The Friendship Doll (4 page)

She whirled around, peeking behind a painted silk screen to come face to face with five Japanese dolls, each about the size of her four-year-old cousin. Bunny stared intently. Five pairs of hands rested on five silk kimonos. Of course. They were just dolls! Had she expected them to be clapping?

She peeked under the draped table to see if someone was hiding there. It’d be so like Mary Louise Miller to play this kind of trick! She was probably waiting for the right moment to pop out and startle Bunny.

No one was under the table. Bunny let the table skirt drop.

She must be light-headed from lack of food, and it was making her hear things. That was the only possible explanation.

As she straightened up, her eye fell on the doll wearing an orange kimono sprayed with pale blue flowers. Chrysanthemums. Leaning against her was a pint-sized silk parasol, adorned with a single chrysanthemum. Bunny looked down the row of dolls. Each had its own parasol,
as well as numerous travel essentials: fans, tea sets, a spare pair of sandals—too many accessories to take in. Bunny moved toward the doll in orange silk, scarcely aware of the four others on the table.

A creamy white card rested in a stand at the doll’s sandaled feet. “Miss Kana-gawa,” Bunny pronounced slowly. “That’s a tongue twister.” She smiled at her own little joke, but one look at the doll and her smile quickly faded. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt as if the doll was looking straight at her. “You’re just a doll,” she said.

No answer came.

Bunny felt in her pocket for the aggie. The commotion it would make on this slick floor—she smiled again to think of it. What about a quick test run? She pulled out the marble and knelt down, holding it mere inches from the floor. Bunny held her breath and let it drop. Even from that height, the clatter was sufficiently and deliciously loud. She stood, repocketing her prize.

Upright again, she found her eyes drawn back to the doll’s. Fringed with dark lashes, they were as dark as the bark of the elm trees lining Bunny’s street. But it wasn’t simply the color—so different from her own green eyes—that caught her. It was silly, really. This was a doll, after all! But Bunny couldn’t avoid the look of disapproval in those eyes. It was almost as if the doll knew what she had planned. Bunny stuck her tongue out. So there!

The doll glared back. Bunny stepped closer. Two could play at this game. “Mother says ‘pretty is as pretty does,’ ”
she told the doll. “Maybe they don’t teach that where you come from.” She lifted her head, imitating Winnifred’s told-you-so manner.

This time when she looked at the doll, she saw something else in those eyes, something that felt unpleasantly familiar.

Well, this child is pretty enough, though I much prefer my silky straight hair to those horrible curls. And I can see that her hands are clean. A small blessing.

I gaze back at the child and catch her in the act of sticking out her tongue. Little wretch!

Hmm. Those green eyes of hers are intriguing. The color of a rice paddy in the early spring. As I study those round American eyes, I see something else veiled behind the boldness and conceit.

Miss Japan, look at that girl’s eyes. Tell me what you see
.

I see spring rice fields
.

I can sense Miss Japan’s impatience.

But it matters not what I see. It is what you see that is important
.

I continue to study the girl. How odd that Miss Japan, usually so perceptive, can’t see what I do: loneliness. A vision, like a painting on a silk fan, unfolds in the air in front of me. A vision of this child—at school, at play, at home—with others around her, but always alone.

It was almost as if the doll’s eyes were the two lenses of a stereoscope, only instead of a scene from a European cathedral, Bunny saw a scene from school. One that had happened the other day in the cloakroom. The girls were hanging up their things after a nature walk in Central Park. Mean-spirited Clemmy Moore was buzzing around, making her usual stinging comments. She fluttered in front of Belle. “So how is your father doing in the hospital, dear Belle?”

Bunny’s coat hook was next to Belle’s. She couldn’t help but notice the stricken look on Belle’s face. The look passed quickly and Belle’s face was once again unreadable. “He’s much better, thank you,” she answered tightly.

“Father says it’s such a shame.” Clemmy fluffed her curls in the cloakroom mirror. “But then, many weak men can’t handle their drink.”

Bunny was stunned. Certainly there had been rumors around town about Belle’s father. But to throw them up at her, here, in front of all the other girls … Bunny wouldn’t have thought even Clemmy could sink so low. Without thinking, Bunny placed her hand on Belle’s arm. “Don’t listen to her.”

Belle didn’t move for a second. Then she turned. “Please remove your hand,” she’d said, shaking Bunny off. “I don’t need any help from a Dumb Dora like you.” She’d turned on the toes of her perfect white boots and stomped back into the classroom.

It was so like Belle, Bunny hadn’t given the episode another thought.

Until now. Why would she think of it now?

I feel a twinge inside my muslin chest, under the left side of my kimono. Since the day I was created, I have never had a moment of feeling unwell. What is causing this pain now?

I have heard it does hurt a bit
, Miss Japan comforts me.

What does?
I ask.

Being awakened
.

What do I do to make it stop?

But Miss Japan gives no answer.

The ache in my chest makes me feel so strange. Snippets of Master Tatsuhiko’s words swirl in my head. “Bad and good are intertwined with one rope,” I remember him saying once. This feeling inside me is certainly bad. What good can be intertwined with it?

Other words I had heard from Master Tatsuhiko come to mind. Sayings like “One kind word can warm three winter months” and “Spilt water will not return to the tray.” All of it was as clear to me as a bowl of mud then, and is no clearer now.

I turn my attention back to the girl, who is looking at me intently. My gaze in return is equally intent.

Bunny stared at the Miss Kanagawa doll. Its eyes were as still as a steamy New York summer night. She looked into the eyes of each of the other four dolls. Nothing.

This was so silly. They were dolls. Nothing more. Bunny’s imagination was running away with her. Perhaps she should go find Father.

But something drew her back to the end of the table. To Miss Kanagawa. She reached out to stroke orange silk, her fingers hovering inches from the gown.

“Oh, there you are.” It was Mary Louise Miller. “Mr. Reyburn says we must all wait in the mayor’s office.”

Bunny dropped her arm but otherwise didn’t move.

“Come on!” Mary Louise tugged at her sleeve.

With a lingering backward glance, Bunny followed Mary Louise. But her thoughts were still inside the reception room. With Miss Kanagawa.

“Ready, Bunny? Mary Louise? Let’s find the other girls.” Mr. Reyburn bustled over, gathering up the members of the Welcome Committee. It wasn’t until he lined them up that Bunny realized she was standing next to Belle. Thoughts about the doll quickly vanished. This was perfect for her plan!

But then something jabbed her in the chest. She had the sensation of being poked by an umbrella. No, not an umbrella. Something less pointy. More like the end of a parasol.

Absurd.

Bunny shook herself.

“Stand still, won’t you?” Belle said. Her voice sounded parched and thin.

Bunny started to say something snippy in return. Then she caught sight of a perfect pearl-sized tear rolling out
from under Belle’s eyelid and down her cheek. Belle? Crying?

“Are you all right?” Bunny asked.

Belle bit her lip, shaking her head no. “I’m going to make an awful mess of it,” she said. “I wish they hadn’t chosen me.”

I wish they hadn’t chosen you, either, Bunny thought. She fingered the marble in her pocket.

Our actions make the fragrance of our lives
.

Bunny’s head snapped left, then right. Where had that voice come from? Oh, why hadn’t she eaten breakfast? Bunny shook her head to clear it. What was going on?