The Collection (20 page)

^"
All right, all right,
^"
said
Sam Walters.
^"
Spare us the blow-by-blow. You didn't find out
who dropped it?"

^"
Right. And I went up as high as the fourth
floor, asking the people whose windows were over the place where I picked it up.
They were all home, as it happened, and none of them had ever seen it. I
thought it might have fallen off a window ledge. But—
^"

^"
What
^'
s in it, Dick?
^"
Edith asked.

^"
Dolls. Four of them. I brought them over
this evening for Aubrey. If she wants them.
^"

He untied the package, and Aubrey said,
^"
Oooo,
Uncle Richard. They
^'
re—they
^'
re
lovely.
^"

Sam said,
^"
Hm. Those look almost more like
manikins than dolls, Dick. The way they
^'
re dressed, I mean. Must
have cost several dollars apiece. Are you sure the owner won
^'
t turn
up?
^"

Richard shrugged.
^"
Don
^'
t see how
he can. As I told you, I went up four floors, asking. Thought from the look of
the box and the sound of the thud, it couldn't have come from even that high.
And after I opened it, well—look—
^"
He picked up one of the
dolls and held it out for Sam Walters
^'
inspection.

^"
Wax. The heads and hands, I mean. And not
one of them cracked. It couldn
^'
t have fallen from higher than the
second story. Even then, I don
^'
t see how—
^"
He
shrugged again.

^"
They're the Geezenstacks,
^"
said Aubrey.

^"
Huh?
^"
Sam asked.

"I'm going to call them the Geezenstacks," Aubrey
said. "Look, this one is Papa Geezenstack and this one is Mama
Geezenstack, and the little girl one—that's—that's Aubrey Geezenstack. And the
other man one, we'll call him Uncle Geezenstack. The little girl's
uncle."

Sam chuckled. "Like us, eh? But if Uncle—uh—Geezenstack
is Mama Geezenstack's brother, like Uncle Richard is Mama's brother, then his
name wouldn't be Geezenstack."

"Just the same, it is," Aubrey said. "They're
all Geezenstacks. Papa, will you buy me a house for them?"

"A doll house? Why—" He'd started to say, 'Why,
sure," but caught his wife's eye and remembered. Aubrey's birthday was
only a week off and they'd been wondering what to get her. He changed it
hastily to "Why, I don't know. I'll think about it.''

***

It was a beautiful doll house. Only one-story high, but
quite elaborate, and with a roof that lifted off so one could rearrange the
furniture and move the dolls from room to room. It scaled well with the
manikins Uncle Richard had brought.

Aubrey was rapturous. All her other playthings went into
eclipse and the doings of the Geezenstacks occupied most of her waking
thoughts.

It wasn't for quite a while that Sam Walters began to notice,
and to think about, the strange aspect of the doings of the Geezenstacks. At
first, with a quiet chuckle at the coincidences that followed one another.

And then, with a puzzled look in his eyes.

It wasn't until quite a while later that he got Richard off
into a corner. The four of them had just returned from a play. He said,
^"
Uh—Dick.
^"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"These dolls, Dick. 'Where
did
you get
them?"

Richard's eyes stared at him blankly. "What do you
mean, Sam? I told you where I got them."

"Yes, but—you weren't kidding, or anything? I mean,
maybe you bought them for Aubrey, and thought we'd object if you gave her such
an expensive present, so you—uh—"

^"
No, honest, I didn't."

^"
But dammit, Dick, they couldn't have fallen
out of a window, or dropped out, and not broken. They're wax. Couldn't someone
walking behind you—or going by in an auto or something—?"

"There wasn't anyone around, Sam. Nobody at all. I've
wondered about it myself. But if I was lying, I wouldn
^'
t make up a
screwy story like that, would I? I'd just say I found them on a park bench or a
seat in a movie. But why are you curious?"

^"
I—uh—I just got to wondering."

Sam Walters kept on wondering, too.

They were little things, most of them. Like the time Aubrey
had said, "Papa Geezenstack didn't go to work this morning. He
^'
s
in bed, sick.
^"

^"
So?" Sam had asked. "And what is
wrong with the gentleman?
^"

"Something he ate, I guess.
^"

And the next morning, at breakfast,
^"
And how
is Mr. Geezenstack, Aubrey?
^"

"A little better, but he isn't going to work today yet,
the doctor said. Tomorrow, maybe."

And the next day, Mr. Geezenstack went back to work. That,
as it happened, was the day Sam Walters came home feeling quite ill, as a
result of something he'd eaten for lunch. Yes, he'd missed two days from work.
The first time he'd missed work on account of illness in several years.

And some things were quicker than that, and some slower. You
couldn
^'
t put your finger on it and say,
^"
Well, if
this happens to the Geezenstacks, it will happen to us in twenty-four
hours." Sometimes it was less than an hour. Sometimes as long as a week.

"Mama and Papa Geezenstack had a quarrel today."

And Sam had tried to avoid that quarrel with Edith, but it
seemed he just couldn't. He'd been quite late getting home, through no fault of
his own. It had happened often, but this time Edith took exception. Soft
answers failed to turn away wrath, and at last he
^'
d lost his own
temper.

^"
Uncle Geezenstack is going away for a
visit." Richard hadn't been out of town for years, but the next week he
took a sudden notion to run down to New York. "Pete and Amy, you know. Got
a letter from them asking me—
^"

"When?" Sam asked, almost sharply. "When did
you get the letter?
^"

^"
Yesterday."

"Then last week you weren't— This sounds like a silly
question, Dick, but last week were you thinking about going anywhere? Did you
say anything to—to anyone about the possibility of your visiting someone?"

"Lord, no. Hadn't even thought about Pete and Amy for
months, till I got their letter yesterday. Want me to stay a week."

"You'll be back in three days—maybe," Sam had
said. He wouldn't explain, even when Richard did come back in three days. It
sounded just too damn' silly to say that he'd known how long Richard was going
to be gone, because that was how long Uncle Geezenstack had been away.

Sam Walters began to watch his daughter, and to wonder. She,
of course, was the one who made the Geezenstacks do whatever they did. Was it
possible that Aubrey had some strange preternatural insight which caused her,
unconsciously, to predict things that were going to happen to the Walters and
to Richard?

He didn't, of course, believe in clairvoyance. But was
Aubrey clairvoyant?

^"
Mrs. Geezenstack's going shopping today.
She's going to buy a new coat."

That one almost sounded like a put-up job. Edith had smiled
at Aubrey and then looked at Sam. "That reminds me, Sam. Tomorrow I'll be
downtown, and there's a sale at—"

"But, Edith, these are war times. And you don't
need
a coat."

He'd argued so earnestly that he made himself late for work.
Arguing uphill, because he really could afford the coat and she really hadn't
bought one for two years. But he couldn't explain that the real reason he
didn't want her to buy one was that Mrs. Geezen— Why, it was too silly to say,
even to himself.

Edith bought the coat.

Strange, Sam thought, that nobody else noticed those coincidences.
But Richard wasn
^'
t around all the time, and Edith—well, Edith had
the knack of listening to Aubrey's prattle without hearing nine-tenths of it.

"Aubrey Geezenstack brought home her report card today,
Papa. She got ninety in arithmetic and eighty in spelling and—"

And two days later, Sam was calling up the headmaster of the
school. Calling from a pay station, of course, so nobody would hear him.
"Mr. Bradley, I'd like to ask a question that I have a uh—rather peculiar,
but important, reason for asking. Would it be possible for a student at your
school to know in advance exactly what grades . . ."

No, not possible. The teachers themselves didn
^'
t
know, until they'd figured averages, and that hadn
^'
t been done until
the morning the report cards were made out, and sent home. Yes, yesterday
morning, while the children had their play period.

^"
Sam,
^"
Richard said,
^"
you
^'
re
looking kind of seedy. Business worries? Look, things are going to get better
from now on, and with your company, you got nothing to worry about anyway.
^"

^"
That isn
^'
t it, Dick. It—I mean,
there isn
^'
t anything I
^'
m worrying about. Not exactly. I
mean—" And he
^'
d had to wriggle out of the cross-examination by
inventing a worry or two for Richard to talk him out of.

He thought about the Geezenstacks a lot. Too much. If only
he
^'
d been superstitious, or credulous, it might not have been so
bad. But he
wasn't.
That
^'
s why each succeeding coincidence
hit him a little harder than the last.

Edith and her brother noticed it, and talked about it when
Sam wasn't around.

^"
He
has
been acting queer lately,
Dick. I
^'
m—I
^'
m really worried. He acts so— Do you think we
could talk him into seeing a doctor or a—"

^"
A psychiatrist? Um, if we could. But I can
^'
t
see him doing it, Edith. Something
^'
s eating him, and I
^'
ve
tried to pump him about it, but he won't open up. Y'know—I think it's got
something to do with those damn
^'
dolls.
^"

^"
Dolls? You mean Aubrey
^'
s dolls?
The ones you gave her?
^"

^"
Yes, the Geezenstacks. He sits and stares
at the doll house. I
^'
ve heard him ask the kid questions about them,
and he was
serious.
I think he
^'
s got some delusion or something
about them. Or centering on them.
^"

"But, Dick, that's—awful."

^"
Look, Edie, Aubrey isn
^'
t as
interested in them as she used to be, and— Is there anything she wants very
badly?"

^"
Dancing lessons. But she
^'
s
already studying violin and I don
^'
t think we can let her—
^"

"Do you think if you promised her dancing lessons if
she gave up those dolls, she
^'
d be willing? I think we
^'
ve
got to get them out of the apartment. And I don
^'
t want to hurt
Aubrey, so—"

^"
Well—but what would we tell Aubrey?
^"

"Tell her
I know a poor family with children who
haven't any dolls at all. And—I think she
^'
ll agree, if you make it
strong enough.
^"

"But, Dick, what will we tell Sam? He'll know better
than that."

^"
Tell Sam, when Aubrey isn
^'
t
around, that you think she
^'
s getting too old for dolls, and
that—tell him she
^'
s taking an unhealthy interest in them, and that
the doctor advises— That sort of stuff."

Aubrey wasn't enthusiastic. She was not as engrossed in the
Geezenstacks as she
^'
d been when they were newer, but couldn
^'
t
she have both the dolls
and
the dancing lessons?

^"
I don
^'
t think you
^'
d
have time for both, honey. And there are those poor children who haven't
any
dolls to play with, and you ought to feel sorry for them."

And Aubrey weakened, eventually. Dancing school didn
^'
t
open for ten days, though, and she wanted to keep the dolls until she could
start her lessons. There was argument, but to no avail.

"That's all right, Edie," Richard told her.
"Ten days is better than not at all, and—well, if she doesn't give them up
voluntarily, it'll start a rumpus and Sam'll find out what we're up to. You
haven't mentioned anything to him at all, have you?"

"No. But maybe it would make him feel better to know
they were—
^"

^"
I wouldn
^'
t. We don
^'
t
know just what it is about them that fascinates or repels him. Wait till it
happens, and then tell him. Aubrey has already given them away. Or
he
might
raise some objection or want to keep them. If I get them out of the place
first, he can't."

^"
You
^'
re right, Dick. And Aubrey
won
^'
t tell him, because I told her the dancing lessons are going to
be a surprise for her father, and she can't tell him what's going to happen to
the dolls without telling the other side of the deal."

"Swell, Edith."

It might have been better if Sam had known. Or maybe everything
would have happened just the same, if he had.