Dollbaby

by Laura Lane McNeal

  “Told me what?”

  “About all them birthday dolls, baby. Didn’t you ever wonder why she kept giving you dolls for your birthday?”

  “Well, yeah, I thought it was odd, but after I got to know Fannie, it didn’t seem so strange anymore.”

  “Believe she stopped giving you them dolls when you turned eighteen. There was a reason for that.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ibby said.

  “Miss Fannie wanted to make sure them dolls were kept in a safe place, up in that little attic room of yours, until the right time come.” She shook her head. “She hoped you’d live in that house after she was gone, you know.” A pained look came across her face.

  Ibby put her hand on Queenie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you worried that if I don’t move back into the house, you won’t have a job?”

  Queenie crinkled up her forehead. “Oh, no, Miss Ibby. That ain’t it at all. My back’s just aching a little. I’m old. Maybe it’s time for me to retire. Been working in that house for close to fifty years, you know.”

  “Are you worried about the money if you retire?”

  “Oh, no, baby. It ain’t about money. Miss Fannie, she took real good care of us. She took care of you, too, in her own way.”

  “‘In her own way’—that’s a good way of putting it.”

  Queenie shook her head. “No, baby, you don’t understand. After your daddy passed, Miss Fannie was afraid Miss Vidrine might have plans to move into the house and take over. That was one thing she swore she’d never let happen. So the day you arrived, she came up with a plan to make sure your mama wouldn’t get her hands on any of your inheritance.” Queenie opened the drawer to her bedside table and pulled out a pair of scissors. “Now, hand me that doll.”

  She lifted up the doll’s dress, put the sharp end of the scissors into the fabric, and jerked down until the doll split open.

  Ibby gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Where you think all your grandmother’s money disappear to?” She pushed her hand inside the doll and began to pull out wads of cash. “She hid everything in here, up until you turned of age. That way no one could take it away from you.”

  Ibby’s mouth fell open. “They always did have an odd smell about them. It was the money!”

  “We held our breath all those years, afraid you gone figure it out, but after a while, when you quit paying attention to them dolls, we didn’t worry about it no more. So like I said, Miss Fannie done took real good care of you.”

  “Who came up with the idea of making dolls?”

  “Miss Fannie never did trust banks. You know that. She hid most of her money in the walls, or in boxes in her closet, or anywhere else she could think of. She knew Doll could sew something right pretty for you. So she had her make them dolls.”

  “How much is there?”

  “My recollection? Pert near a hundred thousand dollars each doll,” Queenie said. “And that don’t even count the jewelry and stock certificates she got tucked in here.” She pulled an envelope from the doll and handed it to Ibby. “Miss Fannie invested in the oil business early on. Believe those stock certificates for Esso worth a fortune.”

  “I want you to keep some of it.” Ibby pushed the pile of money her way. “It’s only fair.”

  Queenie pushed it back. “That’s your inheritance, Miss Ibby. We done just fine by Miss Fannie. Bought us this house. Gave Crow that car. Doll’s been talking about opening her own dress shop for years—she even got a spot picked out over on St. Claude Avenue. Miss Fannie gave her the money to do that a long time ago, she just never got around to it. And Birdelia, she’s in college. First one in the Trout family to earn a college degree! Imagine that! And T-Bone? He’s off doing what he always wanted to do, playing music all over the world. No, Miss Ibby. We don’t need that money.”

  Ibby wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “No need for tears, Miss Ibby. But there is one more thing. Miss Fannie made me swear not to tell you as long as she was alive. Well, she ain’t here no more, God bless her soul, and it’s about time you knew the truth. Remember the night you found us in that hole in the front yard looking for them bones?”

  “Of course I do. You told me the story of Muddy.”

  Queenie squeezed her hand. “That weren’t the end of the story, baby.” Queenie went on. “You remember how I told you Miss Fannie locked herself in her room after Mr. Norwood fell into the river? I came to the house every day after that, talked to her through the bedroom door, left meals for her. And every day I’d come back to find the empty tray outside her door. This went on for a long time, baby. Months. Until one day I heard screams coming from Miss Fannie’s room. The neighbors, they probably thought she was just having one of her spells. But I could tell this was different.”

  The first thing Queenie smelled when she opened the back door was the metallic scent of blood. She rushed down the hall to Fannie’s bedroom door and banged on it. When there was no answer, Queenie tried the handle. To her surprise, it was unlocked. When she opened the door, she found Fannie in bed, lying on her back. Even with the sheets pulled up, there was no missing that big belly.

  “Lawd, Miss Fannie. Why you never say nothing?”

  When Queenie threw the covers back, she found Fannie covered in blood. She suspected the reason Fannie was in so much pain was that the baby was breech. She knew she needed to do something quickly or she was going to lose both Fannie and the baby. She hurried to the bathroom, grabbed some towels, and soaked a washcloth in some warm water.

  When she came back into the room, she placed the folded washcloth on Fannie’s forehead. “Here, Miss Fannie. Hold this on your forehead. Make you feel better.”

  Fannie grabbed it and threw it onto the floor.

  “Listen to me, Miss Fannie. I’m gone have to turn this baby before it’ll come out. Understand?”

  Queenie had her hand on Fannie’s stomach, feeling for the head. When she found it, she nudged the baby around by pressing on Fannie’s stomach on either side of her belly. Fannie let out another scream. She was sweating profusely.

  “Give me some time, Lawd,” Queenie said. “Give me some time.”

  After twenty minutes or so, Queenie felt she had the baby turned. She wiped Fannie’s forehead and spoke to her gently. “Now Miss Fannie, when I say so, you got to push down hard. We gone get this baby out. Okay now, push.”

  Fannie’s face scrunched up in the worst grimace Queenie had ever seen on a human being.

  “That’s it, Miss Fannie. One more like that, think we gone have a baby. One more push now. Give it all you got.”

  This time when Fannie bore down, the baby came sliding out and let out a wail.

  “I got it, Miss Fannie. Oh, she a beautiful baby girl. The most beautiful baby girl I ever seen.”

  Fannie fell back onto the pillows.

  Queenie rushed to the bathroom. After she cleaned the baby up, she wrapped the child in a towel and set the baby on her knees. She had never seen a child with eyes like that, one brown and one a bluishgray.

  “Let me see her!” Fannie called out.

  Queenie fretted. How I gone tell her? What I’m gone do?

  “Queenie, is something wrong with the baby?”

  “No, Miss Fannie. Just gone clean her up a little.” Queenie was stalling, trying to figure out what to say.

  When Queenie looked into those eyes of that baby, she knew what she had to do. She swaddled the baby and brought it over to Fannie, who held it in the crook of her arm.

  “Miss Fannie, she a beautiful little girl. Looks just like a little king cake baby, with perfect little arms and legs, just a little china doll.” Queenie stroked the baby’s face with the back of her finger. She was afraid of what Miss Fannie might do now that she had seen the baby.

  Fannie closed her eyes.

  “Now, I know wha
t you’re thinking, Miss Fannie. You thinking you can’t keep no colored baby. But I have an idea. Just listen to what I have to say. Just listen.”

  Fannie put her arm over her face. Queenie had no idea what Fannie was thinking. All she knew was she had to save this baby.

  Queenie began to talk, not knowing if Fannie was even listening. “Miss Fannie, this is what I’m gone do. I’m gone take this child and raise her like my own. Take her home and say she mine. Folks, they won’t know the difference. I’m so fat, no one ever knows when I’m with child until my babies show up anyway. Be the same for this child. Miss Fannie, I always wanted a baby girl. Now I got one. This way I can bring her around every day. You can watch her grow up. What you say, Miss Fannie?”

  Fannie was lying there, staring at the ceiling. She was so still, Queenie was afraid she might have up and died from the shock of it all.

  Fannie looked at Queenie. “You would do that?” It came out just above a whisper.

  “Sure, Miss Fannie. It’ll work out just fine for both of us that way.”

  “What about Crow?”

  “Don’t you worry none about Crow. He’s gone be tickled to have a baby girl. You’ll see.”

  Fannie stared at Queenie for a good five minutes. “So, what are you going to name her?”

  A huge sense of relief passed over Queenie when she heard that. She picked up the baby and bounced her up and down in her arms. “Well, think I’ll name her Viola, after my mama.”

  “Viola,” Fannie said, managing a smile. “That’s a nice name.”

  “But look at that pudgy little face. Just like a little doll. Think I’m gone call her Dollbaby. What you think, Miss Fannie?”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Doll had been listening by the door. There it was, the secret of her life, all out in the open. Doll had never heard her mother tell the story like this. In fact, this was probably the first time the whole story had ever been told. Doll smiled to herself. Mama never told me I had a pudgy face.

  It was like the knife she’d had in her back all these years was gone, tossed away.

  There was no remorse. No fear. Only a sense of relief.

  Doll felt for the letter in her pocket, the one Mr. Rainold had given to her after the funeral. She pulled it out and examined the writing on the envelope. It was addressed to Viola Trout and was written with a fountain pen in swirly letters, smudged on one side, where Fannie had let her finger slide across the wet ink. It was Fannie’s handwriting, no doubt. Doll ran her finger over the letters, trying to imagine Fannie writing her name on it. She hadn’t had the gumption to open it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was inside.

  Doll slipped her finger under the flap and took out the letter. Her hands were trembling as she read it.

  My dear daughter:

  There, I just said in writing what I wish I’d had the courage to say to you a long time ago. What I have to tell you will never make up for all the lost years, all the times I wish I could have held you in my arms to tell you how much I love you. Not that it would have mattered. You likely never would have let me. And why should you? Queenie loved you so much. She was about the best mother a child could have. But I loved you just the same. I can only hope that in your heart, you’ve kept a small place for me.

  What I want you to know is that I’m proud of you, proud as any mother could be. I know how it must have hurt you making those beautiful dolls for my granddaughter, Ibby. I know you thought there should have been one for Birdelia. After all, she’s my granddaughter too. I wasn’t so shallow not to realize that. So that first year, back in 1964, when you made that first doll, I opened up a safe-deposit box at the bank in your name. In it, you will find your inheritance. Do with it what you want. Open up that dress shop you always talked about. And remember me every once in a while.

  All my love,

  Fannie

  Doll turned the envelope upside down. A small key fell into her hand.

  For the first time, Doll realized that Queenie had been right. She’d been living in a fool’s garden all these years. No one had kept her in this house against her will.

  Doll whispered, “Of course I loved you back, Miss Fannie. Why you think I stayed?”

  Doll put the letter back into her pocket and wiped her eyes once more before leaning on the doorjamb. She was waiting to hear Miss Ibby’s reaction to her mother’s story.

  “Why’d you do it?” Ibby asked.

  Queenie shook her head. “At the time, I didn’t see no other way. The way I looked at it, I got the daughter I always wanted. Miss Fannie, she got to watch Doll grow up. I did it for all of us.”

  “I wish Fannie had told me.”

  “She wanted to, baby. I could see it in her eyes. But she thought if you knew, you might never come back. She didn’t think you’d understand.”

  “Did my father know?” Ibby asked.

  “No, baby. No one knew except Miss Fannie . . . and Crow.”

  “Does Doll know?”

  Doll held her breath, waiting to hear her mother’s answer.

  Queenie tightened her face. “Sure she do, but I regret the day I ever told her. Miss Fannie and I sat her down, when she were about twelve years old. After we told her, I saw how it pained her to know. It was one thing for Miss Fannie and me to share the secret. But Lawd, I never took into account that the burden of the truth would end up on Doll’s shoulders after we told her. It was awful to watch, knowing I had put her in that position. At the time, I thought she was lucky to have two mamas that loved her. I realize now that my decision to keep her may have been a cruel one. I hope she doesn’t hate me for it.” Queenie pointed a finger at Ibby. “And I know deep down she must have loved Miss Fannie, too, ’cause why else would she want that bust? Who else would want such an ugly thing? Ain’t that right, Doll?”

  Doll got up and sheepishly opened the door.

  “How long you been out there?” Queenie asked.

  “Long enough,” Doll said.

  “Come on over here.” Queenie held out her arms.

  Doll gave her mother a hug and sat on the bed.

  “How much you hear?” Queenie asked.

  “All of it,” she said in a low voice.

  “You okay?” Queenie asked.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me the story, the way you just told it to Miss Ibby?” Doll asked. “It may have helped me understand.”

  “’Cause, baby. I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it. I thought you hated me for what I did.”

  “No, Mama. I loved you for it. It were a mighty brave thing to do.” Doll took her mother’s hand. “Remember the day Miss Ibby first came to the house and you told me I was a seeker? Someone who was looking for something I was never gone find? Mama, you were wrong, ’cause I did find it.” She squeezed her mother’s hand. “What I was looking for was right here all along. I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you, too, baby,” Queenie said.

  “Before I forget, Miss Ibby, I got something else for you.” Doll took Fannie’s pearls from her pocket. “Miss Fannie gave these to me the morning she left.”

  Ibby took them from Doll. “I thought they were lost.”

  “I think you should have them,” Doll said.

  Ibby handed them back. “No, Doll. She gave them to you. She wanted her daughter to have them.”

  “Miss Ibby’s right, Doll. Put them on,” Queenie said.

  Ibby helped fasten the pearls around Doll’s neck.

  “How I look?” Doll asked.

  “You look grand,” Ibby said.

  “You see, Miss Ibby, we always have been your family. And we always gone be your family, whether you like it or not.” Queenie leaned over and nudged Doll. “So, what you want Miss Ibby to call you? Auntie? Taunt? Tee-tee Viola? Mamou?”

  Doll waved her hand in the air, in just the same w
ay Fannie used to. “No, Mama. Dollbaby will do just fine.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  After Ibby left Queenie’s house, she went for a drive out by Lake Pontchartrain and parked near the spot where Fannie’s car had plunged over the seawall a few days earlier. She put down the top of her Volkswagen Beetle and rested her head on the back of the seat, enjoying the clear day as pelicans dipped down in the lake, searching for fish fluttering in schools near the surface of the dark, glassy water. A small airplane flew by overhead, leaving a thin trail of smoke across the sky. It was hard to believe that Fannie had been doing the same thing just a few days ago, right here, in this same spot.

  She reached into her pocket and took out the photograph of Fannie, the one she’d taken when the tree came crashing through the front window and pinned her on the sofa like a caged animal. In the picture, Queenie was standing behind Fannie, pointing at her and making a face. Fannie was grimacing with her arms folded across her chest. It made Ibby laugh every time she looked at it.

  She held the photo up in the air in a sort of tribute to Fannie and thought back to the day she’d met her. At first, she didn’t quite know what to make of her, but in the end, Fannie had proven to be like a majestic ship moored eternally to the same spot—unsinkable, unmoving, and totally misunderstood. Ibby had come to grips with the woman who was her grandmother, and with the two other women in that house on Prytania Street who irrevocably shaped and nurtured Fannie past the ghosts she left behind. If Ibby had known then what she knew now, perhaps things could have been different, but as Queenie would tell her, that’s just the way it was, and just the way it should be.

  Doll had told her that you can’t choose the day or time when you will fully bloom. It happens on its own time, when you least expect it. Like today, when Ibby had thought she was alone in the world. Then Queenie told her the story of Dollbaby.

  A breeze from the lake caused the photo to slip from her fingers. A pelican swooped down and caught it in its bill, looking back briefly before gliding out over the lake. Fannie had once remarked that Norwood had gone out with the pelicans. In a way, it seemed fitting that Fannie had, too, and that they were now together for eternity.