The Friendship Doll (6 page)

Lois Brown was five minutes older than her best friend, Mabel Hedquist, and five times more reckless. She’d chipped a front tooth sailing off the banister at age six and wore a dashing scar over her left eye from soaring off the swings into the wild blue yonder in third grade. Now she lay in a heap on the ground, certain some of her parts weren’t working right.

Mabel and her younger brother Johnny came running over. “Is anything broken?” Johnny asked.

Lois closed her eyes. “My shoulder feels funny.”

“You don’t look very good,” said Mabel. She knelt next to her friend, her own face as white as the milk in the bottles on the neighbor’s porch. “Johnny, go get Mrs. Brown. I’ll wait here.”

Johnny’s bare feet flew across the vacant lot and toward the Brown home.

Lois opened her eyes, managing a weak smile. “I was flying there. For a second.”

Mabel shook her head. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.” She glanced up at the barn roof where her friend had been perched a few moments ago.

“I need a bigger umbrella, that’s all.” Lois closed her eyes again.

Dad actually laughed at supper that night when Mom told him what had happened. “She’s a Brown, all right,” he said. “Like a hound on a scent. Gets her mind set on something and tracks it down.”

Mom clucked her tongue. “Howard, don’t you give her one ounce of encouragement. The doctor said she was lucky it was only her collarbone broken. It could’ve been her neck! Next time—”

“The good thing about breaking a collarbone,” Lois interjected, “is that there isn’t much for the doctor to do.” That hadn’t been the case when she’d needed her forehead stitched up. That time, the doctor said there wasn’t another child in Downers Grove that he’d patched up as much as he had Lois. She took that as a compliment. Not Mom. Since there wasn’t much that could be done for a broken collarbone except let it heal, Mom rigged up a sling with an old scarf to help keep the bone in place.

“There is nothing good about breaking a bone, no
matter what kind it is,” Mom said. “This fixation on flying has got to stop. You are no Amelia Earhart! The next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll make sure you don’t sit down for a week. You listen to me, now.”

“Yes, Mom.” Lois finished her scalloped potatoes. “May I please be excused?”

“You may.” Dad took another biscuit.

“To your room,” Mom said.

“But—” Lois had hoped to go across the street to Mabel’s to show off the sling.

“No buts. I think you need some time to consider your rash actions.” Mom folded her arms across her apron. When she did that, no amount of wheedling would work. Lois awkwardly carried her plate to the sink and trudged to her room.

She eased on top of her chenille bedspread, trying to find a pain-free position. Gazing up at the ceiling, she studied the magazine pictures she’d thumbtacked there—Charles Lindbergh and Wiley Post, sure, but lady fliers, too, like Amelia Earhart, Bessie Coleman, and Florence “Pancho” Barnes. And she imagined herself in every photo, in each pilot’s place—standing next to
The Spirit of St. Louis
, climbing into the cockpit of Amelia’s
Canary
, bringing Wiley Post’s
Winnie Mae
in for a landing. It wasn’t that much of a stretch for Lois to dream of being a pilot. There were lots of women aviators! But it took money to learn to fly. Lots of it. And money was in awfully short supply in the Brown household.

Lois shifted her arm so her shoulder didn’t ache as much. One day, she would soar through the clouds. She would. No matter how long it took.

Lois knew her mother was upset the minute she stepped into the kitchen after school. And it wasn’t simply because Great-aunt Eunice was sitting at the table across from her, tapping her walking stick on the floor and complaining about Mom’s watery coffee. The two telltale spots of pink on Mom’s face were a sure sign she was peeved.

Lois closed the back door quietly behind her. For one brief moment, she thought Aunt Eunice might not pay her any mind. She tiptoed across the black and white linoleum tiles.

“I see your arm is healed up. I certainly hope it doesn’t end up shorter than the other one. Heaven knows where you get such ideas. Flying!” Aunt Eunice helped herself to another cookie from Mom’s Blue Willow plate. “In my day, girls weren’t allowed to run wild like little hooligans.” She finished the cookie, then held out her age-spotted hand. “Wasn’t today spelling test day? Where is your paper?”

Lois glanced at Mom, who gave her a best-do-as-she-says nod. She unbuckled the straps of her book bag and slid the test out, presenting it to Aunt Eunice.

She looked down her nose at it. “Ninety-nine percent.” Her wrinkly mouth puckered up even more, like
she’d bit into a sour apple. “Study harder next time.” She waved the test at Lois as if it were a dead mouse.

“Yes, ma’am.” Lois took the paper and started for her room again.

“I don’t recall dismissing you.” The kitchen chair creaked as Aunt Eunice shifted forward. “Ellie, you must teach this child some manners.”

The pink spots on Mom’s cheeks glowed brighter. She held out her arms to Lois, who stepped into the comfort of her mother’s embrace.

“Let’s see your hands.”

Lois hesitated.

“Hands,” repeated Aunt Eunice.

Slowly, Lois held them out.

“Still biting your nails, I see.” Aunt Eunice seemed almost pleased to find this additional flaw.

“May I be excused, Mom? I have homework.” That was a fib, but Lois was desperate to escape Aunt Eunice’s scrutiny. Next would be a comment that Lois’ hair was too curly or some such, but sooner or later Aunt Eunice would shift her arrows from Lois to Dad.

Today, though, Aunt Eunice went straight from the bitten nails to Dad. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that your husband has found work.”

“Howard is this very day exploring an opportunity in Joliet.” Mom stood up and stepped over to the stove. “More coffee, Eunice?” She picked up the percolator.

Aunt Eunice held her hand over her cup. “No. No more.” She took another cookie—the last. Jeepers! Talk
about needing to learn some manners! “Today’s men simply don’t know how to apply themselves. My Milton worked every day of his life.”

Lois wished she had a nickel for every time she’d heard about Uncle Milton being such a hard worker. Dad said he worked that hard because he never wanted to be at home with Aunt Eunice. Mom had laughed when Dad said that, but then had scolded him. “Howard—she’s family.”

Lois didn’t know how Mom could keep her thoughts to herself when Aunt Eunice started in on Dad. It whittled at Lois’ heart to watch him grow quieter and quieter each day he was out of work. He was a crackerjack mechanic. But he’d fixed every car and tractor in town that needed fixing. This morning, he’d hitched a ride to Joliet because he’d heard there might be a job there.

“May I be excused?” Lois asked again.

“Of course,” Mom said.

“Not yet.” Aunt Eunice brushed molasses-cookie crumbs from her fingers before reaching into her enormous pocketbook, from which she produced a colorful pamphlet. With a flourish, she deposited it on the table.

Lois couldn’t help herself. The bright letters on the front cover commanded attention. She edged closer to get a better look. “The Chicago World’s Fair: A Century of Progress.” She’d heard about the fair—who hadn’t? Mabel’s cousin got a job there and he told Mabel it was like working in a Jules Verne novel, with something fantastic everywhere he turned.

“Education is more than simply sitting at a desk,” Aunt
Eunice declared. Lois looked up at her, confused. “Experiences are also educational. And I have decided to expand your education, Lois, by taking you to the World’s Fair.”

Lois could hardly trust her ears. To go to the fair! With money as tight as it was, she hadn’t even let herself dream about the possibility. Wait till she told Mabel! Then she stopped. Going to the fair with her great-aunt was another story.

“Isn’t there something you want to say?” Aunt Eunice demanded.

“Th-thank you?” Lois stammered.

Aunt Eunice nodded. “You may keep the pamphlet. I thought we’d go on opening day. May twenty-seventh. We’ll start out early. No need for breakfast. We’ll dine at the Quaker Oats Pavilion. Ten cents for all the pancakes you can eat, cooked by Aunt Jemima herself.”

“This is very generous of you, Eunice,” Mom said. “Lois is so over the moon, she can hardly speak.” She gave Lois a look that meant
Say something
.

Lois reached for the pamphlet, picked it up, and held it to her chest. “Thank you, Aunt Eunice. This is the best surprise ever.”

Aunt Eunice adjusted her hat. “Very well, then.
Now
, you may be excused.”

It was all Lois could do not to run to her bedroom. She forced herself to walk slowly and ladylike. She didn’t want to do anything that would make Aunt Eunice change her mind about the offer. Even if it meant going with her
great-aunt, she was going to the World’s Fair! Lickety-split, she changed into her play clothes, slipped out the front door, and ran across the street to Mabel’s.

“Oh, you have to remember everything,” Mabel said when Lois told her. The girls sat on a twin bed in the room Mabel shared with her sister, Elaine. “I want to hear about it all.”

“I’ll look at everything twice—once for you and once for me.” Lois hugged her knees to her chest. “I wish you could come, too.”

A wistful look wavered across Mabel’s face. Then she brightened, taking the pamphlet from Lois and spreading it open on the bed. “Come on. Let’s plan out everything you’re going to see.”

Lois edged closer for a better look at the pamphlet, Mabel’s enthusiasm making her feel all the more guilty that she was going to the fair and Mabel wasn’t. She thought about all the times Mr. Hedquist had brought back souvenirs from his business trips, not just for Mabel but for her. It always made Lois feel like a little part of her could claim having been to Pittsburgh or Cleveland or even New York City. She’d about fainted clean away when he brought her that handkerchief from Des Moines. It had a picture of Amelia Earhart’s plane, the
Canary
, printed on each corner. That had been the last souvenir he’d brought her because, shortly after that business trip, the bank he’d been working for closed down.

“Did you hear me?” Mabel asked. “I said, did you see this?” She pointed to the first page of the pamphlet, which
was titled: “The Chicago World’s Fair: What Will It Cost You?” Everything was spelled out. Fifty cents admission for adults, a quarter for children. Mabel read aloud: “All important Exhibit buildings, admission free, such as Hall of Science, Travel and Transport, General Exhibits, Hall of States, and fifty other buildings.” She set the pamphlet down, shaking her head. “That’s a lot to see for a quarter!”

“Look at this!” Lois hopped to her knees. There, on the next page, was something straight out of
Buck Rogers
. “The Sky Ride. Sky. Ride.” She nudged Mabel. “Read that part!”

Mabel did as Lois asked. “Two towers,” she read, “higher than any building in Chicago—stand like giant sentinels, 1,850 feet apart, seeming to guard the Hall of Science on the Mainland, and the Hall of Social Science across the Lagoon. They are the support of the spectacular Sky Ride, great thrill feature of A Century of Progress. Six hundred and twenty-eight feet they rise into the skies, with observation floors atop them. On a 200-foot level the rocket cars offer you a beautiful and, mayhap, thrilling ride across the lagoon.”

“A
thrilling
ride across the lagoon,” Lois repeated, then sighed. “Just think—zooming two hundred feet above the ground. It would be like flying!” She got goose bumps thinking about it.

“I don’t think you’d best mention flying to your aunt,” Mabel said. “Or anyone else, for that matter. You don’t want your mother to change her mind about letting you go.”

Lois grinned. “Roger and out.” She read farther down the page. “Look what it says here. The ride costs twenty-five cents.” She flipped the pamphlet closed. Her grin faded. “I guess that lets me out.”

“If I had a quarter, I’d give it to you,” Mabel said. “So you could ride across the sky.”

Lois hugged her. “You’re the best,” she said.

When Lois and Mom sat down that night—without Dad—to plates of lima beans for the fourth night in a row, Lois couldn’t eat. Her insides were plumb full of excitement about going to the fair.

“Did you know the Sky Ride towers are over six hundred feet tall?” Lois pushed a lima bean around her plate. “And the rocket cars are named after famous people?”

“They are?” Mom buttered a slice of bread and passed it to Lois.

Lois had been sitting on the pamphlet. She pulled it out. “Like Gracie Allen. And George Burns.”

Mom got up to reheat the afternoon’s coffee. “I wouldn’t ride in any of those things, no matter who they’re named after.” She shivered. “You’d be so high, people on the ground would look like cabbage worms.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” said Lois. She remembered Mabel’s advice and decided not to say anything more. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it: soaring along like a bird, with clouds drifting by under your nose. Being able to see far beyond Chicago. Maybe even to Kalamazoo! Of course, the rocket cars were connected to the Sky Ride by cables, so it wouldn’t be
exactly
like flying. But it would
be closer to it than jumping off Swansons’ barn with an umbrella!

She wondered if Aunt Eunice would think that the Sky Ride was educational, like the rest of the fair. That would be Lois’ wish tonight, on the first evening star. “Do you think Dad will be home by bedtime?” she asked.

“You know he will be if he can.” Mom poured herself some coffee. “Why don’t you make him up a plate, just in case?”

Lois made up a plate, then helped Mom wash the dishes, finishing in time to listen to most of
Buck Rogers
on the radio. She read until eight-thirty. Dad still wasn’t home, so she said her prayers with Mom, ending with “And God bless Dad. Help him find a job,” before clambering into bed. After Mom kissed her and turned out the light, Lois thought about how many kids had prayed that same prayer tonight. Almost all of her schoolmates’ fathers were out of work. And it was that way all over the state. All over the country! How would God ever answer that many prayers? She knew that she and Mom and Dad were luckier than most. They wouldn’t lose their house. It was all paid for. And there were just the three of them. Not seven, like Mabel’s family, with all those big, strapping, eternally hungry boys.