The Friendship Doll (2 page)

Bunny stood on the top step at Mrs. Newcomb’s Academy for Young Girls, careful to avoid getting slush on her new white kid boots, peering around the statue of the school’s namesake to watch for Carson. Most of the other fifth-levels were in a knot on the far side of the landing. It’d been that way since Bunny started at Mrs. Newcomb’s in the fall, but today she didn’t give a fig about those other girls. Just wait until they saw her name and picture in the paper. That would show them.

Father’s new Minerva Town Car glided up to the curb. Carson stepped out and came around to open the door. With a posture that would’ve made their beleaguered charm teacher proud, Bunny swept down the fifteen marble steps—head high, shoulders back—placing her feet
daintily to keep her boots dry. She paused in profile before slipping into the backseat. As Carson closed the door, Bunny stole a quick peek out the window, catching Belle Roosevelt sticking her tongue out at her. Bunny didn’t even bother to stick her tongue out in return. Absolutely nothing was going to spoil her day. Nothing! Not even the assignment to parse out twenty-five sentences for English class by tomorrow.

She skipped through the door at home when Nanny opened it.

“And who did you sit with at lunch today?” Nanny asked. It was her way of finding out if Bunny had made any new friends yet.

“I studied for my Latin exam at lunch,” Bunny answered. She wiggled out of her fox-trimmed wool wrapper and handed it to the old lady. “Is Mother home?”

Nanny smoothed the fur on the wrapper’s collar. “Your mother and sister are engaged. Do you mind taking your tea in your room?”

“Oh.” Bunny could see Mother and Winnifred with their heads together over something in the morning room, tea things scattered about. The two of them were always up to something together and were even busier lately, with that wretched coming-out party for Win. But not even taking tea alone was going to dampen Bunny’s spirits. “No, I don’t mind,” she answered in her bravest voice. Bunny’s boot heels click-clicked emphatically across the entry floor, but neither Mother nor Win even
looked up. With a deep sigh, Bunny climbed the main staircase, one wide tread at a time.

“Slip those boots off and put them by the fire to dry,” Nanny called after her. “Or you’ll catch your death.”

Bunny had changed out of her school uniform and was starting her homework when Nanny brought in the tea things. According to Mother, Bunny wasn’t old enough for real tea. She generally got warm milk with honey and cinnamon.

“I have an errand for your mother, otherwise I’d sit and keep you company.” Nanny picked up the doll Mother had ordered from France last year and placed it at the small table in Bunny’s room. “You can have tea with your dolly. Won’t that be lovely?”

She scurried out of the room without waiting for an answer, off again on one of the countless missions Mother—or rather, Win—required these days.

“Poor Nanny,” Bunny said, reaching for a sliver of pound cake. “I’m eleven years old and she thinks I still play with dolls.” She popped the cake into her mouth and brushed the crumbs from her hands. With a gulp that would’ve horrified Mother, Bunny downed the warm milk and then cleared the tea tray from the table. She wiped her hands on her skirt before lifting the Box from its hiding place under her bed. “Crayola Gold Medal School Crayons.” Even the label was thrilling! There were eight in all: black, brown, blue, green, orange, red, violet, and yellow. Thicker than a pencil, they fit perfectly in her
hand. And the waxiness made them so much more satisfying than colored pencils. Leave it to Grandfather to send her such a perfect gift.

She reached for the drawing, rolled into a neat scroll under the bed. It was safe here from prying eyes. She didn’t want anyone to see it until it was completely finished. She’d worked on it for weeks, starting the very night that Mr. Reyburn, president of Lord & Taylor, one of the oldest and best shops on Fifth Avenue, had telephoned to ask Father if Bunny might like to try out to give a speech. The occasion would be a welcome ceremony for some Friendship Ambassador Dolls sent from Japan. Bunny had said yes straightaway. Even though she always got high marks in elocution, she could scarcely sleep for two nights afterward for the excitement of it.

She wasn’t worried about being selected to speak. No. What had her on cloud nine was the notion of finally, finally, being able to command attention at the dinner table, contributing to conversation that had been dominated as of late by guest lists and cucumber sandwiches. Winnifred would have to listen to Bunny, for once. Mother, too.

Bunny smoothed out her drawing, the pleasure at what she’d created so far wrapping around her like a cozy cashmere shawl. There she was, center stage at the welcome ceremony, delivering her speech, a vision in a soft green dress. She had accomplished this effect by holding the Crayola lightly in her hand, gently stroking at the paper. She’d gotten the idea while watching Mother put on some face powder one morning.

In the drawing, the dolls—she knew there were to be five in all—were arrayed behind her. She reached for the black Crayola to color in their hair. Their costumes couldn’t be colored in until after she saw them tomorrow. Next she would work on Father, but she had yet to decide whether to use violet or red on the flower in his lapel. There had been no room in the drawing for Winnifred. Too bad.

All the while she colored, Bunny recited her speech aloud. It was perfect, if she did say so herself. A thought snuck up on her. What if the
Times
wanted to include it in the article about the ceremony? After dinner, she’d write out a copy in her best penmanship. Just in case.

Happily absorbed in her art project, Bunny didn’t realize she’d been called to supper until Nanny appeared in the doorway, all in a dither.

“Little miss, wash up quick and come.” Nanny clapped her hands. “You’re late.” Lateness was a thing not tolerated in the Harnden household.

In a flash, Bunny rolled up her drawing and slid it and the box of Crayolas back into their hidey-hole.

Bunny did a quick washup, as instructed, lacing on her now-dry boots. She fairly floated down the stairs to the dining room, certain she couldn’t eat a bite. She was far too excited about tomorrow’s welcome ceremony. Maybe she could even wear Mother’s pearls. After all, Mother was letting Win borrow them for the tea.

“Ah, there you are, Bunny.” Mother sat, hands folded in her lap.

Bunny paused in the doorway. Long enough to etch in her mind this last evening of being a person of no consequence. Then she swept across the parquet floor to her place at the family table.

She unfolded her napkin, placed it on her lap, and reached for her fork.

“It’s lovely news, isn’t it, dear?” Mother said to Father.

Bunny sat up straighter. Children were to be seen, not heard. That was Mother’s rule. But she could hardly contain herself. Mother’s news would be lovely indeed. Even though she detested them, Bunny forked up a bite of brussels sprouts.

“Oh, yes.” Father fussed with his roast beef, clearly fighting the urge to pick up the newspaper at his elbow. He so loved to read the
Times
at the dinner table. “What news would that be?” he asked, now focusing on Mother.

“Why, that call from Mr. Reyburn. About the welcome ceremony for those dolls tomorrow.”

Bunny nearly leaped out of her skin. She was dying to hear the words from Mother’s mouth. The words that would make her family pay attention to her.

Father searched around the table for the horseradish sauce. Finding it, he again looked at Mother. “I don’t recall speaking to Mr. Reyburn today,” he said.

Mother laughed lightly. “You didn’t speak to him, darling. You were out. I left a message on your desk.”

Bunny thought she would faint from the anticipation. She ate another bite of brussels sprouts without even noticing.

“I overlooked it somehow.” His slice of roast beef well sauced with horseradish, Father ate a bite, then gestured with his empty fork for Mother to continue.

“Well,” said Mother, “he said it was a difficult decision about the speaker, but he has decided.” She fairly beamed.

Bunny wiggled like a pup.

“He’s selected Belle Wyatt Roosevelt to speak.”

Bunny’s fork dropped with a huge clatter on her dinner plate. She couldn’t believe her ears.

“My good Spode!” Mother exclaimed. “Be careful, dear.”

“It’s not fair.” Bunny crumpled up her linen napkin and tossed it on the table. This couldn’t be happening. She’d done her best. She’d been the best! “The only reason they picked Belle is because she’s Mr. Teddy Roosevelt’s granddaughter. It should’ve been me.”

“Speaking of the Roosevelts,” Winnifred interrupted, “I nearly forgot to put Penelope on the guest list.”

“Must you always be on about that odious list?” Bunny’s boot heels hit the chair rung with a satisfying clunk. If she heard one more word about her sister’s coming-out tea, she might just run away.

“Bunny”—Mother’s tone had a warning in it, one Bunny had heard many times before—“Belle is a lovely girl. Impeccable manners.” Manners were everything in Mother’s book. She could even give that Mrs. Emily Post a tip or two on etiquette.

Bunny turned to the other end of the table. “Father,
you said Mr. Reyburn told you I gave the prettiest speech of all the girls. Belle forgot most of hers!”

“No sour grapes, Bun.” Father disappeared behind the
New York Times
. Bunny’s eyes were drawn to the newspaper’s motto: “All the News That’s Fit to Print.” Applesauce!
She
was supposed to have been in tomorrow’s edition of that very paper, in an article that would have described how she had accepted one of the Japanese Friendship Dolls on behalf of all of the people of New York in a gracious and tasteful manner. With a photograph, too. And they would’ve printed her name all out in that civilized way the
Times
did: Miss Genevieve Harnden.

She’d worked so hard on her speech—“Mr. Charles Lindbergh inspires us to be bold, Gertrude Ederle inspires us to pursue our dreams, but these Doll Ambassadors from Japan inspire us to offer friendship wherever we go”—and she hadn’t stumbled once in delivering it. Belle Wyatt Roosevelt not only stammered throughout the tryout, her speech had been as dull as a dishrag. And she was mean, besides. What about the way she’d tormented Mary Louise Miller after Mary Louise had botched that geography exam?

Bunny pushed her chair in, banging it against the dining table. “If I can’t give my speech, I’m not going.”

“You’re part of the Welcome Committee.” Mother pressed her napkin to her lips. “Of course you’ll go.”

“I won’t. I won’t!” Bunny stamped her foot. “It’s not fair.”

“That’s enough, Genevieve.” Father lowered his paper. “To your room.”

“Don’t you see, Mother?” Winnifred whined as Bunny clomped out of the dining room. “She’ll absolutely ruin my tea if she comes.”

It was no great punishment to leave the table. Bunny was sick to death of Winnifred’s endless prattle about what kinds of flowers would be best on the tables—“Gardenias are so overdone, don’t you think, Mumsy?”—and what she would wear. “Everyone’s in transparent velvet this year,” Winnifred had insisted. She’d demanded a gown in robin’s-egg blue, to set off her eyes. If Win didn’t want gardenias because everyone else had them, why wear a gown like all the other girls were wearing? It was all very confusing to Bunny.

Bunny’s plan was to be so disagreeable for the next five years that there would be no fear at all of Mother giving a coming-out party for
her
. Look what was happening with Win’s—transforming her from a perfectly intelligent and amusing sister into a pudding head. A pudding head in transparent blue velvet.

Bunny had had such high hopes that her speech in honor of those Doll Ambassadors would catapult her into Life, with a capital
L
. Father would have been so proud. And Mother might have seen how grown-up Bunny was becoming—ready for real tea and so much more. Those stuck-ups in her class who thought they were too ritzy for words would have invited Bunny to play sleeping lion at recess or sit with them at lunchtime. It was supposed to
have been Bunny’s big day. And now to learn that it would be Belle Roosevelt—the snake who had sunk so low as to launch into a fake coughing fit when Bunny was speaking at the tryout—with her photograph and name in the paper … well, it was too much to bear.

Stomping up each step of the grand staircase did nothing to stomp out her bitterness. Feeling alone and defeated, she snuck into Nanny’s narrow room, off Bunny’s own bedroom, and pilfered the last two coconut creams from Nanny’s box of birthday chocolates. Nanny’s memory was as flimsy as Win’s new gown. She’d no doubt think that she herself had eaten them. Bunny gobbled both chocolates greedily, chomping hard, as if taking a good-sized bite out of that dreadful Belle Roosevelt’s arm.

Bunny licked her fingers and swallowed. The sugar in her mouth did nothing to sweeten her mood. Once the last bit of chocolate taste was gone, she had to face facts: she was No One, about whom nobody cared. Nobody.

Hot tears filled her eyes. She ran to her bedroom, unlacing each of her new boots, and threw them as hard as she could against the wall. Then she flopped on her stomach, pressing her face into the braided rug. When the spot where she lay got too soggy with tears, she shifted to a new spot. Soon, she was right next to the bed. She raised her head, sniffling. In front of her, at face level, was her drawing. She yanked it out from under the bed and unrolled it in her lap. What a Dumb Dora she’d been to spend all that time on it. She took one last look at the
Bunny she’d drawn smack in the center of the picture. Good-bye to all that.

With a deep, ragged breath, she sat back on her heels. Slowly, she ripped off one long strip. Then another. And another. She tore the strips into postage-stamp-sized bits. Tore those bits in half. And half again. Afterward, she gathered up every scrap and threw the whole wretched mess into the fire. The flames blazed blue as the waxy color from the Crayolas fueled them. She felt as if she were watching her dearest dreams burn up right in front of her.