The Doll Shop Downstairs (4 page)

“What about this?” asks Trudie, holding up a doll-sized version of a lady's hand fan. “I think Angelica Grace would love it.”

“Hmmm,” says Sophie in a way that indicates this would not be her first choice.

As we wander, we stop often to touch what we see. Mama and Papa do the same; dolls are their business after all, and it's good for them to see what F.A.O. Schwartz is selling.

We spend nearly an hour in the store, but no one can decide on anything. Trudie still likes the fan, though she is not sure—she would also like to get a hat for Angelica Grace. I am thinking about doll furniture, but I can't find anything we can afford. Sophie says she just has not found the right thing yet. Papa, who seems to have seen enough dolls for the moment, pulls out his newspaper and begins to read. Mama tells us we need to make a decision soon. Sophie is about to say something, but then she stops in front of a display we have somehow not seen before.

“Doll dishes,” she says. I can hear the certainty in her voice.

“That's a good idea,” says Mama. “You girls do love tea parties.” So we gather around Sophie, inspecting first some plain white dishes and then a set of pots and pans.

“Here's a dolly rolling pin!” calls out Trudie. “Maybe they can bake.”

Mama walks over to Sophie and hands her the box containing the white dishes. “This is not too expensive.”

“I know, Mama. It's just kind of plain, that's all,” says Sophie. I can tell she doesn't like it. Mama is about to speak again when Sophie's attention is caught by something else. “Look at this.” She points to a different tea set—creamer, teapot, sugar bowl, four dainty cups, four saucers, and four dessert plates, all in the same deep yellow. Their color reminds me of Goldie, only darker. They come packed in a woven straw case with a bamboo handle. Inside there is a green and white checked lining and four green and white checked napkins. There are even four silver-plated spoons, knives, and forks, just the right size for doll hands.

“Can I get it, Mama?” Sophie asks shyly. Mama glances at the price tag and looks at Sophie. Papa rolls up his paper and comes over to see as well.

“I can understand why you want this set,” Mama says slowly. “It's very, very lovely. But I think it's more than we can afford—”

“I have an idea,” Sophie interrupts. “Mama, Papa, can we buy the tea set and have it be a present for all of us? Something we can share?”

They look at each other, thinking it over. “Well, we have to ask your sisters,” Papa points out. I touch the wicker case.

“It's a little picnic hamper,” I say. “We could pretend the dolls are having a picnic.”

“Then you say yes?” Sophie asks. She looks so hopeful. I nod. Then we both look at Trudie.

“I'm not sure,” Trudie says. “I wanted to get the fan. Or a hat.”

“This would be something we could all use together,” I say. “It would be fun.”

“But that fan ...” says Trudie. There's the familiar whine creeping into her voice again.

“Well if Trudie doesn't say yes, then we can't buy it,” Sophie says. She sounds annoyed.

“That's true,” Mama says.

“You're so stubborn,” says Sophie angrily. I'm surprised. Usually I'm the one to lose my temper with Trudie, not my oh-so-perfect big sister.

“Am not!” Trudie says angrily.

“Are too!” says Sophie. Her voice is loud, and a lady with a little boy turns to look.

“Sophie, please lower your voice,” says Mama.

“Girls, you have to stop this right now,” Papa says. He turns to Mama and adds, “Maybe a trip to the toy store wasn't such a good idea after all.”

“Yes, it was. Only Trudie had to go and spoil it.” Sophie lowers her voice, but it is clear that she is still angry. The woman and the boy have wandered away.

“You're mean!” says Trudie. Her eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, now she's going to cry,” says Sophie. “Crybaby!”

“I ... am ... not ... a crybaby!” Trudie says. But she starts to cry anyway, big, fat tears that streak her face and drip off her chin.

I am stunned. I have never seen Sophie so upset with Trudie. It's a little frightening.

“That's enough, Sophie,” says Mama sharply. “I think we have to leave. Now.”

“What about our presents?” Sophie asks. “You promised.”

“Yes, I did. But not if you girls are going to fight this way.”

I look at Trudie, who is trying so hard to stop her tears. Suddenly, I am struck by just how young she really is. Why, she was even afraid of the ticket chopper. Trudie doesn't
mean
to be so much trouble, I realize with some surprise. She just can't help it. I feel a strange, new tenderness toward my baby sister.

“May I say something?” I ask Mama.

“All right,” Mama agrees.

“Sophie, you really want the tea set, don't you?” I say to my big sister. She nods.

I get another surprise when I see that there are tears in
her
eyes, too.

“But, Trudie, you're not sure if you want it. And it's hard for you to figure out if you want it when Sophie is so angry at you.”

“That's right,” says Trudie. “It
is
nice.... But I'm still not sure....”

“Do you remember the tea party we had the day that it rained?”

“We had fun,” Trudie says. Her voice is still quivery, but her tears have stopped.

“We did! And if we had this tea set, a real tea set, we could have fun like that again. Maybe even more fun,” I say. She is quiet, so I go on. “Look. Can I just show it to you one more time?” Together we look at the set. “I think Angelica Grace would really like these dishes. And the napkins, too.”

“She would ...” Trudie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Carefully, she lifts up two small spoons. “We can let the dolls stir their tea with these. Or if we make a cake they can cut it with the knives and forks.”

“Are you saying yes, then?” Sophie asks. But she asks in a gentle voice.

“I am,” Trudie says cautiously.

“Trudie, are you very sure this is what you want?” Papa asks.

“Very sure.” This time, she does sound sure.

Mama looks at the price tag again and shows it to Papa. He looks at us and then at Mama and nods. Then he brings the tea set to the cash register. We all follow along. Mama gives my shoulders a squeeze. Sophie's mouth is, I notice, slightly open, as if she is still surprised at how things have worked out. Trudie slips her hand into mine as we walk. It feels small and warm.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You're welcome,” I whisper back.

Our picnic in the park is so much fun. Papa sings funny little songs for us. Mama points out the birds she recognizes—a robin with his red breast, a blue jay with his bright feathers. After we have eaten the sandwiches and the pickles, Trudie pokes around in our picnic basket.

“What are you looking for?” Papa asks her.

“Dessert,” she says, continuing to hunt.

“Dessert? Why, I didn't know you girls liked dessert,” Papa says. But you can tell he's teasing her.

“Where did you hide it, Papa?” says Trudie. She's abandoned the basket and is pulling on Papa's hand.

“Over there,” Papa says. He points toward a bald, tubby man selling ice cream cones from a cart.

“Ice cream!” cries Trudie, and she runs ahead while Sophie and I help Mama gather up our things.

When we all reach the cart, Sophie picks chocolate and Trudie picks strawberry. I am torn between vanilla, my favorite flavor, and strawberry, because Trudie's looks so tempting. After standing there for five minutes while everyone waits for me to choose, I finally decide to get vanilla. I know it will taste good. I tell myself that I can get strawberry another time, even though ice cream is a special treat and we don't have it very often. I am just about to take a lick when Trudie yanks on my sleeve.

“Here,” she says, holding her cone up toward my face. “You can try some of mine.”

“Delicious,” I say, swirling my tongue across the creamy, cold pink of it. “Just delicious.”

4

B
AD NEWS

The last day of school comes in June. All of our lessons are finished. There is a special assembly in the auditorium, and then each of the classes has a party to celebrate. Sophie, Trudie, and I have on our best lightweight dresses, the ones we wear to
shul
in the summer. Mine is red with dark blue stripes; Trudie's is made of the same material, but somehow, with her golden brown curls, the colors look better on her. Sophie's dress is made of ivory cotton with tiny blue forget-me-nots embroidered on it; Mama used leftover fabric from one of her own dresses. I wish I had a dress like that, but there wasn't enough fabric for me.

Once I am in my classroom, I don't think about the dress anymore. My teacher has brought in cupcakes from a bakery on Grand Street; they are frosted with butter-cream and sprinkled with sugar. Batya gives me a belated birthday present—an embroidered handkerchief—and Esther invites me to come over to her apartment next week. Sophie, Trudie, and I stroll home together, talking about our class parties. The air is warm and soft; the sky is blue with only a handful of puffy clouds. Summer feels like it is really here.

Now that school is over, we settle into our new routine. In the mornings, we all do chores in the doll shop. The shop stays busy with customers. Some are from our own neighborhood, but others come all the way from the Bronx or Queens or even New Jersey. Goldie greets each new arrival with a series of merry chirps.

In the afternoons, when our chores are done, we can play. We go out on the street, where sometimes someone has pried the cover off a fire hydrant and the water gushes up and out into the gutter. We take turns running through the icy spray, and then run home to towel off and change out of our wet dresses.