by Mary Chase
Mr. Potts laughed an ugly little laugh and puffed on his pipe. “Loves us—ha—ha—ha! Hear that, Ma?”
“Loves us,” echoed Mrs. Potts, “loves us, my foot! Look at my nose. Once it used to be in the middle of my face. But she nailed my shoes to the floor one day when I was taking a nap in my rocking chair. When I got up I pitched forward—like a sack of meal. Loves us—ha—ha!”
Mother’s face turned pale.
“Oh, don’t tell me she doesn’t love you! Why would she refuse to eat until I brought her back to you? Why did she turn against me and her own family if she didn’t love you?”
Mr. Potts laughed again, this time uglier and longer.
“She don’t love nothin’ but that hill back thar, ma’am. If she could take that hill with her she’d go home with you. Ain’t that so?”
And he shook Loretta’s arm as he said this. “Ain’t it— ain’t it?”
Loretta was still smiling the sly, secret smile.
“Like as not,” she said.
Mother was so puzzled. She turned now and looked at the hill. “She loves that hill! How could anyone love a hill? It looks black and sharp and cold.”
Then she looked again. “What are those lights flickering up on that hill, Mr. Potts?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. That’s a mighty strange place up there. I wouldn’t walk up that hill if you paid me. But her—” and here he turned to Loretta, “that’s where she runs to all the time. That’s why she wanted to come out here—not for me—and Ma—but for that hill.”
Mother said, “Nonsense. Why would a child leave her own home for an ugly, cheerless thing like a hill? Come, Loretta!”
But Loretta did not move toward Mother. Instead she made a move toward the house. But Mr. Potts grabbed her and held her tight.
“She’s fixin’ to run up on that hill again. No, you don’t, gal. You git home with your mother and stay there.”
Mother said, “Loretta, you have no choice. Mr. and Mrs. Potts do not want you. You’ve got to come home with me.”
And with Mr. Potts holding her and mother pleading with tears in her eyes, Loretta did an odd thing.
She put her thumbs in both ears and wiggled her fingers.
“Why is she doing that?” asked Mother.
“She means Elkhorn,” said Mrs. Potts, “that’s the orphanage down the road a piece.”
Mother’s voice got angry.
“Loretta, take your thumbs out of your ears. You cannot go to an orphans’ home. Not when you’ve got a home of your own. Are you trying to break my heart?”
Loretta lifted her eyes and for the first time looked into her mother’s face.
“Oh no, ma’am,” she answered simply, but she did not come toward mother.
“We’ll have to pick her up and carry her,” said Mr. Potts. “You take hold of her head and me and Ma’ll git holt of her feet.”
But Loretta broke and ran. Colin saw Mr. Potts reach out and catch her. Loretta fastened her fingers around the post of the porch and hung on for dear life while she looked back at the hill.
For one second Colin thought he did hear a sound like tinkling, tinkling music coming from that hill. But the next second he decided it was the night wind blowing through the pine trees.
And all the while Loretta was hanging onto the post. She was screaming now as Mother and Mr. and Mrs. Potts tried to pull her away.
“Let go,” she was yelling, “turn loose off’n me.”
“It was just like this seven years ago when I tried to take her home,” said Mother as she breathed hard and tried to keep hold of the struggling girl.
“She’s bigger now,” grunted Mr. Potts, “and she kicks more, ma’am. You better git that cab driver to come in here and help us.”
Colin saw his mother run toward the yellow cab parked out on the road. Then he kept close to the bushes and stealthily ran out of the gate and jumped quickly into the blue cab.
“Hurry,” he told the cab driver, “don’t let anybody see us.” And as the motor roared and the blue cab started back to town he looked out of the window and saw his mother and the other cab driver running toward the porch of the Potts farm.
He could still hear Loretta screaming— “Turn loose offa me. Let go—let go—darn you.”
And he was saying in his heart as the cab sped along the bumpy rutty roads, “Hold on, Loretta. Don’t let go. Don’t go home to our house, Loretta Mason Potts.”
But nevertheless even with this fear in him he could not help wondering what was up on that hill?
3. A BAD GIRL COMES HOME
It was early the next morning. The house was full of breakfast noises and breakfast odors. From the kitchen, where Rosalie, the maid, was busy, there drifted the smell of coffee percolating on the kitchen stove, going “aah—erp—erp—ahh—erp—ahh—erp.” There was the smell of hot toast and melting butter and syrup and pancakes.
Outside there was the sound of cars carrying people to work downtown; of milk trucks clattering along the pavement. Across the tablecloth in the dining room was a broad ray of pale breakfast sunshine, which looks entirely different from lunchtime sunshine.
But this morning Kathy and Sharon and Jerry were not seated at their places at the table. They were standing beside the empty chair which had been placed right next to Mother’s chair.
As soon as Colin walked in and saw that empty chair he knew the worst had happened. They had pried her loose! Loretta Mason Potts was in this house!
Kathy pointed to it. “Who’s that for?”
Colin frowned. “Skip it,” he said.
“I’ll skip it,” Kathy answered, “but who’s it for?”
“Somebody slept in the guest room,” said Jerry.
“We’ve got company,” said Sharon.
Now they could hear Mother’s high heels coming down the stairs. They were going “click, click” as always, but there was another sound this morning, too. Other feet were coming downstairs with her. The children quickly sat down in their places and sat up straight as poles.
“Good morning, children.”
They turned. There was Mother, smiling happily, and beside her stood a girl almost as tall as she was. This girl had two long braids of hair, and she wore a blue sweater with a hole in the sleeve. Her dress was gray cotton. It was wrinkled. Her hands were not clean.
But just the same Mother was standing close to her and had her arm around her!
Kathy wanted to cry out. “Mother, don’t hug that dirty girl!” But she didn’t. She sat still and wondered.
Jerry wanted to say, “Gee—who’s that?” and Sharon felt like going over and pulling Mother’s arm away from her.
Colin only glanced at her and then turned away. Had she seen him last night? He could not tell from her face. She did not look at any of them. She looked cross and bored.
“Children, stand up.” Mother smiled. They pushed their chairs back and stood up.
“This is your sister.”
“Sister!” they echoed. That is, all of them except Colin.
“Loretta Mason Potts,” Mother patted her shoulder, “but it’s not Potts any more. She has come home to live with us—at last.”
Live with them! They were so surprised their mouths fell open. Then they smiled. “A new sister! What fun!”
But Colin did not smile. He knew better.
“Colin,” his mother was calling him, “come here and meet your sister, Loretta. Loretta, this is Colin. He is a fine boy. He is my right arm. He gets A in everything.”
Loretta stared at him so long and hard that Colin was sure she had seen him last night and would say so now. But she didn’t. Instead she nodded her head slowly.
“He can walk by his self, too,” she said.
“Walk by his self”—but of course! He was ten years old. What a silly thing to say!
Mother did not think so. She nodded and smiled.
“You were learning to walk when Loretta went away, Colin. Sit down. Kathy, come here.”
Kathy came forward. And because she was a girl she put a smile on her face and her voice was polite and cheery.
“Good morning, Loretta. I’m Kathy.”
Loretta looked at her closely, too.
“She looks different with hair.”
Different with hair! Kathy was puzzled. Mother explained.
“You were a bald-headed baby in your cradle when Loretta went away. Loretta, these are the little ones. They were born after you left. Come, Jerry! Come Sharon!”
Jerry was the first. “Gosh,” he said, “I didn’t know you were my sister and why did you go away?”
“Shhh,” frowned Mother. “It’s not polite to ask personal questions. Sit down.”
Sharon took her turn. She walked to Loretta slowly, her arms folded behind her back, her red and white dress hiked up, showing her little white petticoat with the lace edge. She looked like a dear little old-fashioned child on a dear little old-fashioned valentine. And she said to Loretta, “You sock me and I’ll sock you.”
Loretta’s head came up quickly and she looked respectfully into Sharon’s eyes.
Mother said, “Go back to your chair, Sharon. Please excuse your little sister, Loretta. She is very young. She will get over it.”
Mother smiled so happily. “My family of children, all together at last.” She hugged Loretta. “Look around here, dear. Do you remember this house, this room?”
Loretta answered without looking. “Nope” she said.
“Nope,” the children echoed. “Nope?” and they looked at Mother.
“Shh—” answered Mother, “that’s Potts talk. We will get all of the Potts out of Loretta’s vocabulary in a few days.”
They all sat down at the breakfast table. The children were shocked as they saw that Loretta leaned both elbows on the table and yawned twice without covering her mouth with her hand. But despite this, Mother was happily filling her plate first, heaping it high with toast and pancakes and jam.
Loretta pushed the plate away. “Don’t want no grub.” And she yawned again. “I ain’t hungry.”
Mother’s smile faded. She jumped up from the table.
“Scrambled eggs,” she said, “I’ll get you some scrambled eggs.” And she hurried to the kitchen.
As soon as the kitchen door was closed, Loretta looked at all of them and said, “I won’t eat no eggs. And I’m not stayin’ here. I’m goin’ back to the Potts farm—as soon as I get a streetcar slug.”
Colin felt in his pocket. He had the money left over from the ten-dollar bill he had changed to pay the cab driver last night. His fingers found a quarter. He decided it was worth it.
“Here,” he handed it to her. “Take this.”
Loretta grabbed the quarter and jumped up from the table and started to run quickly to the front door.
“Loretta,” cried Kathy, “don’t go.”
But Colin made a face at her. He lowered his voice so they could hear him and Loretta couldn’t.
“Shh—let her go. She’s a crum,” he said.
So they said nothing. But just then Mother came back from the kitchen with a plate of eggs.
“Loretta, where are you going?” she asked.
“Nowhere,” Loretta answered, and her eyes flashed warningly at the others as she sauntered back to the table. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere, ma’am.”
“Go off to school, children,” Mother said. “You can get better acquainted with your big sister when you get home this afternoon.”
Loretta said nothing, but she thought to herself, “This afternoon. I won’t be here this afternoon. I’ll be back at the Potts farm, back on the hill, and as soon as she turns her back I’ll run out that door.”
When Mother saw that Loretta was not eating the scrambled eggs, she thought to herself, “It isn’t eggs she needs. This child needs love and new clothes and pretty presents.” And out loud she said, “Loretta, come upstairs with me. I want you to see your own room. Rosalie has been airing it out for you. I have tried to keep it nice, always hoping you would come home someday.”
And Loretta thought as she followed her meekly upstairs, “I will only wait until she turns her back and then I will run.”
But she answered, “Yes, ma’am,” and followed her meekly upstairs.
As they passed one room in the upstairs hallway, Loretta stopped and stared in amazement. Sitting in that bedroom, on a little wooden rocking chair, was the most beautiful little creature! She had long golden hair, turned under at the ends like a page boy’s. Her dress was yellow tulle with little rosebuds and made like a ballet dancer’s skirt. On her feet were red satin dancing slippers.
Loretta did not mean to, but she cried out— “Oh! Oh!”
“That is your sister Kathy’s very best doll,” explained Mother. “And her name is Irene Irene Lavene.”
There was a shelf like a bookshelf on the wall of this room. In each cubbyhole was a doll. There were small dolls, thin dolls, baby dolls, lady dolls, man dolls, boy dolls, old woman dolls. Everywhere Loretta looked there were dolls, dolls, dolls. It looked like a store full of dolls.
Each doll was in perfect condition. There was none without shoes or stockings; none sitting in a slip with her dress rumpled in a heap in the corner; none with hair half combed or half washed; none with wigs off; none smeared with jam or crayon or ink. Each doll was fresh and smart looking.
Mother explained. “Kathy takes such good care of her dolls. She allows no one to play with them but herself, and when she plays she plays very quietly. She comes up here for an hour each day after school. Mondays she plays with the babies, on Tuesday with the ladies, on Wednesday with the men, Thursday with the boys, Friday she dusts the shelves, Saturday she changes the places where they sit, and on Sunday—every Sunday morning—she plays for two hours with Irene Irene Lavene.”
All Loretta could say was, “Well.” She could not take her eyes off Irene Irene Lavene. She knew suddenly that she had to have that doll. She could not and would not leave this house without her. She wanted her more than she had ever wanted anything—except Potts hill. And she told herself then that she would take her there and show her to—Them.
Mother had to pull her gently out of the room.
They passed Colin’s room full of skates, mechanical toys and footballs, but Loretta did not even glance inside. They passed Jerry’s room full of space helmets and guns; Sharon’s room with a few dolls all helter-skelter, wigs off, dresses off, shoes off, lots of crayons and paint books. But Loretta did not look.
Now they were at the room at the end of the hallway. Mother took a key out of her pocket.
“I have never allowed the others to come in here, dear,” she said. “I have kept it—just for you. It is your old room.”
It was a beautiful little room. It had a small brown wooden bed with a bright red bedspread. There was a big white dog with black shoebutton eyes embroidered on the spread. At the windows there were white ruffled organdy curtains, tied with red organdy sashes like perky bows on a party dress. On the floor was a soft yellow rug. There was a little white fireplace at one end of the room with brass candlesticks and yellow candles. There was a little desk in the corner and a chair, cushioned in cloth with red and yellow flowers. It was all so charming!
But Loretta was not looking at it. She was seeing, instead, a room with a shelf and beautiful dolls, but most of all a big doll in a dancer’s costume, named Irene Irene Lavene.
Mother’s hand touched her arm. “Do you like it, dear?”
Loretta made circles on the yellow rug with the toe of her old brown shoe. There was a sly look in her eyes.
“I like it,” she said, “but I don’t need it. It’s too nice for me. Give it”—and here she raised her head and looked into her mother’s eyes, “to someone who needs it. Just let me sleep anywhere—on the floor or the back porch maybe.”
“Oh, Loretta,” and tears came into Mother’s eyes, “don’t say those things. I want you to have everything you want and be happy here.”
Loretta walked to the window and looked out at the big maple trees on the lawn. “Well,” she spoke slowly, “you could just give me that dirty, nasty little old room, that one back there.”
Mother was puzzled. “Kathy’s room?”
“Give this nice one to her,” said Loretta.
“Oh, Loretta,” Mother said, “you want your sister to have the nicest room!” She walked close to her and hugged her. “We can’t do that to you. Her room is too small for you.”
Again the sly look crept into Loretta’s eyes. “But it’s closer to your room, ma’am.”
Mother’s eyes again filled with tears. “Of course, dear. You have been away from me so long. Very well, I’ll have Rosalie move Kathy in here and we’ll take your things in there. And now we will go down town and buy you some new dresses.”
Loretta smiled to herself. It had been so easy. Things were so easy if you just knew how. She would be in that room with Irene Irene Lavene, and tonight when they were all asleep she would get up and dress and take that beautiful doll and run for the streetcar—back to the Potts farm—back to the hill—back to Them!
4. THE SINGING DOLL
The first place Mother took Loretta was the fourth floor of Skimmerhorn’s Department Store—the beauty shop. It smelled of soap and water, perfume, hair oil, manicure oil. On the walls were pictures of movie stars; movie stars with hair cut long and flowing, long and curly, short and curly or short and straight like Italian boys. Mother asked for Mister Louis.
“Mister Louis,” she said, and smiled at the little man in the white coat with the big scissors in his hand. “This is my daughter, Loretta.”
Mister Louis was the kind of man who, when you told him something, said right away it was not so. So now he looked at Loretta with her wrinkled gray dress, her long braids and scuffed shoes, and he said, “This is not your daughter, Mrs. Mason!”
“Yes,” said Mother proudly, “she is my daughter and we are going to have her hair cut. So figure out, please, a nice hairdo for a twelve-year-old girl.”
Mister Louis lifted Loretta’s long braids. “It is a serious problem” he murmured, and then for a moment he forgot where he was and thought he was driving a horse—a horse and buggy. He cried out, “Giddy up—giddy yap—whoa!”