I didn’t know what she expected me to say, so I pretended I hadn’t heard her.
At the door to my room, Elsie stopped and stared. “This is all yours? Everything in it? Oh, Annie, you are so lucky!”
Something in her voice made me feel ashamed. Did I have too much? I’d never thought about it before. My friends in my old neighborhood had rooms like mine, filled with toys and books. I guess I’d thought everyone did.
Elsie ran around my room, taking in every detail. She studied each room in my dollhouse. Mother and I had furnished it like a Victorian mansion. A family of china dolls lived in it, along with several servants.
“I wish I lived in a house just like this!” she exclaimed. “Fancy furniture, pretty wallpaper, velvet curtains.” As she spoke, she touched the tiny sofas and chairs and examined the miniature plates on the table. She picked up each doll and studied its clothing.
From the dollhouse, she moved to shelves of books, touching them on their spines as if she were taking inventory. She tried out the rocking chair Father had made for me when I was little. She picked up the dolls sitting on a shelf and examined each one. She looked out my window at our big backyard, sloping away to a line of trees. She studied the floral design on the wallpaper. She even opened the doors of the tall walnut wardrobe in the corner and flipped through my skirts and dresses and blouses.
Finally she sat down on my bed and gave a little bounce as if she was testing the mattress. “You are my best friend in the whole world,” she said. “What good times we’ll have playing here.”
I tried to smile, but my face felt as rigid as the oak banister she’d admired. She didn’t notice my silence. She picked up Edward Bear and squeezed his tummy to make him growl.
“What makes that noise?” She poked Edward’s belly harder. “We should cut him open and find out.”
I tried to snatch Edward away from her, but she moved out of my reach. “Give him to me,” I cried. “I’ve had him since I was a baby. I’d never ever hurt him.”
“That’s stupid. How can you hurt a toy? He’s just a stuffed animal with half his fur gone and one eye missing. Old and ugly and smelly.”
In disgust, she tossed Edward aside and grabbed Antoinette, my favorite doll. She laid her on her back and watched her eyes close. She sat her up and watched them open. Then she tipped her back and forth to hear her say “Mama.”
It sounded as if poor Antoinette were crying out for me to rescue her, but when I reached for her, Elsie hugged the doll. “Let me hold her for a while. You have so many dolls, and I don’t have any. Not even one.”
“Mama, Mama,” cried Antoinette.
I didn’t like the rough way Elsie handled Antoinette, but I let her hold her. It wouldn’t do to be selfish. “Be careful with her,” I whispered. “She’s fragile.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt her.” Elsie hugged her tighter. “Mama,” cried the doll.
When was Elsie going home? She’d been here a long time. It was almost dark. I decided to give her a hint. “It’s nearly dinnertime,” I said. “Won’t your mother be worried about you?”
“Oh no, I can stay as long as I want.” She smiled at me. “Nobody cares where I am or when I come home. In fact they’d be happy if they never saw me again.”
I stared at her, shocked. “You don’t mean that, Elsie. Of course your parents care where you are.”
“Not everyone is as lucky as you, Annie.” Elsie’s voice rose. “Do you think I get hot chocolate and cookies when I come home from school? Do you think I have a room full of toys and books? Or a wardrobe of pretty dresses?”
Not knowing what to say, I bent my head and smoothed the pleats in my skirt. How could I know what Elsie had or didn’t have? I’d never even been to her house—and if I had my way, I’d never go there or invite her here again.
Elsie leaned so close I felt her breath on my face. “I’d give anything to have a mother like yours. It’s not fair that you have so much and I have nothing!”
“But your mother—”
“You stupid goose, I don’t have a mother!”
“Everybody has a mother—”
“Not me,” Elsie yelled so loud spit came out of her mouth and hit me in the face. “My mother, my real mother, died when I was born. I never even saw her.”
I wanted to feel sorry for Elsie, I did feel sorry for her, but the way she was screaming scared me. If she kept it up, Mother would hear her and come running upstairs.
But she didn’t stop. She kept on yelling as if it were my fault I had a mother and she didn’t.
“It’s not fair Mama died. It’s not fair!” Suddenly she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Sometimes I hate Mama. If she hadn’t died, my father wouldn’t have married Hilda.”
She sat back and glared at me. “I bet you think I’m horrible, don’t you?”
Oh, yes, I thought, she is horrible. If only she’d leave, go away, never come back. I didn’t want to see her again, I didn’t want to be her friend. She’d said it herself—she was truly horrible.
Keeping my feelings to myself for fear of making her even angrier, I asked if Hilda was her stepmother.
“What a dumb question,” Elsie said. “Didn’t I just say my father married her?”
Yes, of course, she had just said that, but she’d called her Hilda instead of Mother, or whatever you call a stepmother, and that confused me.
“Hilda’s the kind of stepmother you read about in fairy tales. She hates me, and I hate her. If she dared, she’d leave me in a forest to die like a babe in the wood.”
“But what about your father? He must—”
“Papa thinks it’s my fault Mama died. I killed her getting born.” She looked at me as if daring me to say something. Anything at all. No matter what it was, she’d get mad all over again.
When I didn’t say a word, Elsie turned her attention to Antoinette and began undressing her. I watched her pull at buttons and yank at my doll’s dress.
“Stop—what are you doing? You’ll tear her clothes.” I reached for the doll, but Elsie kept me from rescuing her.
“I just want to see what she looks like naked.” Before I could stop her, Elsie took off my doll’s dress, petticoat, lace-trimmed bloomers, shoes, and stockings.
Her leather body and china limbs on display, poor Antoinette sprawled in Elsie’s lap. After examining the way the doll’s joints worked, Elsie turned her attention to Antoinette’s hair. “Is her wig made of real human hair or horsehair? It feels real—maybe it came from a dead person. Did you ever think of that?”
I shook my head. “I’m sure it didn’t,” I said, hoping I was right.
“She has a big hole in the top of her head, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, it’s where the doll maker put in her eyes and her teeth and her tongue.” Suddenly I was worried. I reached again for my doll, but Elsie held her tightly.
“It’s hidden under her hair, right?” To my horror, Elsie tugged at Antoinette’s wig as if she meant to pull it off and examine the hole.
“Don’t, you’ll ruin her!” This time I grabbed Antoinette’s leg and pulled. Her leg came loose in my hand, and Elsie threw the doll at me.
“Selfish, take her!” she cried as Antoinette flew over my head and hit the wall with a shattering sound.
I leapt up and scooped Antoinette into my arms. Her face was cracked, and her eyes had fallen back into her head. “Mama,” she cried “Mama.”
“It’s your fault,” Elsie said. “If you hadn’t pulled her leg off, I wouldn’t have dropped her.”
“You didn’t drop her, you threw her!”
“Did not.”
“Did too!”
Just then Mother called us to come downstairs. Leaving poor Antoinette on the bed surrounded by her pretty clothes, I ran down the steps with Elsie right behind me.
“You better not tell,” she hissed in my ear. “You’ll be sorry if you do.”
“Elsie,” Mother said, “it’s dark out. How far
away do you live?”
Sniffing the good smells of roast chicken and fresh baked rolls, Elsie said, “Annie invited me to stay for dinner.”
Before I could say I’d done no such thing, Mother frowned at me. “Oh, Annie, you should ask before you invite a guest to stay.” Turning to Elsie, she said, “I’m sorry, dear, but I don’t have enough food for a fourth person. Maybe another time.”
Elsie looked sad, but she said. “Oh, that’s all right, Mrs. Browne. It’s not your fault.” Here she gave me a sly look. “I guess I should go. It’s a long walk from here. But don’t worry about me. I’m not afraid of the dark.”
Taking her sweater from the stand in the hall, she prepared to leave, but Mother stopped her. “Wait a minute, Elsie,” she said. “My husband will be here soon. He’ll be glad to take you home.”
Sure enough, I heard Father’s car in the driveway. In a few moments, he opened the front door and stepped inside. He looked at Elsie and then turned to me. “Well, well,” he said. “I see you’ve made a friend already.”
Elsie took my hand and squeezed it hard enough to hurt but not enough for anyone but me to notice. “As soon as I saw Annie, I just knew we’d be best friends.”
She squeezed my hand again, and I smiled weakly. My parents didn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm at Elsie’s proclamation.
“Elsie,” Mother said. “if you tell Mr. Browne where you live, he’ll drive you home.”
“You have a car?” Elsie looked at Mother as if she’d said Father had a chariot drawn by six white horses. “I’ve never ridden in a car. Papa says we can’t afford it, what with the war and all.”
“I’ll be happy to give you your first ride,” Father said in that gallant way of his.
Elsie clapped her hands. “Can Annie come with us?”
“Of course she can.” Neither Mother nor Father thought to ask if I wanted to go. Nor did I say I didn’t want to go.
Elsie grabbed my sweater and handed it to me. Coward that I was, I trudged outside behind her and my father. The night was cool, and an autumn wind sent fallen leaves scurrying down the street. I glanced back at the warm light shining out our windows. Why hadn’t I spoken up and said I’d stay at home?
Three
LSIE INSISTED ON SITTING in the back seat with me so we could talk while Father drove.
“Your parents are so nice,” she whispered. “I wish I could live with you. Do you think I could? You wouldn’t be an only child, and neither would I. We’d be sisters and share everything.”
Before I could stop myself, I said, “Are you crazy? Why would my parents adopt you? You’re not an orphan, and even if you were—”
“I knew you’d say that—you don’t want to share anything, do you? Not your stupid doll or your ugly teddy bear or anything else. You’re a spoiled, selfish girl, and you’re lucky to have me for a friend.”
She sat back in the seat and stared out the window. For a few moments, she was silent. Then she turned away from the window and slid across the seat to my side. “Living at your house probably wouldn’t be any better than living at my house. I’d just have nicer things.”
“What do you mean?”
“How do your parents punish you?”
It was a strange question, but I answered anyway. “What all parents do, I guess. Mother scolds me, and Father has a talk with me about what I did and why I did it.”
“Liar,” Elsie said. “I bet your father whips you with his belt. And then he locks you in the basement and leaves you in the dark to think about it.”
I stared at Elsie in disbelief. “My father would never do anything like that.”
“Well, lucky, lucky you. It’s what my papa does.” She glared at me as if it were my fault she got beaten and I didn’t. “And Hilda doesn’t care. She never tries to stop him, even when I’m down on the floor begging and crying.”
“You must be making that up,” I whispered, shocked that she’d lie about her parents and scared she was telling the truth. “I can’t believe your father could be that mean.”
“Well, that’s why I want to live with you.” She grabbed my little finger and bent it back so far I winced in pain. “But if I can’t live with you, at least I can play at your house every day and be your best friend.”
With that, Elsie leaned over the seat to tap Father’s shoulder. “Turn at the next corner. My house is in the middle of the block.”
Father drove slowly down a street lined with narrow brick row houses. “Which one, Elsie?”
“This one.” She pinched my arm and said, “See you tomorrow, Annie. I can’t wait to play with your dollhouse.”
I rubbed my arm as I watched Elsie run up a few steps and open her front door. A man’s face looked down at her. His arm reached out and yanked her inside. Even from where I sat, I knew her father was angry. What if she’d told the truth? What if her father was whipping her right now?
It was too dreadful to think about. I climbed into the front seat beside Father. He smelled of pipe tobacco and hair cream, a special Father smell I loved. I liked the feel of his tweed overcoat and the way his hands held the steering wheel. Now that Elsie was gone, I felt safe.
“Well, she’s an odd little creature,” Father said.
“Yes, she is.” Odder than you know, I thought.
“She must like you very much to walk so far out of her way to see you.”
“I guess so.” I snuggled closer to him and took a deep breath of happiness. How lucky I was to have a father who’d never whip me or lock me in a cellar, no matter what I did. Not that I believed Elsie, of course. I already knew she was a liar.
When we were home, I ran up to my room and gathered Antoinette, her leg, and her torn and wrinkled clothing into a bundle. Cradling her in my arms, I wept over her as if she were a dead child, a child I’d killed without meaning to.
“It’s my fault,” I told her poor cracked face. “I should never have let Elsie hold you.”
“Mama,” Antoinette said.
I opened her little trunk, the one she’d come in one Christmas, and laid her among her silk dresses and cotton petticoats. Kissing her, I closed the lid and put the trunk in the back of the wardrobe. I didn’t want Mother to find her and ask what happened. Somehow Elsie would know if I told Mother the truth. And then she’d make me sorry—she’d said so.
Instead of going downstairs, I sat on my bed and hugged Edward Bear. Why had I thought Elsie and I could be friends? She’d driven the other girls away from me. She’d yelled at me because her mother was dead and mine wasn’t. She’d wanted to rip Edward open to see how his growler worked. She’d broken Antoinette. She’d threatened to make me sorry if I told Mother about the doll.
And she’d pinched my arm so hard it still hurt. I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the bruise she’d made.
I hugged Edward tighter. How was I to get away from Elsie?
“Annie,” Father called up the steps, “dinner is served.”
I kissed Edward and sat him on my bed. It comforted me to think of him waiting there for me.
Slowly I went downstairs. I didn’t touch the banister. Elsie had contaminated it with her hand. In fact she’d tainted my room and everything in it.
As Father passed my plate to me, he said, “You were so worried no one at Pearce Academy would like you, but you’ve made a friend already.”
I nodded and began to cut up my chicken, hoping I’d be able to eat at least few mouthfuls.
Mother looked at me. “Your father says Elsie lives on the other side of town. I hope her parents weren’t worried about her coming home after dark.” She took a sip of water. “If you stayed out that late, I’d probably call the police.”
“She didn’t seem to think her parents would care,” I said.
“I’m sure she was wrong.” Mother ate a forkful of mashed potatoes and then said, “She’s so different from the girls in our old neighborhood. I can’t help wondering why you chose her for a friend.”
Fa
ther sighed. “Now, Ida, don’t be snobbish. You don’t even know the girl.”
Mother looked cross. “I’m not being snobbish,” she said. “Elsie seems neglected, needy . . . Oh, I don’t know how to say it. I feel sorry for her.”
Father leaned toward me. “Well, Annie, what do you think about your new friend?”
I kept my head down and poked at my lima beans, a vegetable I truly hated. What was there to say about Elsie? That she’d broken my favorite doll? That she insisted on being my friend? That none of the girls at school liked her? That I didn’t like her?
“She wanted to be my friend,” I said at last. “No one else did.”
“Well,” Father said, “this was just the first day, Annie. Mark my words, once the others get to know you, you’ll have so many friends you won’t know what to do with them all.”
Ha, I thought, how will they get to know me with Elsie clinging to me like a leech?
The subject changed to Pearce Academy. Did I like my teacher? Too soon to tell, I thought, but I told my parents she seemed nice. “She’s not old and cranky like Miss Porter at Fairfield School. She’s strict, though.”
Mother asked if the curriculum was about right for me, neither too hard nor too easy. Again, it was too early to tell, but I said it was fine. “We had a spelling test, and I only had two wrong out of ten—a B.”
Just as I knew he would, Father raised his eyebrows and said I could do better.
“Do you think you’ll be happy at Pearce?” Mother asked.
If I can get rid of Elsie, I thought, but to them I said, “It’s no better or worse than any other school, I imagine.”
That seemed to be the end of their questions. Mother served apple pie and poured coffee for Father. Although I loved apple pie, I took a few bites and pushed it away.
Father looked at me. “You haven’t eaten much tonight, Annie.”
“It’s my fault,” Mother said. “I let the girls stuff themselves with cookies and cocoa. You’d think Elsie had never had such a treat in her life. I suspect she’s not eating her dinner either.”
After we cleared table, Mother and I washed and dried the dishes and then joined Father in the parlor. Even though it wasn’t really cold enough yet, Father lit a fire. I cuddled on the sofa beside Mother. Father took a seat in his armchair and opened the evening paper. The fire popped and snapped. The room was cozy and warm.