doors and returned the keys to Mary’s purse.
I needed to get hold of another set of keys. Mary was only here three times a week, and I was itching to get back up to the dollhouse again. There must be other keys in the house, somewhere. When Mom let me get up, I could go looking for them.
I sighed impatiently and turned over. This was boring.
I could get myself a book, but what if reading strained my eyes and made the concussion worse? That must be why Mom wouldn’t let me have one. If I went ahead and read a book, I might damage my eyesight forever. And then I’d have to wear a blindfold all the time to keep out the light, and walk with a white cane and have a seeing-eye dog to lead me around. That would be fun. The dog, not the blindfold. I had always wanted a dog. A golden retriever with a red collar.
The heat and the stuffiness and the big lunch I’d put away were making me sleepy, in spite of myself, and my eyelids fluttered down and finally closed. I was drifting away when I thought I heard the sound of a train whistle far away, and then closer at hand, a dog barking. Then I was asleep.
* * *
—
Somebody was shaking my right shoulder.
“You sure do sleep a lot,” said a voice in my ear.
I sat up. Fizz was sitting beside me on the bed, a big grin on her face. The bed curtains were still closed. The sun beat through the curtains on the window side. It was unbearably hot. Fizz was wearing a blue dress and her feet were bare. Outside a dog was barking.
“Whaaa…?” I said. I felt groggy, the way you do when you wake up after sleeping for two hours in the afternoon.
Fizz laughed and jumped down from the bed. “Wake up! We’re supposed to be meeting Bubble in the summerhouse.” She pulled the dress off over her head and shook like a dog coming out of the water.
“That’s way too hot for a day like this,” she said, and skipped over to the closet. It was packed full of clothes. She plucked a sleeveless summer dress off a hanger and slipped it over her head.
I slowly lowered myself to the floor and picked up the blue dress she had left lying there. It looked just the same as the dress Lily had put on the doll in the dollhouse. I looked up at Fizz.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “The dollhouse—”
&nbs
p; Fizz looked back at me and laughed again. “Come on!” she said, grabbing my hand. “Bubble’s waiting.” She pulled me toward the door.
“But— but—” I said, holding back. Her grip on my hand tightened.
“Don’t be such a wet blanket,” she said. “Just come!”
Wet blanket? That’s what I felt like. A big heavy wet blanket. I stumbled along, but when we got to the top of the curving staircase, I wrenched my hand free.
“You’re not pulling me down there,” I said. “I’ll come on my own.”
Fizz looked at me for a moment, then smiled. “Okay, Ghost.” She turned and charged down the stairs. I followed slowly, gripping the handrail.
The downstairs hall looked almost exactly the way it did in my waking world, and the glimpse I had of the grand living room was identical: silky sofas and elegant wing chairs, and the little desk in the far corner with the china shepherdess. But I only had time for a quick look as we hurried past to the big door at the end of the hall. Fizz grasped the doorknob, gave it a twist and a push, and we were outside, standing at the top of the curving iron staircases that led down to the terrace.
A big yellow dog with a red collar came bounding across the grass to meet us, barking. Fizz ran down the steep stairs and I followed, again holding the handrail.
Fizz and the dog threw themselves at each other and rolled around on the grass. I stood blinking in the bright sunshine and watched them.
A yellow dog with a red collar. The same dog I had imagined before I went to sleep. This was a dream. It had to be.
Chapter Eighteen
THE TEA PARTY
I shaded my eyes. The light felt too bright. From what Dr. West had said, I knew this was because of my concussion. Dream or no dream, I needed to get out of the sun.
The dog disentangled himself from Fizz and leaped over to me, placing his front paws on my shoulders and licking my face. I giggled and tried to push him away.
“Sailor!” cried Fizz. “Down!”
He paid no attention. She grabbed his collar and hauled him off.
“Sorry,” she said. “He’s still a puppy. Bubble and I are trying to train him, but he loves jumping up. Especially if he likes you. Come on!” She grabbed my hand again and started off running toward the summerhouse, Sailor leaping and barking beside us.
When we got to the summerhouse, Fizz turned to Sailor.
“Lie down! You know you can’t come in.”
The dog flopped on the ground, panting.
Inside, the summerhouse was in much better repair than the last time I’d seen it. The white rattan furniture was gleaming with fresh paint, and the blue-and-white cushions on the chair seats were crisp and new.
Bubble was sitting in the middle of the floor with a dolls’ tea party in full progress. A flowery tablecloth was spread out and three dolls sat propped around the edge, each with a doll-size plate and teacup made of delicate white china in a blue-flowered pattern. Bubble had her own tiny plate and cup. There were two other empty places. A doll’s plate in the middle was piled with little round shortbreads.
“Just in time,” said Bubble, and she began pouring something out of the doll’s teapot. She was wearing what looked like a cotton petticoat with eyelet lace ruffles. A blue dress lay crumpled on one of the rattan chairs, as if she had just pulled it off and thrown it there.
A blue dress. And Fizz had been wearing a blue dress when she woke me up. Lily had dressed both dolls in those blue dresses before we closed up the dollhouse.
“The dollhouse…” I said, trying to figure it out. “The dollhouse…”
Neither of them paid any attention to me.
“Time for tea,” sang out Bubble, filling the cups.
“Sit down, Ghost,” said Fizz. “Have some tea.”
“My name is Alice,” I said, sitting at one of the empty places. “I’m not a ghost.”
“She doesn’t look like a ghost, Fizz,” said Bubble. “She’s not even scary. That’s true.”
“But she is a ghost, Bubble,” said Fizz. “She’s from another world, aren’t you, Alice?”
“Maybe…” I said slowly. “In the other world, I’m asleep, and I’m dreaming all of this.”
Fizz went on as if she hadn’t heard me. “In your world, maybe you’re not a ghost. But in our world, you are.”
“A friendly ghost,” said Bubble, smiling at me as she passed me a teacup and saucer. “That’s true.”
The “tea” was a cloudy liquid with little bits of something floating in it.
“Umm…” I began, looking at it dubiously.
“Lemonade,” said Fizz.
“Tea,” said Bubble, glaring at her. Once all the dolls had their tea poured, Bubble passed around the shortbreads. They were small but delicious.
Fizz held out her teacup for more. Bubble filled the pot from a regular-sized jug.
“Oh, just give it to me,” said Fizz impatiently, grabbing the jug and taking a long drink from it. “I’m dying of thirst.”
“You’re no fun,” said Bubble crossly. “You should learn your manners, Fizz. That’s true.”
Fizz offered me the jug and I took a big glug from it.
“It’s too hot for manners,” she said.
“Well, at least April, May and June know their manners,” grumbled Bubble, offering the dolls little sips of tea from their cups.
I sat watching her. Just like the last time I had seen her, she reminded me of Lily. She was obviously older than Fizz, but she talked and played like a little girl.
I yawned. It was a very peculiar dream. All mixed up with the dollhouse. And my headache. And this feeling like I wanted to sleep forever.
Bubble reached over and gave my arm a shake.
“Don’t go back to sleep!” she said. “We want you to stay and play with us. That’s true.”
“But I’m already asleep,” I said. I could barely keep my eyes open. “I’m asleep and dreaming. I’m having a nap on my bed, and Mom’s downstairs. I’m dreaming about Bubble because she’s like Lily, and I’m dreaming about Sailor because I thought about a dog before I fell asleep, and I’m dreaming about the summerhouse because I was in the summerhouse with Lily and—”
“And me?” said Fizz, leaning toward me, with a gleam in her eyes. “Why are you dreaming about me, Alice?”
“Because…because…because…you’re the ghost,” I said. “The ghost in my bed.”
Fizz and Bubble both threw back their heads and laughed, like I’d made the biggest joke ever. April, May and June sat staring blankly at me, the way dolls do. Outside, Sailor, aroused by their laughter, began barking wildly.
“You’re the ghost, silly,” said Bubble. “Not Fizz. That’s true.”
Chapter Nineteen
INVISIBLE
In the midst of the laughter and the barking, the door to the summerhouse opened. A dark figure stood there motionless for a moment, silhouetted by the sunshine. It reminded me of the way Lily had stood in exactly the same place that morning, a dark shadow against the brightness beyond. Then the figure moved forward out of the dazzling light and into the summerhouse. A woman with dark hair swinging in a bob around her face, wearing a flower-bespeckled twenties-style dress with a drop waist.
I recognized her right away. The woman from the photograph.
She smiled a twinkly smile and said, “A tea party! And you didn’t invite me! You sounded like you were having so much fun, I just had to come and see. But here’s an extra place.”
She moved toward me. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking through me. I scrambled out of the way, and she sat down where I’d been sitting.
“Oh dear,” she said, picking up the cup I had been drinking from a few minutes before. “Someone’s been drinking from my cup. It’s just like Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” She laughed merrily and Bubb
le joined her.
I flattened myself against the wall, staring at her. Fizz glanced quickly at me and then away.
“It was me, Mother,” she said, picking up the teapot and pouring more “tea” into the cup. “I was thirsty, so I drank your tea as well as mine.”
Bubble giggled.
I felt weird. This woman couldn’t see me. I was— invisible. I looked down at my hands. I could see them clearly. And Bubble and Fizz could see me. So why couldn’t their mother?
I didn’t like being invisible. I used to daydream about it sometimes, about how much fun it would be to sneak around and watch people and listen to what they were saying when they didn’t know you were there.
But this wasn’t fun at all. I felt the way I do sometimes if I’m in a room full of people I don’t know. Like I don’t matter. Like I’m not there.
Was I a ghost? Or was I dreaming?
“Well, this is just perfect,” said the woman. “I love a tea party. But I came looking for you to tell you something. Mr. Inwood’s come with a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” said Bubble, her face lighting up.
“Let me guess,” said Fizz in a bored voice. “Something new for the dollhouse.”
Her mother frowned. “Yes— something new. Something wonderful. Don’t be so ungrateful, Fizz.”
“I want to see it,” said Bubble.
The woman stood up and held out her hand to Bubble. “Let’s all go and see it. But put on your dress first, dear. You can’t go running around in your petticoat. Even if it is hot.”
She helped Bubble put on the blue dress while Fizz looked on, glaring at them.
“We were having a tea party, Mother,” she said. “We were having fun. Why do we have to go inside where it’s hot and stuffy to look at some stupid new thing that Mr. Inwood’s made that we won’t be able to touch or play with?”
“That’s enough, Fizz,” said her mother in a very different voice. “Don’t spoil things for Bubble. She wants to see it and you’re coming too, and you’re going to be polite to Adrian.”
The Dollhouse Page 8
