Ship of Dolls (11 page)

Lexie wasn’t sure what that meant and didn’t care. Grandma wasn’t angry. That single thought warmed her like a hug as she reached for the letter. Mama’s handwriting, even her scent, were so vivid that just holding the envelope brought her into the room as if she were standing there.

Longing clung so tightly for a moment, Lexie couldn’t think. She blinked hard to clear misty eyes, then slipped out the single page.

C
alifornia greetings, Mother and Father Lewis
, the letter read in Mama’s breezy voice, as if she stood beside Lexie saying her words aloud.

I know you’re having a swell time with Lexie, but here’s nifty news! Lexie must have told you I’ll be warbling good-​bye to the dolls when they leave for Japan. Now the program people have come up with a keen idea!

They think it would be a hoot for one of the girls who helped collect pennies to buy and dress the dolls to sing the good-​bye song with me. Ain’t that the cat’s pajamas? So if you’ll put Lexie on a steamer to San Francisco, we’ll sing the dolls off to Japan together!

“As you see,” Grandma said, her voice sounding far away to Lexie, “your mother has suggested you join her.”

Happiness soared through Lexie. To sing with Mama! To be with her again!

“In my day,” Grandma said, “proper young ladies did not perform in public.”

“But I have already,” Lexie protested. “There’s a restaurant in our building — I mean where we used to live. Mama and I sang together for people there. They liked us!”

“Humph.” Grandma shook her head. “Leaving aside whether your singing in public would be proper, there’s the matter of the cost. Your grandfather and I would never allow you to travel alone. It would not be safe. And steamship tickets are expensive.”

Grandma’s forehead creased the way it did when she worked over the household accounts. “The price for two passages to San Francisco and back . . .”

“I’ll help. I have two dimes and a nickel saved up from my birthday.”

Grandma shook her head. “Maybe in another year we can make the trip. We could plan for a spring month, when the weather would be nice.”

“The dolls are leaving this year,” Lexie said. “On January seventh!”

“You’ll join the party to say good-​bye to Emily Grace and the others leaving from Portland. I can hear my mother now saying that will be celebration enough for a young girl.”

Lexie wanted to say,
Girls in your day didn’t get to have much fun, did they?
But Grandma would only call her mouthy. So she kept the thought to herself.

It wasn’t fair for old-​fashioned ideas to spoil things. “The ship is carrying more than dolls, Grandma. It’s carrying friendship. And hope. Miss Tompkins says the dolls might keep a war from starting! That’s important!”

“What’s important to an eleven-​year-​old girl is to grow up safely with a good reputation,” Grandma said. “Because Grandpa and I love you, our job is to see that that happens.”

Arguments rushed into Lexie’s head. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Arguing would just set Grandma’s mind harder.

The thought of walking all the way to San Francisco was no good. Another look at the map in the classroom had told her that. Even if she could walk all the way, a lot of it over mountains, she wouldn’t get there in time.

But she could be as stubborn as Grandma.
The cost won’t be as high as Grandma thinks
, she promised herself.
I won’t need tickets both ways. Once I get to San Francisco, I’m not coming back.

She wondered why she felt a quiver at that. It wouldn’t be the first time she had left friends and gone to a new school. But this time, she would be leaving Grandma and Grandpa. And that made tears well up, so she swallowed hard and reached for the dress pattern, hoping Grandma wouldn’t see them.

“You’ve shown admirable resilience, Electra,” Grandma said, sounding warmer. “A lot of folks, even grown folks, would lose heart at the first setback. You’ve mustered strength and kept on. You can be proud of that.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t mind saying you’ve made me proud.”

The praise surprised Lexie and meant a lot, because Grandma didn’t offer praise lightly. She believed that too much praise spoiled a child. Lexie had heard her say that to Grandpa.

I’m not giving up
, she promised herself.
I’ll ask again later.
As some of the weight left her shoulders, she said, “I’ll ask Mam’selle about changing the pattern to be like the dress she showed me.”

She heard her mistake almost before the words left her lips. Grandma’s brows shot up. She looked as insulted as if Lexie had suggested asking a neighbor for ways to flavor her soup.

“You sketch out that dress you like,” Grandma said. “Between us, we’ll make do.”

Grandma was starting to understand how important this was. Lexie smiled her thanks. When she heard Lexie had written the best letter, wouldn’t even Grandma see that she deserved to sail down to San Francisco with Emily Grace and the other dolls?

A few days later, Lexie cornered Jack while he was stacking firewood behind the house. “Are you still mad?”

He dropped a log on the stack. “I suppose we’re even.”

“I’m glad. Because I need to read my letter for the doll to you. You have good ideas. I like the one about putting in a Japanese poem.”

He looked pleased. Telling him he had a good idea must have made him happy. She rushed on before he could change his mind. “I wrote a new one, one that doesn’t make me sad. Do you want to hear it?”

He shrugged. “Go ahead.”

She brought her haiku to mind:

“Sounds good.” Jack turned back to the firewood. “You’re turning into a regular Japanese poet.”

Lexie pushed his shoulder in a way that meant she liked hearing that but didn’t believe it. New hope for winning the contest sizzled through her.

For the rest of that week, Lexie spent every spare minute on the dress and the letter. Every time she reread her words, she changed one or two, then the next time changed them back. Finally, on Sunday evening, she decided the letter was ready. It had to be. And the dress was finished, too.

When she gave the new dress to Miss Tompkins Monday morning, the teacher held it up for everyone to see. “You’ve done a fine job, Electra. This dress can certainly travel to Japan with Emily Grace.”

“You didn’t make that,” Louise said from two rows over. “Your grandma did.”

The glow from the teacher’s words vanished like a popped bubble. Lexie felt everyone turning to look at her. Louise had used her superior voice, the one that said,
Stay in the shade. The sunlight belongs to me.

“Grandma told me how,” Lexie shot back. “I sewed every single stitch myself!”

Louise’s mouth curved in a half smile that said as clearly as words that Lexie must be lying.

“She made it,” Jack said, surprising her. “I saw her working on it myself. And she did a good job.”

“Oh, Ja-​ack,” Ollie taunted.

Jack looked down, color splotching his cheeks. Lexie smiled her thanks, but he wouldn’t look at her. She wondered when he’d seen her working on the dress. Had he come by to end their argument and decided not to interrupt when he saw her sewing with Grandma?

Miss Tompkins called attention to a sentence diagram on the blackboard. Lexie had trouble thinking about adjectives and nouns. Despite Jack’s defense, she kept hearing Louise’s accusation and seeing others glance toward her with doubt in their eyes.

Feeling that Jack was the only one who believed in her, whether he wanted to talk to her or not, Lexie started toward him at noon recess. One of Louise’s friends stopped her. “You’re a liar. Louise said you didn’t make that dress.”

“I did too!”

“She made it,” Jack said, coming over. “Go chase spiders, Alma.”

“Where is Louise?” Lexie asked as Alma kicked dirt toward Jack. “I want to talk to her.”

Alma tossed her head, ignoring Jack as he kicked the dirt in her direction. “I think she went around back to look for woodpeckers.”

“Better not tell her ma,” Jack said. “Mrs. Wilkins says the only birds a lady cares about are the ones she wears on her hats.”

As Alma flounced away, Lexie called, “Tell Louise I’m looking for her.”

“Forget her,” Jack said. “Nobody listens to Louise. Nobody who counts.”

“Thanks.”

He shrugged and walked away, then turned. “This is the big day, remember? They’re going to collect the letters. That’s all that matters.”

Trouble with Louise vanished in a rush. Jack was still her friend, and the day she’d been waiting for was here at last.

Moments later, the class bell rang. As Lexie followed the others inside, all she could think of was the letter. The classroom faded while her mind filled with images of Mama and San Francisco and a big ship at the dock and of herself standing on the pier with Mama, singing good-​bye to the dolls.

T
he others settling into their seats might have been in a separate classroom. For Lexie, the whispers and scrapes of chairs faded. She could think only of the letter. Who would judge? How soon? Would each of them read their letters aloud or just turn them in to be judged?

The letter in her desk was as perfect as she could make it. Or was it? Should she take it out and read it again to be sure?

No, there was no time left. And the letter said exactly what it should, exactly what she wanted. She would leave it in the desk until it was time to hand it in so she wouldn’t be tempted to mess it up with erasures that she would only change and change again.

Instead, she stared at the map with the gold stars over three cities and waited.

The minutes passed slowly, but at last, the classroom door opened. Mr. Wilkins came in with a cardboard box. He meant to collect them, then.

For an awful moment, Lexie panicked. What if Louise’s father threw out the letters and kept just the one written by his daughter? She squeezed her hands together to keep them from shaking. Mr. Wilkins put a lot of store by honor. That’s what Grandpa said. Her letter would be given a fair chance, along with all the others.

Miss Tompkins welcomed their visitor. Turning to the class, she introduced him, as if everyone in the class didn’t already know that Louise’s father was the head of the school board.

Mr. Wilkins was tall and wore a dress suit as crisp as their principal’s. He looked over the class, not taking any special notice of Louise. Louise didn’t try to draw his attention. She sat model-​student straight, with her hands on her desk and her expression serious. Maybe life wasn’t as easy for her as Lexie had thought from looking at her expensive clothes and beauty shop haircuts.

“I understand the boys were not interested in this project.” Mr. Wilkins swept a severe glance over the boys. Even Ollie showed good sense for once and remained silent. “Therefore, it gives me pleasure to announce a prize the school board will award to the girl who has written the best letter.” Mr. Wilkins sounded as serious as Louise looked. Lexie could scarcely draw a breath. Were the rumors true? Would the winner go to San Francisco?

“You have all contributed your efforts and your pennies to purchase and clothe this doll.” He placed one hand on Emily Grace’s head. “You know this doll will join thousands of others on a journey to the country of Japan. Many are already aboard trains traveling across America toward the port of San Francisco. Who can tell me why?”

He pointed to a girl in the first row. She answered promptly. “They’re for children who live in all parts of Japan.”

“Yes.” He motioned to Alma. “But why are we sending dolls to those children? Can you tell us?”

“For peace,” Alma said. “We hope the dolls will carry our message of friendship.”

Lexie knew all that. Everyone did. They had talked about it for weeks and weeks. Why didn’t Mr. Wilkins get to the contest and the mystery prize?

“Dolls from our neighbors will join this doll of yours here in Portland,” Mr. Wilkins said. “A small celebration will be held on the dock beside the Willamette River. We will all wish them a safe journey to San Francisco. With dolls from all over America, they will board a ship and travel across the Pacific Ocean to Japan.”