The Friendship Doll (9 page)

Miss Kanagawa had fifty-seven sisters, according to the placard, all of them “Ambassador Dolls” sent in hopes of improving Japanese and U.S. relations. Lois wondered how they could do that when they couldn’t even talk, except maybe to say “Mama.”

Oh, the impertinent little imp.
One
of the prettiest dolls, she thinks! And questioning my ability to be an ambassador, to boot.

But I must remember that she is only a child, after all. Lacking my wisdom. My understanding of the world. She does not yet realize the importance of helping others, as I do.

Even if the others are ill-mannered and poorly dressed.

Around the doll’s feet on the display stand were marvelous miniatures—a small teapot, a dainty parasol, a folded screen painted with a mountain scene. Mabel would’ve loved these. Lois stepped closer to get a better look. From here, she could see that Miss Kanagawa’s eyes were dark, like hers, but shaped like the almonds Mom ground to make her special tea cookies. When she used to make them, that is.

The eyes looked so real, Lois had the sense that the doll was looking back at her. Lois blinked. Twice. But that feeling was still there.

“You’re giving me the willies,” she said. Even when she used to play with dolls, way back when, she never actually talked to them. There was a clock on the wall behind the doll’s case. “It’s been twenty minutes,” Lois said. “That should be enough time to spend with these dumb old dolls.”

As soon as the words left her lips, she felt a pain. She rubbed at it. Maybe the lemonade had been too sour. But the discomfort wasn’t in her stomach. It was higher up, behind her sternum, and it felt like someone was poking her with something—like that doll’s parasol or something. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel good.

I don’t understand why so many of these American children gnaw their fingernails like mice gnaw rice kernels. It is most perplexing. And most unbecoming. I could overlook that, I
suppose. And her shabby dress. But her manners! I simply can’t abide it when someone thinks herself better than others. “Dumb old dolls” indeed. Does she think we are less important because we are not human? Master Tatsuhiko himself created me. Humph. I have half a mind to let her carry out her selfish decision.

But how much more satisfying it will be if this “dumb” doll teaches this child a lesson!

All in the name of friendship and goodwill, of course.

Lois leaned her head against the doll’s display case. Once, when she had nearly fainted at Cousin Catherine’s wedding, Mom had told her to take long, even, deep breaths. Maybe that would help now. She tried.

It didn’t.

She looked up and found herself eye to eye with the doll. It was as if those eyes were movie screens, shimmering with images that slowly flickered into focus. Lois couldn’t tear her gaze away.

She was looking back at the first day of grade school. She’d forgotten her lunch. And there was Mabel saying, “I’ve got egg salad. Would you like half?” The scene shifted forward in time to show Mabel, cross-legged, doing some kind of hand sewing. She was making a sash, for Lois, who’d been voted Queen of the May for the third-grade pageant. Mabel stitched on felt letters that spelled out “Queen Lois.” The scene changed again and now Lois saw her as she was a few days ago, flopped on her stomach
on the bed, poring over the fair pamphlet. She heard Mabel say, “Now, it looks like if you go left instead of right at the end of the Avenue of Flags, you’ll be closer to the entrance to the Social Science Hall.”

Lois rubbed her eyes. What was happening? She shook herself, hard, to clear her head. Her handkerchief flew out of her hand and landed with a soft
whup
on the floor. She bent to pick it up.

A good friend gives our heart wings
.

Lois stood up so fast her head was spinning like an airplane propeller. “Who’s there?” she asked, peering into the dark edges of the room.

No one answered.

Time to get out of there. Back to Aunt Eunice. Some fresh air would do them both good. They’d been in this place long enough. She’d done what Aunt Eunice had wanted all day. It was her turn now. The Sky Ride was calling her. Lois reached again for the hanky, still on the floor. “Ouch!” Another poke in the chest. This one was hard enough to make her need to sit down. She pulled her knees in, wrapping her dress around her legs.

One more scene rolled like a player piano scroll through Lois’ mind: Mabel, this morning, come to send Lois off. Her elbows poked through her thin sweater, and she was barefoot to save wear and tear on her shoes.
She’d gotten up early to make cinnamon doughnuts for Lois’ train ride.

Lois looked over at the doll. It stood there, the same hint of a smile on its red lips. Its arms still rested gracefully at its sides. It didn’t appear to have moved at all. Of course, it couldn’t move at all. It was only a doll. And yet something had happened here in this room.

“I guess you aren’t so dumb after all,” Lois said.

The doll said nothing—of course—but its eyes gazed knowingly at her.

Lois rested her chin on her knees, looking back at Miss Kanagawa. Ambassador of Friendship.

Friendship.

Lois chewed on a fingernail. Then another. That ride would last, what, five minutes? A good friend would last a lifetime.

With a long exhale, Lois reached for the handkerchief, still on the floor, and picked it up. The flash of yellow was a vibrant reminder of her dreams.

Canary yellow. Amelia’s
Canary
. Amelia, who worked at odd jobs to earn enough money for flying lessons, holding on to her dream all the while.

Lois hefted the cloth-wrapped coin. Slowly, carefully, she picked at the fabric to untie the knot. Soon the quarter rested in her palm.

She set it, warm and solid, on the floor. Then she ran her hands over the
Canary
printed on each corner of the handkerchief. A smile flitted across her lips. She thought Amelia would approve.

Lois folded her precious souvenir handkerchief into fourths and tucked it into the doll’s obi as a small token of thanks.

It was after midnight when she and Aunt Eunice arrived home, tired, bedraggled but elated, from the fair. Mabel’s bedroom light was still on, so Lois ran right over. The smile on Mabel’s face when she opened that carved wooden apple to find the miniature tea set tucked inside gave Lois’ heart such wings that it soared—at least six hundred feet high.

It is a blessing that none of my sisters can see me now, with this wrinkled handkerchief in my obi. What would they think? It is distressing to appear so; most unbecoming for an ambassador.

And yet it is my duty to be accepting of these odd American customs. She is a child, after all. I am sure she meant well, even if her token of appreciation has marred my appearance. And by the lightness of her step I surmise she has made a wise decision. With no small help from me, of course. I think I am beginning to understand Master Tatsuhiko’s teaching that good and bad can be intertwined with one another.

Oh dear. That peculiar feeling is back again. Above the spot where that handkerchief rests, on my left side. Humph.