Ship of Dolls (9 page)

“But it is possible, Grandpa! I’ll be safe on a steamship. I won’t leave my cabin. Not until we get there. I promise!”

He reached out to pat her shoulder. “You’re safe here. Believe me when I say we love you and want you with us. I’ll talk to Grandma. This . . . little storm will blow over. That’s my promise.”

“But . . .”

“I’ll tell you what,” Grandpa said, getting to his feet. “You get a good night’s sleep. Then Monday after school, you come by the bank. We’ll go next door for a dish of ice cream, just the two of us.”

A ragged breath shook through Lexie. She wasn’t done asking questions, but they would have to wait. So she simply asked, “Chocolate?”

Grandpa chuckled. “You can have all the chocolate ice cream you want. And after that, I have a friend I want you to meet. She may have a surprise for you.”

He paused at the door, reminding her as he sometimes did of her papa. It was in the way he smiled with a sparkle in his eyes that spread over his face. “Things will look better tomorrow. That’s another promise. Good night, honey.”

“Good night,” she answered softly. While his steps faded on the stairs, she sat with Annie and tried to think through everything that had happened. She had made a mistake to keep the truth to herself for so long. She would tell Grandma she realized that and was sorry she hadn’t explained sooner. Part of her rebelled at the thought of apologizing. Grandma said Mama hadn’t grown up right. She saw things she didn’t like about Mama when she looked at Lexie.

“That’s not fair,” Lexie whispered to Annie. “She doesn’t give me a chance to be me.” But then she remembered Grandpa talking about it being hard to raise a girl, especially when you loved her. They didn’t know her very well. When they did, they would learn that she made good decisions. Most of the time.

A sigh almost as heavy as Grandma’s made its way through her, and she decided not to worry about it anymore tonight. After changing into her nightgown, she pulled Annie close again. “I’ve never been inside the ice-​cream parlor,” she told the doll. “But I looked through the window one day. It has round tables, and when the door opened, I could smell sweet syrups.”

Maybe she wouldn’t start walking to California just yet. At least not until after the ice cream and Grandpa’s surprise. And more questions about that letter she’d seen Grandma push into her apron pocket.

W
hen Lexie stepped into the ice-​cream parlor with Grandpa on Monday, every surface gleamed, inviting customers with chocolate-​ and strawberry-​colored paint. It was a magical place that made her mouth water with anticipation.

Grandma had made oatmeal that morning with brown sugar on top with the milk. Lexie knew it was a way of saying she was sorry about last night. Sometimes, words were hard for Grandma, the way they were for her.

Feeling a need to say she was sorry right back, Lexie had hugged her before running to school. Grandma had hugged her, too, and later, Lexie found a freshly baked oatmeal cookie in her lunch box.

Now Grandpa swept out a chair with a round seat and a heart-​shaped back and waved her onto it. Each table held a Christmassy red candle standing upright in an ice-​cream sundae dish, with little gold balls around it. While Lexie slipped her arms from her cloth coat and hung it over the chair, Grandpa placed his hat on an empty chair between them. Lexie looked around, trying not to think of missing Mama at Christmas. “It smells good in here, like . . . strawberry and chocolate and umm, caramel.”

A curly-​haired waitress with a frilly apron came to their table, smiling. “We’ll have two of your finest ice-​cream sundaes,” Grandpa told her. “Don’t spare the whipped cream and remember to put a cherry on the top!”

“Coming right up.” The waitress whisked behind a long marble-​topped counter. Lexie heard a metal scoop clatter against a bucket.

She saw the ice-​cream sundaes listed on a board behind the soda fountain and was shocked to see how much they cost. When Grandpa had said she could have chocolate, she expected a nickel scoop of ice cream in a dish. Did Grandma know that Grandpa would spend fifteen cents on one ice-​cream sundae? And he got one for each of them. He would have to work a whole hour to earn that much and still not have quite enough.

Minutes later, when the waitress brought the sundaes, Lexie forgot to worry about how much they cost. “They’re beautiful,” she breathed.

Each boat-​shaped dish held scoops of vanilla and chocolate ice cream beneath thick blankets of chocolate syrup and creamy marshmallow sauce. Mounds of whipped cream rose on top, with a juicy red maraschino cherry at the very peak. Crunchy cookies poked like wings from each side.

The waitress beamed. “Enjoy it, honey.”

Lexie carefully lifted the cherry with her spoon and put it into her mouth. It tasted as good as it looked. She decided to eat her sundae slowly, so it would last as long as possible. Secretly she hoped somebody from school would come by and see her there with Grandpa and the ice-​cream sundaes.

“Next time,” Grandpa said, raising his spoon, “we’ll invite Jack from next door. You might like someone of your own age to talk to.”

“I like talking to you.” Lexie hesitated, then added, “Besides, Jack hates me.”

Grandpa lowered his spoon. “Hates you? Since when?”

Since I kissed him and he got teased and got into a fight and blames me
, Lexie thought, but said only, “He just does.”

“I doubt that.” Grandpa turned his attention to his ice cream.

Lexie churned her chocolate into slush, frowning at her spoon. “He won’t talk to me. He calls me a dumb Dora and knocks into me when he passes in the hall. Or pretends I’m not there.”

Grandpa let a spoonful of ice cream melt in his mouth for a moment. Finally he said, “Boys have trouble figuring out how to treat girls they like. I expect he’s just sweet on you.”

Lexie shook her head. Grandpa hadn’t seen the way Jack turned away when she spoke to him or how he made sure they didn’t walk together anymore.

“Well,” Grandpa said after another long moment, “tell me this. How’s that doll’s letter coming along?”

All her hopes for the letter rushed into her mind. She felt she knew Emily Grace much better now. Losing the dress hurt like a wound that wouldn’t heal. That made the letter even more important. No one had said anything more about the winner of the contest going to San Francisco. Maybe it was a secret. Louise had said so. Maybe it wasn’t even true. Lexie pushed that thought away.

She was glad that Grandpa hadn’t mentioned the burned dress. She wasn’t sure she could talk about it. Grandpa must feel the same way. Would he talk about the letter from Mama?

She scooped up some marshmallow cream while she thought about asking more questions, but she didn’t want to spoil this day. She let her questions go for now and answered Grandpa’s. “I wrote a Japanese poem. It’s called a haiku. I’m thinking of putting it in the doll’s letter.”

“Sounds like a bang-​up idea.”

Lexie thought of the snappy flapper words Mama loved to use. For a moment, the familiar ache caught her. That letter from Mama must say she should come for a visit. Or to stay. Still thinking about Mama, she joked about adding her poem to the doll’s letter, “It will be the cat’s meow.”

Grandpa chuckled. “Or the cat’s whiskers.”

Grinning, Lexie added, “Or the cat’s kimono!”

Grandpa laughed and tapped his water glass to hers. “The winner!”

Still smiling, Lexie dug into her ice cream. It was the best she had ever tasted. Her time with Grandpa flew by. Again, his twinkling eyes reminded her of Papa. He motioned the waitress over and paid the bill, then stood and reached for Lexie’s coat. “On to the surprise!”

Lexie looked around, wondering if the surprise was another kind of ice cream and thinking she couldn’t eat anything more. Maybe Mama was here! She knew that wasn’t likely. Still, hope soared higher as she looked past Grandpa.

He opened the door with a flourish, snapped his hat over his head, and waved her onto the rainy wood sidewalk. “You’re going to meet one of my favorite customers from the bank. I talked to her this morning, and she’s expecting us. She goes by the name Mam’selle Maxine in her shop, but she’s really just Maxine Fields from over on the coast, where her father’s a logger.”

Lexie raised her collar against the rain. “Why is she called Mam’selle? Isn’t that French?”

“It is and that’s her secret. Those who know go along with it, and those who don’t know are impressed. It’s good for her business.”

“Her business?”

“Ah, that’s my secret. Are you ready? Her shop is on the next street. It takes up her front parlor.”

Lexie’s mind whirled as she tried to imagine who the lady might be. Maybe she wrote letters for people who couldn’t get their thoughts to come out the way they wanted. Maybe she was going to help with the letter. Maybe she had lots of pretty papers in her shop. And colored inks.

The papers and inks would be good
, Lexie decided,
but I need to write my own letter. It has to be exactly what Emily Grace wants to say.

Her thoughts rushed on, each stumbling over the next.
If Grandpa found a lady to write the letter, what should I say to her? I don’t want Grandpa to feel bad. He means to help. And I need him in a good mood so I can ask about the letter Grandma shoved in her apron pocket that day.

“Here we are.” Grandpa stopped before a neat house with gingerbread trim around the front porch. A lace-​trimmed sign in the front window read
MODISTE
in lavender script.

As they stepped inside, a string of little bells jangled overhead.

T
here were no racks of fancy papers. Instead, shelves shimmered with folded fabrics. At one side, a headless dress form wore a smart frock of Christmassy green. Tapered sleeves hung empty.

A woman knelt before the form, her mouth clamped over pins she was working into the hem of the green dress. Her blond hair curled in glossy waves over her ears. Mama would have approved of her hairstyle and the straight cream-​colored dress that flared over her legs. A rope of pearls swung forward while she worked.

When the bells jangled, she looked up, spit the pins into her cupped palm, and stood up, smiling. After dropping the pins onto a nearby ironing board, she came to them with both hands outstretched.

“Ah, this will be the small Electra! You bring the sunshine on this cloudy day. Welcome!”

“This is Electra,” Grandpa agreed. “Lexie, meet Mam’selle Maxine.”

“So enchanting!” Mam’selle rushed on. “Grandpapa talks often of his little Electra who has come to stay with him and her grandmama.”

Lexie looked from her hands to the woman’s smiling eyes. For a moment, she felt overwhelmed. Then she remembered that Mam’selle Maxine was not really French. The visit became a game.

Instead of backing away, she said, “I like your shop, Mam’selle.”

“I believe you will soon like it even better.” Dimples appeared in the woman’s cheeks. Pearls swinging, she tugged Lexie toward a table heaped with magazines. “Grandpapa has talked of the dress you would make for a doll. Let us look at fashions to suit her, yes?”

The seamstress sparkled and talked as she turned pages. Lexie was surprised she had been quiet with pins in her mouth when they first came in. She seemed to be making up for it as she exclaimed over pictures in the fashion magazines, pointing out bows and pleats and ruffles.

When Lexie finally got a word in, she said, “It has to be a dress for everyday. Emily Grace — the doll — already has a fancy one.”

“Ah, too bad. We would have enjoyed the ruffles. But no matter. We will find just the right dress. This, perhaps? Notice the dropped waistline and the bow at the back with trailing ribbons from the waist to the hem.”

“I think the sleeves would be hard to set in,” Lexie said doubtfully, remembering the problems she had had before.

“But you have a modiste to help you,
petite.
We will set in the sleeves and pleat the bodice just so. And the neckline . . .”

She continued talking, but Lexie stopped listening. At first, relief had swept through her. Emily Grace would have her second dress. She had turned a grateful smile toward Grandpa as he settled onto a chair to wait.