Ship of Dolls (2 page)

Grandma refused to bob her hair, even though Grandpa teased her about not keeping up with the times. She wouldn’t cut the neat braids wrapped around her head even to wear the stylish cloche hat Mama had given her. Sometimes Lexie suspected that Grandma kept her old-​fashioned style
because
of Mama.

“There you are, Electra,” Grandma said. “I’ve been watching for you.” She pulled an envelope from a deep pocket in her apron. “That flapper finally remembered she has a daughter and took time from her busy life to write to you.”

“F
rom Mama? There’s a letter from Mama?” Maybe Toby had changed his mind. Maybe she could be with Mama again. Could she go tonight? Hope pounded through Lexie. “What did Mama say?”

Grandma placed the letter on the kitchen table beside a glass of milk and an oatmeal cookie on a plate. “I do not open other people’s mail.”

Lexie believed that her grandma loved her. She just didn’t want her to grow up to be a flapper like Mama. And she couldn’t forget that Papa — her only son — had died driving the fast motorcar Mama had begged him to buy.

Lexie couldn’t forget, either. She knew that Papa had wanted the car as much as Mama had. But sometimes Lexie wished she and her mother had both been with him when he took it for a spin that night. Then they would all be together now in heaven.

But this was no time for dark thoughts. The envelope was like an extra Christmas present, one she wouldn’t save for Christmas. She made herself swallow some milk and take a bite of cookie, though, holding off the one thing she wanted most.

When she couldn’t wait a second longer, she pried open the flap. Mama’s spicy perfume wafted out, bringing an image so sharp, it was almost as if Mama stood laughing in front of her, stockings rolled below her knees, brown hair swinging against her ears in the shingled bob she loved, bright hazel eyes shining.

Hi, kiddo
, the letter said in Mama’s amused voice, starting right out as if they had talked just yesterday.

We’re in San Francisco! Yes, all the way down here in California. And you’ll never guess what’s happened. I’m helping plan a nifty farewell party for those thousands of dolls going to Japan!

“She’s in California,” Lexie said aloud.

“I noticed the postmark. Did she get your letters?”

Lexie was already reading Mama’s explanation.

Our old landlady forwarded your letters. I’ve kept every one, but gosh, I haven’t had a minute to sit down and write. I’ve gotta rush now and get to practice.

But isn’t it the cat’s meow! You’re up there earning pennies toward buying one doll for Japan and I’m down here planning to send them all off with a bang-​up party. It’s like we’re working together.

No
, Lexie thought. She wanted to crumple the letter but made herself smooth it on her knee instead.
It’s not like that at all.
Not while she was here and Mama was way south in California.

There wasn’t much more. Toby would be waking up soon, Mama had written, then they would be off to the speakeasy where he was playing with a band.

I’m their songbird, kiddo! I’m learning a piece called “The Blue-​Eyed Doll.” Have you heard of it? It’s all the rage in Japan, where everybody’s eyes are dark. It’s about a celluloid doll arriving on a ship from America. I wonder if that’s where the idea came from for the dolls your bunch is sending over.

I’ll be singing the song at the farewell party here in San Francisco. It would be peachy if you could hear me, but I can’t imagine your grandmother agreeing to make the trip.

Kisses, kisses, kiddo. Merry, Merry Christmas! Be sure to mind Grandma and Grandpa. And study hard in school so you will grow up to be a smarter girl than your mother!

A single tear slipped down Lexie’s cheek and onto the perfumed paper. She slapped it away with her hand. Anger was better than sadness. She folded the letter and slid it into the envelope. When she was sure of her voice, she said, “Mama’s going to help with the dolls’ party in San Francisco before they all go to Japan.”

“I expect that will suit her.” Grandma turned to the stove. “Hurry and wash up. Supper’s almost ready.”

Lexie smelled chicken baking, but she wasn’t hungry. She was remembering Louise and Alma. They had said that the girl who wrote the best letter would go to San Francisco to see the dolls off. Mama would be there!

I have to write the best letter. I need to be close to the doll. I need to hold Emily Grace, to feel her in my arms and pretend to talk to her. It’s the only way I’ll know what to say.

Miss Tompkins had taken the doll home — to the room she rented from Jack’s mother.
Just next door.
It was probably there now. Ideas flew through Lexie’s head.

“I’m going to change my school clothes,” she said, and ran into the hall and up the stairs. In her bedroom, she quickly changed from her school dress to an everyday pinafore and pulled on her coat.

She threw open her window, thankful the rain had eased to a sprinkle, and crawled into the old cherry tree that brushed its wide branches against her house and against the Harmons’ boardinghouse next door. She reached the trunk, wriggled around it, and started along a second branch. “Jack! Jack, open your window. I need to talk!”

Was he home? He had to be home. “Jack!”

His window rasped upward. Jack leaned out, brown hair tousled by a damp wind. “You sound like a cat stuck out there.”

“Miss Tompkins brought the doll home with her.”

“How long did it take you to figure that out?” His grin lit up his whole face.

This was no time to be angry with Jack. “Is she home now? Miss Tompkins?”

“Naw. She just came in long enough to leave the doll.” His grin faded, as if he’d heard something in her voice that worried him. “Why?”

“You’ve got to sneak me into her room.”

“Are you crazy? No one goes into the renters’ rooms. Ma would have my hide.”

“You owe me, Jack.”

“Since when?” He began hauling down his window.

“Since the cookie,” she said quickly. “People still call me Dog Breath.”

He paused with the window halfway down. Laughter sparkled in his eyes. “How’d that cookie taste?”

“You owe me,” Lexie said again.

Jack tugged on the window. Lexie crept closer along the branch. Teetering, she let go to hold both hands toward him. “I won’t touch anything. I have to see Emily Grace. It’s important! Please?”

He raised the window again, making shushing motions. “Cripes! They can hear you all over the neighborhood.”

“I knew you were a scaredy-​cat!”

She saw him starting to reconsider and added, “There’s going to be a contest. If I write the best letter, I get to go to San Francisco with Emily Grace. My mama’s there, Jack! But, if you’re too scared . . .”

He glanced to either side. “Come around to the back porch. Make it fast.”

M
inutes later, Lexie stood with Jack in the carpeted hallway outside a plain paneled door. What she was about to do went against everything she had ever been taught. This wasn’t like slipping into the classroom after school. That might have earned her a scolding. This could get her into a lot of trouble. But she had to do it.

Jack leaned against dark wainscoting nearby, looking nervous. He wasn’t supposed to be upstairs in his mother’s boardinghouse, except for in his own room, at the end of the hall.

Lexie shouldn’t be here at all, but she didn’t have a choice. Not in her heart. Only one thing mattered more than getting caught: being with Mama again. To do that, she had to write the best letter in the whole class. And to do that, she
had
to hold the doll, to
know
what the doll would say to those girls in Japan. It was the only way to write a letter that was better than anyone else’s.

Still, getting caught wouldn’t be fun. She glanced down the stairs at a rain-​streaked window, feeling as rain-​blurred as the glass while she gathered courage to open Miss Tompkins’s door.

“Go on in,” Jack demanded. “Or forget the doll!”

I have to do it
, Lexie told herself again.
I have to.

She smelled simmering beef and onions and knew Jack’s mother was making stew for the boarders’ supper. Miss Tompkins’s room was right above the kitchen. Anyone walking around up here might be heard downstairs. Could she walk softly enough that Mrs. Harmon wouldn’t hear her from the kitchen?

Someone in a nearby room turned on a radio, making her jump.

Jack rocked on the balls of his feet. “What are you waiting for?”

“If Miss Tompkins catches us . . .”

“She won’t.”

“Maybe the door’s locked.”

“Nobody locks doors here. I don’t think there are even keys.”

Lexie looked at the doorknob, remembering how Grandma was always watching for some sign of Mama to root out of her. Sneaking into Miss Tompkins’s room was sure to be one of those signs.

“Why do you need the doll?” Jack added, sounding impatient. “She’s not going to write the letter for you.”

“I’ve only ever held my cloth doll, Annie, that my grandma made me for Christmas when I was little. I don’t know what a store-​bought doll would write in a letter. Annie’s so soft and sweet and loving, she’d just say, ‘Give me a hug!’ A pretty store-​bought doll like Emily Grace would say more. I know she would. I just don’t know
what
!”

“Then don’t be a baby!” Jack grabbed her hand and shoved it onto the knob.

Lexie snatched her hand away. “Miss Tompkins might be in there!”

“She went out. But she’ll likely come back if you don’t get a move on.” He glanced down the stairs. “Better not let Ma catch us sneaking into a renter’s room.”

If she does
, Lexie warned herself,
I’ll never know what to say in the letter.
I’ll never get to Mama.
She grabbed the knob. This time, she turned it.

Somehow she was inside the room without remembering taking the last forbidden step. Jack slipped in behind her and eased the door shut. For a moment, the entire room seemed to blur. Slowly, Lexie sorted everything out: a window over there, a neatly made bed to her right, a desk with a fringe-​shaded lamp beside a large box. Her gaze stopped on the box. She knew that box.

She darted across the room and raised the lid. There was Emily Grace, with her friendly blue eyes and painted smile. “Just look at her,” Lexie breathed. The ladies in the school parents’ club had made the blue satin dress and gray wool traveling cape. They were perfect for her. Lexie set the lid aside and reached for the doll.

“You said you wouldn’t touch anything,” Jack said, adding quickly, “Are your hands clean?”

“Of course.” But she checked them for dirt from the tree. Maybe she should just look at Emily Grace. No. That wouldn’t be enough. She had to hold her.

She rubbed her hands on her pinafore to be sure, then gently lifted the doll from the box. Emily Grace had real hair in blond curls, not at all like Lexie’s growing-​out brown bob. And the doll’s arms and legs and head were made of a hard material, not like Annie, who was soft all over.

Lexie rocked her backward. The eyes closed and Emily Grace said, “Mama.”

“Oh,” Lexie said. “Did you ever see a prettier doll?”

“She’s just a doll.”

“Just a doll! She’s . . . she’s an ambassador, like Miss Tompkins said. She’s going to Japan! Didn’t you look at the map pulled down over the blackboard?”

“I looked. She’s got a long way to travel.”

Gold stars gleamed over three cities on the map they’d studied. Miss Tompkins had pasted one over Portland, Oregon, and another over San Francisco, California. She put the last star far across the Pacific Ocean, over the port city of Yokohama, in the island country of Japan. A steamship would carry the dolls all that way.

“It sounds crazy to me,” Jack added. “Twelve thousand dolls . . . How can they bring peace?”

Lexie wasn’t sure. When Grandpa had read his newspaper that morning, she’d heard him worry aloud about the Japanese military. Grandma had reminded him that the Japanese had helped the Allies during the big war that ended in 1918. But Grandpa still frowned.

“Grandpa says the Japanese are looking to spread into China, where the British have interests,” Lexie said, remembering. “He says if the Japanese try to push the British out of Hong Kong and Singapore, they’ll be stirring up a hornets’ nest.”