The Doll Shop Downstairs Read online

  5

  PITCHING IN

  The next morning, I am the last one to sit down to breakfast. Mama has already poured Papa’s coffee and filled our glasses with milk. “Come and eat,” Mama urges, passing the plate piled high with freshly baked bread. She was up late last night, kneading the dough and letting it rise. The smell fills the room.

  “Thank you, Mama,” I say. I start to butter a slice, but I am so eager to talk to Papa that I end up getting butter all over my fingers and have to lick it off.

  “Papa,” I say excitedly. “Papa, I know exactly what we can do in a doll repair shop without dolls or doll parts.”

  “And what would that be?” he asks with a small smile. I can see that he doesn’t believe I could have thought of something that could actually work.

  “We should make some dolls! But not dolls out of bisque or china or anything else that comes from Germany. And then we could sell them.”

  Papa is all set to chuckle, but I guess something about my expression stops him. “Make dolls?” he asks.

  “Yes, Papa! Make them!”

  “Out of what?”

  “Cloth, stuffing, felt. Things we have or could get.”

  “Well, it’s very sweet of you to want to help, but I don’t think—”

  “That’s a very good idea!” Mama says before Papa can finish. “I was actually thinking about it myself. After all, I can sew. And I did make those rag dolls for you girls, remember? We could start with something simple. It would be better than sitting here and worrying about what we’re going to do next.”

  “We could all pitch in, Mama!” says Sophie. “I know we could!” She looks at me as if to say, I’m impressed.

  “I’ll help,” I say.

  “Me too!” Trudie chimes in.

  “Well, maybe we could come up with a simple pattern for a doll. Dress her in clothes Mama makes. The hair could be yarn....” Papa says, as though he is thinking out loud.

  We talk about the dolls we want to make all through breakfast, and when we are finished eating and washing up, we march down to the doll shop while Papa prepares a shopping list that reads:

  2 rolls buckram

  1 roll muslin

  2 sheets felt—different colors

  1 skein brown wool

  I know that muslin is a kind of cotton, but I’ve never seen the word buckram before, so I ask Papa what it means. He explains that it’s coarse linen, useful for bookbinding, and, in our case, dolls. Trudie thinks it a funny word, and she repeats it a few times. Pretty soon it sounds like nonsense, and we are all giggling as we say it with her: buckram, buckram.

  Papa leaves to go shopping, and we girls sit down at his workbench. Goldie tweets and twitters madly when we get near him; he’s been lonely. Mama gives each of us a large sheet of paper. From a drawer behind the counter, she pulls out her long, flat tin of colored pencils.

  “Are we making paper dolls, Mama?” asks Trudie.

  “In a way,” she says. “First, we have to have an idea of what our dolls are going to look like. So you are all going to draw your ideas for dolls on the paper. Then we’ll pick out the ones we like best and see if we can sew them.”

  “I don’t know what to draw,” says Trudie. Uh-oh—that whiny sound again. But then I remember that Trudie looks up to me now. I can help her.

  “Anything you like,” I explain. “It can be a character from a book or a song or a play. Or something you make up, like a mermaid or a fairy.”

  “Oh, I see ...” Trudie says, and I receive a grateful smile from Mama. We all take pencils and begin to sketch. When Papa returns, we are eager to show him our drawings.

  “Look at mine first!” crows Trudie, waving the paper in front of Papa’s face.

  “Let me put my packages down,” Papa says. He sets his bag on the floor; I can see the muslin and the brown wool sticking out from the top. He takes Trudie’s drawing and studies it.

  “I see ... a queen,” he says, studying the drawing.

  “Actually, she’s a fairy, Papa. See her wings?” Trudie says.

  I’m pleased; I guess she liked my idea well enough to use it.

  “A fairy. Of course,” Papa says, and Trudie smiles.

  “Mine is a queen,” says Sophie.

  “Yes,” says Papa. “What a fine crown and ermine-trimmed cloak she has.” Then he turns to me. “What did you draw, Anna?”

  “A nurse,” I say, handing him my drawing.

  “A nurse?” Papa asks.

  “Yes, Papa, you know. A nurse like the brave nurses who care for the wounded soldiers.”

  “Oh yes, I see,” says Papa, looking at Mama thoughtfully. “A nurse. That’s very original. And timely.”

  By this time, it is already past noon and we are all hungry, so we go upstairs for lunch, which is borscht—cold beet soup—and bread. After we have eaten, Mama and Papa want to look at the drawings again, so Mama lays them all out on the table. There they are—the fairy, the queen, and my nurse, with her white pointed cap and navy-blue cape.

  “I think we should make the nurse doll,” says Sophie. I am stunned. I thought she would want to do the queen, because it was her idea.

  “Why?” asks Papa.

  “Because she’s so original. You said so yourself, Papa. No one else will think of making a nurse doll.”

  “Let’s make the nurse!” Trudie chimes in.

  “So you like her, too?” Papa asks.

  “I do. Anna has good ideas,” Trudie says, and comes to stand next to me. I don’t say anything, but inside, I am brimming with pride.

  “Well, I think it’s an excellent place to begin,” Mama says firmly.

  “So we have a plan....” Papa says thoughtfully. “See if we can make a nurse doll that doesn’t use any parts we can’t get.” He looks at all of us. “What do you say, girls? Do you think we can do it?”

  I look at my sisters and we all nod.

  “Yes,” I reply. “I know we can.”

  6

  DOLL FACTORY

  For the next few days, the doll shop is busy, busy, busy. It turns out that Papa knows a lot about making dolls’ heads. All his years of fixing dolls have given him a good idea of how to do it. He started out back in Russia, in his uncle’s shop, where he repaired plates, vases, and platters made of bisque, porcelain, and china. Occasionally someone would bring in a bisque or china doll with a cracked head. Papa would try to fix that, too. He became interested in how the bisque dolls were made by pouring raw materials like clay and water into molds and then firing the molds in a hot oven. When he started his own shop, he decided to mend just dolls. And now, all his experience has helped him figure out how to make a doll, even one that isn’t bisque.

  Papa begins to experiment. He sculpts faces from a clay he mixes from flour, water, and a little olive oil. Then he wets a sheet of buckram and drapes it over the clay form, leaving an opening at the back so he can slip the molded buckram off when it has dried.

  “But the dolly will have a space at the back of her head,” says Trudie, clearly bothered by the idea.

  “We’ll cover it with hair,” Papa says.

  The first doll Papa makes doesn’t turn out too well—her face has a strange, flattened look.

  “Like someone punched her in the nose,” says Trudie, and she’s right. So Papa tries again. And again. The fourth time, he finally makes one we all like: even without her painted features, we can see that she has full, round cheeks, a pert chin, and a nicely curved forehead.

  Mama works on the pattern for the bodies, and we help with the sewing. We all know how to sew, even Trudie, though her thimble is too big and she has to wrap her finger with a bit of cloth to keep it from slipping off. We try different kinds of stuffing: tissue paper and straw by themselves are too crinkly, sawdust is too stiff. Finally we settle on a mix of all three: tissue paper at the center, then some straw, and finally the sawdust. After the stuffing process is done, there is more cutting as well as more sewing, pasting, and painting. U
sing the felt Papa bought and snippets from Mama’s scrap bag, we make the nurse doll’s outfit: a long, red and white striped dress; white apron; and a navy-blue cape. Best of all is the little white cap Mama makes from a piece of an old cloth napkin that she folds and starches. Trudie and I sort through Mama’s button jar for the smallest buttons we can find. We use a shiny brass button for the cape and three pearly white ones for the dress.

  Mama paints the face, and Papa attaches the yarn that is the doll’s hair. He glues the long brown strands, and when they have dried, he twists them into a neat bun. The open space at the back of her head is now invisible. After we are all finished, we make two more nurse dolls, using the first one as our model. By the end of the day, we have three twelve-inch dolls all ready for some little girls to love. Even though Sophie is the one who usually comes up with the best names, I have the idea to call the doll Nurse Nora, and to my surprise, everyone likes the name.

  “These are very fine dolls,” Papa says, picking one up and admiring her. “You all did an excellent job.”

  Mama makes a new sign to hang in the window. It says:

  NURSE NOR A

  HANDMADE DOLLS,

  LIMITED EDITION

  $1.00 EACH

  But before we can start selling anything, we have to help Mama tidy up the shop, because it has turned into a real mess while we were making the dolls. As I bend down to pick up some scraps of felt from the floor, I spy a big wooden box that has been pushed aside and out of the way. I know that box. I peer inside and there are our three dolls—Victoria Marie, Bernadette Louise, and Angelica Grace—just where we left them weeks ago. It seems to me that the dolls are lonely. Bernadette Louise’s mouth almost looks like it is frowning, and the black hole where Angelica Grace’s eye should be seems to stare out at me.

  “What are you looking at?” Sophie asks.

  “Our dolls,” I tell her. I reach in to take Bernadette Louise out of the box. “I was thinking that they must miss us.”

  “We haven’t played with them in so long,” Trudie says.

  “Well, maybe one day they’ll have company again, right, Mama?” says Sophie.

  “I certainly hope so,” Mama replies. When she sees the dolls, she adds, “They’re all dusty.” She goes upstairs and returns a few minutes later with an old worn tablecloth, stained in one corner. We clean off the dolls and put them back in the box. Mama covers them gently with the cloth.

  The next day, the shop is back in order again. Sophie, Trudie, and I sit at Papa’s workbench, waiting for people to arrive and buy our new dolls. Only they don’t. The morning drags on without a single customer, and finally we trudge upstairs for lunch. In the afternoon, Sophie and Trudie don’t even want to come downstairs, so I go by myself. Mama is busy with her sewing, and Papa has gone down the street to work at Mr. Bloom’s grocery store. But I’ve been in the shop alone before; Mama is right upstairs if I need her.

  I am bored, so I take one of the Nurse Nora dolls from the counter where she is displayed. Nurse Nora looks kind. And she looks like she knows how to do things, like change the dressing on a bandage or take a patient’s temperature. I decide that she should meet Bernadette Louise, so I go get her from the box.

  “Bernadette Louise, meet Nurse Nora,” I say.

  I pretend the dolls are meeting each other for the first time, shaking hands and smiling a little shyly, the way I sometimes do when I meet someone new. Pretty soon, though, they are feeling more comfortable, and I pretend they are telling each other all about how they were made and where they come from. The game is so much fun that for a minute, I don’t even notice that a very stout woman in a stylish hat and a big lace collar has come into the shop and is waiting for someone—me—to assist her.

  “May I help you?” I say in my most grown-up voice. I have waited on customers before and know how to use the brass cash register. But usually Papa or Mama is in the shop with me. Still, I think I can handle it all by myself.

  “Yes,” says the woman, who is holding a bag. “Can you fix this doll?” She pulls out a bisque lady doll with two missing arms and a badly scratched face.

  “No, we can’t,” I say sadly. “We don’t have the parts. We can’t get them.” I explain about the boxes that came from Germany.

  “War is a terrible thing in so many ways,” says the woman, shaking her head. “But thank you just the same.” She puts the doll back in the bag and turns to leave. Once she is gone, the shop feels even more quiet and forlorn. Nurse Nora and Bernadette Louise look at each other, but they have nothing else to say. I put my face close to Goldie’s cage; he utters a soft tweet. Then he starts chirping excitedly and hopping from perch to perch. The stout lady comes back inside; she seems to be huffing and puffing a little, maybe from the heat.

  “Hello again,” she says, putting down the bag and patting her brow with a hankie. “I decided that since I can’t get this doll fixed, maybe I would buy a doll instead. It’s for my niece; I’m seeing her later today, and she loves dolls. The sign in the window says you have dolls for sale.”

  “We do,” I say, holding out Nurse Nora for her to see. “We have Nurse Nora dolls.”

  “May I see her?” The lady takes the doll in her hands and looks her over.

  “She’s new,” I explain. “And she’s part of a limited edition.” That’s what the sign in the window says, and I am proud that I remembered it.

  “Limited edition,” repeats the lady. She continues to examine Nurse Nora. “She’s very sweet. And I like her clothes, too.” She tilts her head and holds the doll at arm’s length. “I’ll take her.”

  “That will be one dollar, please.” I wrap the doll in some tissue paper Papa keeps under the counter and hand her to her new owner. I made a sale, all by myself. I can’t wait to tell Mama and Papa!

  Mama and Papa are very pleased that I sold a doll, and the next morning, we girls help make another one to replace her. Then I seat myself behind the counter while Papa goes off, glumly, it seems to me, to Mr. Bloom’s store. Usually Papa is so good-natured and patient. But for weeks, he has been grumpy. Just yesterday, he yelled at Trudie when she spilled her milk. Mama comforted her by explaining that Papa is just short-tempered because he’s worried about the shop and what will become of it.

  Certainly it is quiet without the business we used to have. Quiet and dull. The morning after I sold the first Nurse Nora, I was so excited; I was sure I was going to sell the other two dolls right away. But I didn’t sell any dolls that day, the next day, or the day after that. So now I am discouraged. Mama is upstairs in the parlor, busy with her sewing. Sophie and Trudie are in our room, where Sophie is reading to Trudie. I remain in the shop with loyal little Goldie and Bernadette Louise, who are good company. I take the tea set out and invent a new make-believe game: Bernadette Louise is a servant in a very grand house with marble floors, heavy silk drapes, and crystal chandeliers. Only poor Bernadette Louise can’t enjoy any of this luxury—she has to work all the time, trudging up and down a long flight of steps to bring tea and cake to her spoiled mistress. When Mama calls me upstairs for supper, I am sorry to have to leave the game behind.

  The next day, I go down to the quiet shop and pick up the game where I left off. I add more details to the story of Bernadette Louise and the spoiled, mean mistress. I pretend that Bernadette Louise is really a princess in disguise, though no one knows that. She has been exiled from her throne and forced to work like a slave. She misses her family, her silky cocker spaniels, and her big bed with its frilly coverlet. And she is so hungry! The mean mistress gives Bernadette Louise only the nasty leftovers and scraps, while she stuffs her own face with cream puffs and strudel. Poor Bernadette Louise is so desperate for food that she decides she will steal one of the pastries in the kitchen, the golden éclair with chocolate glaze and the rich, delicious custard inside—

  “Excuse me, but where can I find a Nurse Nora doll?” says a deep voice.

  Startled, I look up to see who has spoken. It is a welldre
ssed man in a tan suit and shiny leather shoes. The watch peeking out of his vest pocket looks like it is made of gold.

  “You want to see Nurse Nora?” I say. Quickly I tuck Bernadette Louise under the counter, out of sight. I must have been so absorbed by my game that I didn’t even notice when Goldie started singing.

  “Yes. A friend of my daughter’s brought her Nurse Nora over to our home and I was curious, so I asked where she came from.”

  “Here she is,” I say, and hand him the doll. I wonder why he wants to know. Most men are not interested in dolls. But this man is. He looks Nurse Nora over carefully—front and back, top of her head down to tips of her toes. Then he turns her upside down and examines her underclothes. How rude! I am about to call Mama to come down when he places her back on the counter.

  “Do you have any more like this?”

  “Two more,” I say, showing him the other dolls we have made.

  He looks those over, too, and then places them beside the first doll.

  “I’ll take them all,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jacket for his money. “Can you wrap them?”

  “I can’t sell them all,” I say. We need to keep one doll so we will be able to make more. That’s what Papa and Mama told me.

  “No? Why not?” He’s not angry; he really seems curious. So I tell him.

  He thinks for a minute before he speaks again. “How about this—I’ll pay for all three but won’t take them all today. I’ll leave you one as a model so you can make more. Then I’ll come back and get it.”