The Friendship Doll (13 page)

“What is it?” Mrs. Weldon asked. “Spider?”

“No. No.” Willie Mae held the box to her chest, all the while looking into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. They belonged to a good-sized doll, likely hinged at the hips from the way she was sitting on the shelf.

Even though the doll had been partially hidden behind the box, Willie Mae was hard-pressed to figure how she had so far missed something this spectacular.

The doll looked like a princess, in a bright silk gown the color of wild persimmons, sprayed with blue flowers. Her long dark hair was sleek and smooth where Willie Mae’s was wavy. Her lips were painted red, like those magazine ladies. Two hands like calla lilies rested in graceful crescents at her sides. Everything about her was exotic and fine. Willie Mae had never been one for dollies, but
this one seemed to speak to her with those mysterious dark eyes. Willie Mae longed to brush the silk gown, run her fingers along the ribs of the faded paper parasol.

Finally, the child has seen me. She’s a scruffy-looking one. Thin, too. She holds her own with the old lady, doesn’t back down. I have enjoyed listening to her read, but on the underside of her voice I hear the longing to tell her own stories. There’s something else I hear, something troubling. It puts me in mind of peony blossoms, how they fade quickly when cut for the vase. Or the ragged edges of Master Tatsuhiko’s words when he spoke of his little daughter.

I wish Brigitte were here. She would help me understand this puzzle.

That face held Willie Mae’s gaze. The parted lips made it look as if the doll was on the verge of saying something. And not just any something, like “How do you do?” or “Fine weather we’re having.” This doll, Willie Mae knew, would have stories to tell—of her faraway land and the people who lived there. Stories that would put Willie Mae’s scribblings to shame.

Willie Mae glanced over at the old lady, whose head drooped toward her chest. Thinking her asleep emboldened Willie Mae to reach out and stroke the doll’s shiny hair.

How foolish she is to compare my stories with hers. The wren and the nightingale sound nothing alike, but think how dull the world would be without the songs of both birds. Perhaps it is because she is a child that she does not comprehend this.

“That’s real hair, you know.”

Willie Mae dropped her hand to her side. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

Mrs. Weldon pushed herself up out of her lady’s chair and hobbled close enough that Willie Mae could smell her lily of the valley toilet water. “Real hair.”

The apple-core face wrinkled into a frown. Mrs. Weldon tottered even closer and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the doll’s dress. “Nonsense, at my age, buying a doll.” She plucked a lacy handkerchief from her dress’s sleeve and poked at her nose. “I went to that auction for a megalodon tooth. Fine specimen. Museum quality.” She finished with her nose and tucked the handkerchief back into her sleeve. “Lord knows what came over me, but when they put this doll up on the block, she practically told me to bid. I swan. Something in those eyes of hers spoke to me.” Her own eyes were drawn to the doll’s then, just as Willie Mae’s had been. Then she shook herself, as if surprised at what she’d said. “Of course, I know a doll couldn’t tell me to do anything. It’s not
possible.” She grabbed Willie Mae’s arm and held on like a bulldog. “You won’t prattle about this to my daughter?”

Willie Mae drew a cross over her heart. “I promise.” The pressure on her arm lessened. “Those eyes pulled me right in, too. As if she was trying to tell me something.” Willie Mae laughed. “Though, if she could talk, don’t you think her stories would be something to hear? She could tell us how folks in Japan do things, what they like to eat and such.”

Mrs. Weldon appraised the girl. So, she had an imagination, a desire to learn. She recalled another child like that, from long ago.

“You wear an old lady out with such ideas. You want me to have a stroke?” Mrs. Weldon took an exaggerated breath. “Help me back to my chair.”

Willie Mae offered her arm and assisted Mrs. Weldon across the room. Once she was seated, Mrs. Weldon snapped her fingers for Willie Mae to pour her a glass of water, which she did.

Seated and refreshed, Mrs. Weldon resumed the story about the auction, ending with “So in addition to a bit of a dinosaur, I came home with a bit of the Orient. But”—she set her water glass down with a clink—“I don’t feel I did too badly in the bargain.”

She was quiet for so long, Willie Mae thought she’d nodded off to sleep again. Then Mrs. Weldon snapped, “She’s got a name, you know. Miss Kanagawa.”

“Miss Ka-na-ga-wa.” Willie Mae tried it out. “That’s a tongue tangler, for certain.”

Mrs. Weldon laughed, right out loud. It was a sharp sound, like rocks clacking against one another when Cut Shin Creek was on the rise. “It surely is. A tongue tangler.” She settled herself. “And a mind tangler, too. Heaven knows why I brought her home. But I find there’s a reason for most happenings, even those that seem positively mysterious. What do you think?” She lifted the lid of the cut-glass candy dish next to her chair and selected a chocolate.

Willie Mae pondered a moment. “Preacher says Pap was taken to spare him further suffering here on earth. But Ma said what about
our
suffering, without a pap?” The sweet smell of chocolate distracted her from the conversation. She swallowed back the saliva in her mouth. “I admire Preacher, yes I do, but Ma seems to have a point.”

Mrs. Weldon popped the chocolate into her mouth and chewed prodigiously. Willie Mae’s jaws moved in time. The cut-glass lid clinked open again. Willie Mae fancied nibbling off one corner of such a candy. She imagined sweet chocolate warming her mouth. Another nibble and she would taste coconut. She was sure of that.

Mrs. Weldon ate another chocolate. All in one big bite. “I see your point. Your ma’s point, that is.” With her little finger, she rearranged something in her back teeth and smacked. “Well taken. Well taken.” She swallowed, sniffed, then waved her hand. “Do you want to wear an old lady out? Leave me be, won’t you?”

Willie Mae stumbled through a curtsy to Mrs. Weldon and stole a last look at Miss Kanagawa.

Tell your own stories
.

Willie Mae waved at the air by the side of her head. A mosquito or gnat must’ve gotten inside—what else could be teasing at her ear? That buzzing sounded almost like real words. But Mrs. Weldon’s eyes were already shuttered up for her afternoon nap. Willie Mae’s mind must be playing tricks on her.

She suddenly had the urge to get upstairs to her room and write something. Maybe even a poem about being able to munch on chocolates whenever you pleased. Of course, if Willie Mae had such a cut-glass dish full of sweets, she’d share.

This was only woolgathering, nothing more. There would be no sweets in the tote at the end of her month. Her hard-earned dollars would go toward a ham, some coffee, and soup beans. If there was something to jingle left over, it would go toward a packet of sugar for Ma’s coffee. There was no room for such nonsense as store-bought chocolates in her future.

As she lay in bed that night, Willie Mae fought a puzzling achiness in her head and chest. She did miss Ma and Marvel and even baby Franklin, but this was something different. More in her body than in her heart. She tossed and turned, trying to find some ease. Comfort came finally when she imagined a tiny hand, soft and white as a lily, stroking her cheek until the stars, and then sleep, took over the night.