by Emily Asad
I gather everyone in the parlor except for Henry, who sits on the top stair, caught between wanting to be near his Alexis and joining his family. Since he can hear me from the parlor, though, I decide not to wait.
I’m hardly able to contain my excitement as I unpack all my surprises. “These aren’t your Christmas presents,” I tell them. “This is just because.” I set the thirteen-inch color TV on the coffee table and plug it in. “You don’t get cable, so we’re going to watch movies.” I gesture to the dozens of DVD’s beside it.
“Is that what TV’s look like now?” Eleanor gasps. “They’re so small!”
“Sorry. It’s an old one. The new ones are as flat as a book and as big as a window. The movies aren’t new, either, but-”
“How much did you spend?” George demands. “Zenia, that was your money for college.”
“This is for me,” I insist, hurt by his reaction. “You deserve to know what you’ve missed all these years. Listening to your fuzzy old TV isn’t the same as watching it. Besides, I’m working at the bakery three days a week now.”
“She can afford it,” Nathaniel says. “She’ll still be able to pay for those college credits, come January. She makes almost nine hundred dollars a month!”
Henry’s jaw drops. “Father used to make three hundred a month. And that was working six days a week, ten hours a day. Most people made less than a hundred.”
Nathaniel shrugs. “Inflation.”
“It’s a lovely gesture,” Eleanor says. “What are these?”
“DVD’s. Now pay attention.” I demonstrate how to load and play a movie.
The family gasps at the brilliant colors on the screen.
“I put them in chronological order according to the movies, not the production date. I figure you can watch a few each week and you’ll be caught up on modern customs by February. Then, when you get big again, you won’t be so lost. Nobody will ever know you’ve been dolls for the last hundred years.”
David has an odd gleam in his hazel eyes. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?”
I’m still angry with him, but I can’t help the softness that creeps into my voice when I answer. “I know you guys have listened to the news and soap operas, but seeing will explain so much more.”
Henry comes down from his perch. “I’ll make popcorn.”
George and Nathaniel rearrange the couches so they can see the TV better.
“Which movie should we look at first?” asks Eleanor.
“Let’s start with Meet Me in St. Louis with Judy Garland,” I reply, “and work our way up from there.”
“Oh, Judy Garland!” Eleanor actually claps her hands in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to know what she looks like on the big screen. Phoebe only showed us magazines.”
I’ve seen this movie a dozen times, so I watch their faces instead. They’re utterly amazed by the color and movement. They’ve already heard the movie several times over the decades; now the story is brand-new.
I glance at Nathaniel. Halloween wasn’t a clean breakup. He continues to flirt with me. When he’s not sulking. I hope he’s not planning something dangerous to prove how brave he is and how much he’ll suffer for me. It’s a good thing dragons don’t exist.
When the movie finishes, everyone applauds.
“I’ll go make more popcorn,” George says. He and Eleanor disappear into the kitchen, dancing all the way.
Nathaniel’s inspired by the romantic tunes from the movie, too, and twirls me around as if we’re the stars of the show. “I’ve been thinking about something. Don’t get upset – this is just a theoretical scenario. I know how you like to calculate all your angles.”
Oh, no. I knew he was planning something. “What are we calculating this time?”
He stops twirling me. In fact, he freezes stock-still like he’s terrified of his own idea. But he gulps and says it anyway. “I know you don’t believe my love for you is sincere. I have no way to prove it, except to ask you something. I’ve given this a lot of thought, Zenia, so think it over before you tell me no. Promise me.”
“You’re making me nervous, Nate. I thought we talked about this.”
“It’s the only way I can convince you I’m serious.” He lowers himself to one knee.
“Don’t say it,” I beg, guessing his intention.
He closes his hand around mine. “Zenia Segovia, will you be my wife?”
I don’t have to answer. David knocks him flat on the floor with a punch to the jaw.
“You’ll turn her into a doll, you costumed representation of a human! She doesn’t deserve that!”
“Boys!” Eleanor comes running from the kitchen.
They scuffle, each throwing wild punches at each other until George and Henry wade in to pull them apart. But it’s too late.
The entire room echoes with the snap. And then David lays on the ground, motionless. His leg bends at an odd angle from his body.
I drop to his side. “David?”
“It’s broken again,” Eleanor says grimly. “Henry, George, get him to his bed. I can set the bone from there.”
“I’ll boil some water,” Alexis volunteers.
“I’ll come with,” I say.
Alexis turns to me, forbidding but gentle. “She tended soldiers during the Civil War. Bone-setting is nasty business. The fewer people to watch, the better.”
The room clears out until I’m left with Nathaniel, whose face is just as pale as David’s. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he whispers.
I pick up Baby John and balance him on my hip.
Poor Nathaniel. I pat his shoulder. But when he turns to me in hope, I’m quick to add, “This doesn’t mean I love you. And I certainly won’t marry you. But I’ll forgive you if David’s okay.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE:
ALONE TIME
When I run downstairs to tell her about David, Amelia volunteers to fake a kidney stone so her doctor will prescribe strong medicine. For now, we’re dosing David with a concoction of pharmacy painkillers, including the maximum dose of antihistamine to help him sleep. But he needs surgery, not pills.
“I’ll sit with him,” I tell Alexis as I lean against his bedroom doorframe.
“Later,” she tells me. “Right now he needs to be supervised.”
“But…”
“I’ll call you if we need anything.”
I sit in the hallway for hours, waiting to be called. She and Eleanor buzz around the room, frantic and worried, as if I’m just going to get in the way.
Nobody needs me anymore.
I should have kept the dollhouse for myself.
Finally, I go down to the kitchen to clean up our Thanksgiving dishes. But George and Henry have already done that, so I stroll out to my beautiful new house.
Nathaniel’s there, sitting at my booth. Probably waiting to beg more forgiveness.
I don’t want to talk to him right now.
I need some fresh air, so I head back to my bedroom to grab my coat and mittens, and then wade through the snow to the evergreen maze.
It’s become my favorite sitting spot. All mine, actually, since nobody else wants to brave the knee-deep snow. The sub-zero breeze ceases when I enter the maze – a relief so sudden, it’s almost warm.
Mrs. Akakios is still there, of course, so I clear a spot for myself on the bench. I tell her how Alexis is home again and how Phoebe’s growing up. How angry I am about Nathaniel and worried for David. When there’s nothing more to say, I start building a snowman to keep her company. It’ll be faceless because I didn’t bring coal or carrots. But it’s the only present I can think of to give a statue.
“Gonna get back inside now,” I say, shivering. “Merry Christmas.”
I give her marble skirt a pat. Its warmth soaks through my mitten. Marble should be as cold as ice. The pedestal’s cold, as it should be – but the statue herself is warm.
Alive?
I’ve been talking this whole time. Now I
take a moment to actually listen. As soon as I open my mind, I can feel the statue same as the dolls.
“Phoebe!” I bellow, running back to the mansion. “Phoebe!”
* * *
When I tell her the news, Phoebe dashes to her hallway door and starts pounding on it. “Let me out! Oh, please, please let me out…”
I wrap my coat around her shoulders. “Calm down. Find the release thread.”
She searches with such frantic, quick motions, she’d probably miss it if it were in front of her face. “What if they forgot to put one on this door? What if I can only live in Alexis’ room and the study for the rest of my life?”
“Phoebe, calm down! I’m sure each door has its own thread. Let’s search for it together, okay? In a pattern so we don’t miss anything.” I scan the top of the door. Nothing, so I move my search to the upper panel.
She hisses when she finds it. But tugging won’t do the trick this time. “Why isn’t it working?” Her voice breaks.
“Last time you just used your instincts.”
“You can’t control instinct! The Aunts made the seal so that I’d be able to break it when I was mature enough. Why isn’t it working now?”
“Maybe because you’re not in control of yourself at the moment.” I grab her shoulders and spin her toward me. “Breathe, Phoebe. Clear your head. Picture the thread in your mind.”
She closes her eyes and holds very still.
“Got it? All you need is a tiny little hole.”
“Oh. Oh.” She opens her eyes, a new level of confidence exuding from them. “I can do better than that. It’s all about collective relaxation rates and intermolecular coherency.”
I gape at her in surprise. “You’re saying your magic is related to quantum physics?”
“You’ve studied quantum physics?”
“Not in depth.”
“Don’t worry. I have. Didn’t understand it when I was a kid, but now it all makes sense.” She locates the release string and wraps its end around her index finger. She yanks, causing the whole weave to stretch tight. When she snaps her fingers, the release string bounces back like a fly caught in a spiderweb. The whole weave evaporates. “Let’s go get my mom.”
We run outside, me still tugging on the spare coat and mittens, and don’t stop until we’re heaving white puffs in front of the statue.
Phoebe stares up at the life-sized statue of mother. “She’s disappointed. She was so angry when she found out about the Whitmans. When she started scolding, I turned her into this – all because I didn’t want to hear another lecture.”
“Don’t cry,” I say. “You’ll get frostbite.”
“What if she can’t forgive me? What if she’s still angry?”
“Moms are always angry. But they get over it, especially when we try harder.”
“What if I can’t do it?” She turns to me. “I couldn’t reverse my spell for the Whitmans… If only Alexis were here…”
“Get a grip! Your powers are getting stronger each day. You can do things now you couldn’t when you were a little girl.”
“Which was only a few weeks ago.”
“I thought time didn’t mean much to Artemics.” I place her hand on her mother’s skirt. “You can do this.”
She’s so quiet for so long, a thin layer of snowflakes starts to coat her head and shoulders. Then she takes off the mittens and touches her mother’s face. Green sparkles flow from her fingers into the marble. Change comes slowly. Color creeps into the flesh and down into the fabric. Phoebe changes, too, maturing into as lovely a young woman as Alexis.
It takes forever.
Then Mrs. Akakios steps down from her pedestal and catches Phoebe in tight, tight hug. “My little girl,” she murmurs, stroking Phoebe’s long, blonde curls. “You’re finally growing up.”
“Oh, Mother! Can you… do you think you might… please forgive me?”
“Hush. Everything will be fine now.” Mrs. Akakios can’t stop smiling, though there’s pain in her face, too.
“Let’s get you inside,” I say as she starts to shiver.
Phoebe donates her scarf.
We help her manage the deep snow – her dainty Victorian boots aren’t meant for weather like this – until I suggest that they both climb into my pocket where it’ll be warmer.
“Now you’re thinking like an Artemic,” Phoebe says. They shrink down real small and then huddle together inside my pocket.
“This’ll save us from having to explain you to the staff,” I tell Mrs. Akakios as I head back to the mansion.
“You can live in one of my new dollhouses until we come up with a story for Amelia,” Phoebe adds.
“Goodness, Phoebe. Are you still playing with dolls?”
“It’s not like that. I build my own now. Tiny houses, actually – they’re my calling in life. They’re like closet-sized cottages on wheels.”
I wave as I enter the kitchen, casual. Michael and Amelia are standing together, decorating one of the counters with garland for Christmas. “Great night for a stroll,” I tell them.
Amelia’s eyes pop. “It’s getting ready to blizzard.”
Michael just gives me a thumbs-up. “Teenagers.”
Up in the empty room, I set Phoebe and her mother on the floor of the study and then step back so they can bring themselves back to their original size.
“Let me go tell Alexis,” Phoebe says, popping inside the dome.
Mrs. Akakios sinks to the floor and holds her hand up to the green barrier when tiny Alexis comes running to the perimeter’s edge. From inside, tiny Alexis holds her hand up to the barrier, too. Mrs. Akakios moves toward the barrier like she’s going to sacrifice her freedom and go inside. It’s not my place to restrain her, but I grab her sleeve. “Are you sure? We still don’t know how to free them,” I tell her.
Alexis agrees with me. “Don’t do it, Mother. We need you out there.”
The best Mrs. Akakios can do is to turn herself small, to match Alexis’ size. They stare at each other across the barrier and weep.
I can’t imagine seeing my mother again after so long but not being able to hug her. How did Phoebe get more powerful than her own mother?
The Whitmans gather on the front porch to celebrate Mrs. Akakios’ return.
I can’t stay to watch. My mother is still missing. No amount of magic is going to bring her back.
Her photograph is on a bookshelf inside my new Tiny House. As I walk around the back of the dollhouse toward the stables, muffled groans float down from David’s window. He must be awake. I can’t imagine the pain. Afraid to disturb him, I pop into the hallway outside his bedroom. Nathaniel’s sitting at the top of the stairs, his head in his hands. “I gave him more pills,” he tells me. “When is Amelia delivering the rest?”
“Medicine’s hard to get nowadays,” I tell him. “As soon as she can.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him. Or you.” He starts to sob. “I’ll always love you, Zenia. I can’t help that. I think you understand what that feels like.”
I nod and sit down beside him, several inches away so he won’t get the wrong idea.
He won’t look at me. “I’ll always be here for you. Whenever you need me, no matter if we end up friends or strangers or enemies. If you’re sure your feelings about David won’t change, then… check Mother’s basket sometimes. He doesn’t say much, my brother, but it’s where he keeps his heart.”
“Water…” David croaks.
“Better get in there.” Nathaniel pecks my cheek one last time, ever the charming Musketeer, and then hurries down the stairs. Sniffling.
My heart breaks for him. I love him so much more now that we’re not dating.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:
SURGERY
At David’s bedside, my hand trembles as I hold his mug to his crooked lips. His face is too pale, his eyes too dull. Eleanor has tied two long planks to his thigh to immobilize the entire leg, and he’s bundled under three layers of quilts. It’s impossibl
e to stay upset with him when he’s suffering like this.
“Guess what? Phoebe’s mom is here. Phoebe reversed the spell. Isn’t that great? She’s really growing up. It’ll be your turn soon.”
“F-f-freezing,” he says.
He’s probably fighting shock. When I find his good foot under all those quilts, his toes are like little ice cubes. I sit on the edge of his mattress rub some warmth into the them.
“I hope I’m not jiggling you too bad,” I whisper. “Maybe this’ll keep you from sneaking down to my little house and taking it apart, though…”
He doesn’t respond, not even to smile at my lame joke.
“Thanks for saving me,” I say, turning serious. “I can’t believe Nathaniel. We broke up a month ago – you’d think he’d get the message. Dating him was such a mistake.”
“You’re not longer courting?” he asks with effort. “What happened?”
“He wanted me to be someone else.”
“He wasn’t good for you.” A sudden jolt of pain seizes him. He fights the spasm until he’s panting for breath.
I can’t bear to see him suffer like this. I leap off the bed, intending to bring back help, but he catches my sleeve. “Stay,” he gasps.
“You can’t go on like this. There must be something else I can do!”
His lips move but I don’t hear the words. I have to bend very close to hear him say, “Take me with you.”
“Outside? But you’ll turn into a… Oh.”
If he’s a doll, he won’t feel pain.
George would forbid it if I asked permission. The idea of deliberately turning David into a doll freaks me out, too. I put my skirt and sweater back on before popping out of the house. Then, before I lose my nerve, I reach through the window and pull his bed toward me until I can scoop him into the palm of my hand. His head rests against the pad of my middle finger. His feet stretch down to the base of my palm. A whole human, in my hand on a 1:12 ratio.
He winces as I tiptoe toward the perimeter even though I’m trying to walk as smoothly as a boat on water. As soon as we pass through, he stiffens into a wooden doll. “Are you all right?”
