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

doll.”
    â€œUh-huh,” is all I say. The tears are hot on my face, but I don’t wipe them away.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asks Sophie, who has just come back with a white bakery box of cookies.
    I let Mama tell her the story. I don’t feel like telling it myself.
    â€œI’ll let you play with my doll,” says Sophie when Mama is done. “We can share.”
    â€œMe too,” says Trudie. “We can have the tea party and you can hold Angelica Grace.” This only makes me cry more. I don’t want to share, and I don’t want to have a tea party. Mama gives my shoulders squeeze.
    â€œWe’ll find a way to get you another doll,” says Mama. “You wait and see.” She turns to Trudie and adds softly, “Let’s have the tea party another day.”
    â€œToo bad we sold those dolls to Mr. Karnofsky,” Sophie says. “Maybe we could return the money and get one of those baby dolls back.”
    But I don’t want another doll, especially not one of those stupid old baby dolls. I want Bernadette Louise and only Bernadette Louise.

9
    T HE LETTER
    In the weeks after Bernadette Louise is taken away, I can’t stop thinking about her. Mama has to ask me the same thing three times in row before I hear her. It’s just as bad at school. Miss Abbott, who is always so nice, asks me to stay after class and wants to know why I have not been paying attention. Another, stricter teacher might have smacked my knuckles with a ruler, so I mumble something about having a lot to think about now. Then I tell her that I am sorry, and that I will try to do better. I can’t even look at her as I say this. Instead, I have to look down at my shoes, which I was supposed to polish but didn’t. They have scuff marks all over the toes, and Mama will be cross with me when she sees them.
    At home, Trudie and Sophie try not to make too big a fuss about their dolls when I am around, and they are pretty good about sharing them with me. But it’s not the same. I don’t even want to play with their dolls. I don’t really want to play with anything, it seems. Instead, I take out the twenty cents I keep hidden away in a special pouch. The money comes from different places—some of it I found, some I earned, some Papa gave me. I have not wanted to spend it on candy. I’ve been saving it for something really special. Now I know just what that something is. I walk to the stationer’s store on Grand Street where I buy a small, ruled notebook, and I begin writing in it. This makes me feel better, so I keep doing it. I write about Bernadette Louise, school, my family, the woman who came and took my doll away. I write until my pencil point gets dull, and my hand hurts. Then I tuck the little book into the pocket of my dress, where I know it will be safe. Sometimes Sophie or Trudie asks me what I’m writing, but I don’t want to say too much about it.
    â€œJust this and that,” I tell them.
    Trudie wants to see, but I say no, it’s private. I can see her disappointed look, so I tell her that if she saves her money, I will take her to the store to buy her own notebook. She likes that idea so much that she runs into our room and starts counting her pennies right then and there.
    It is October. The days are getting cooler, and it gets dark earlier now. The war is still going on in Europe, and I feel sad thinking of all those poor soldiers outside in the cold. Mama’s brother Lev went into the army not long ago and has not been heard from since. I’ve caught Mama crying sometimes, and I know this is why. I write about all of it in my notebook, and when I do, it’s as though I have been carrying a heavy stone that I am finally able to set down.
    Suddenly I have an idea that is so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. I will write a letter to Bernadette Louise. True she is only a doll, but that doesn’t