Read Online The Doll Shop Downstairs by Yona Zeldis McDonough - Free Book Online Page A

silver-tipped cane.
    â€œHello, may I help you?” I say. I remember Mr. Greenfield’s visit; I’m good with customers.
    â€œIs this Breittlemann’s Doll Repair Shop?” the woman asks.
    â€œYes, but we aren’t taking any dolls to fix right now. We do have some new dolls to sell, though.” I pick up one of the fairies to show her. “See?”
    â€œShe’s charming, but I’m not here to buy a doll. Or to drop one off,” she says. “I’m here to pick up a doll I left some time ago. I had a note from the owner—would that be your father?” I nod, and a very slow, fluttery feeling starts in my stomach. It is not a good flutter, though. “He asked me to pick up my doll. I’m afraid I haven’t been well lately, and so I didn’t answer his letters. But here I am and I can take her with me today.”
    Now, in addition to the fluttery feeling, there is a bad feeling in my chest, like my heart is knocking against my ribs, trying to get out. And my face feels hot, the way it does when I get a fever.
    â€œWhat kind of a doll is she?” I ask.
    â€œShe’s a very pretty china thing. Dark hair all wound up around her head. One of her feet is missing though, and her arm is cracked. I have the ticket right here.” She holds out a creased slip of paper. But I don’t need the slip of paper to know that the doll she means is Bernadette Louise.
    â€œI’ll get her.” I am trembling as I go to get the doll from her box. “Here she is,” I say, handing her to the woman. I am trying not to cry.
    â€œYes, that’s her,” says the woman. “But she’s been mended.” The woman looks confused. “In his letter, your father said that he couldn’t repair her without the parts he needed.”
    â€œWell, when he didn’t hear from you, he thought that ... I mean ... you see—”
    â€œWe thought that the doll wasn’t going to be claimed, and so we let our Anna keep her.” I turn to see Mama standing there by the stairs. Trudie is right behind her. Mama explains how the others were left behind, and we had just assumed this one was, too.
    The woman looks down at the doll and then at us. “Did you wash and press the clothes yourself?” she asks me.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd you sewed the lace on her sleeve?” the woman continues.
    This time I just nod, because I am afraid if I say anything, tears will pour out, and I do not want to be a crybaby.
    â€œI see her broken foot has been replaced, too.”
    â€œThe girls found some leftover parts,” explains Mama.
    â€œI didn’t mind that her feet don’t match. I thought that Bernadette Louise would rather have the foot than not,” I manage to say.
    â€œBernadette Louise?” asks the woman, clearly puzzled.
    â€œThe doll,” I say. “That’s what I called her.”
    â€œI see,” says the woman. “I see.” She looks down at the doll and then at me again. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
    â€œWould you like me to wrap her?” Mama steps over to the counter and begins looking for the paper and bags. When the woman reaches for her purse, Mama shakes her head.
    â€œThis is a kind of makeshift repair,” she says. “We don’t expect you to pay for it.”

    â€œBut you put so much work into her,” the woman protests. “I insist.” She hands Mama three quarters, and Mama thanks her. Then, taking the wrapped doll, she leaves.
    After she goes, I feel Mama’s hand on my shoulder. I am going to cry now, I can tell, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I suddenly understand how Trudie must feel. Although she has been crying a lot less lately, I am reminded of how hard it is to control yourself when you really need to cry.
    â€œI’m sorry, Anna,” says Mama in a gentle voice. “I know how much you loved that