The Cats in the Doll Shop

by Yona Zeldis McDonough

  “You want to show her to me?” says Sophie. Tania nods, so Sophie takes Shannon and looks her over admiringly before handing her back. “She’s a very special doll,” Sophie says.

  Soon it is the first night of Chanukah. We light candles in the menorah at sundown, and the smell of Mama’s crispy brown latkes and cinnamon-laced applesauce is in the air. There are small gifts for us to share, too, like a bag of almonds, an orange and, best of all, pieces of chocolate Chanukah gelt, wrapped in shining gold foil.

  We use the gelt as part of the game we play with the wooden dreidel that always comes out of cupboard on the holiday. It’s a game of chance that involves winning and losing the chocolate coins. First Sophie is winning, then Trudie, and finally Tania. But when we are done, we divide up the gelt again, so everyone gets the same number of pieces. I eat two of mine right away but decide to save the rest. I’ll be glad have some left for tomorrow.

  Later, Papa comes in to say good night. He sits down on Trudie’s bed, and starts telling us the story of Chanukah. We all know it of course. But it’s fun to lie in bed and listen to Papa tell it again. A long, long time ago, Papa begins, the holy temple in Jerusalem was destroyed and the eternal flame was in danger of going out. Papa explains how the flame had to remain lit all the time. The Jews of that time knew that they needed eight days to make more purified oil. There was only enough oil left in the lamp for a single night. But the oil miraculously burned for eight nights, long enough for new oil to be pressed and the lamp to be filled. So now we celebrate those eight nights by lighting candles to remember the miracle. As Papa talks, my mind drifts. Maybe there is room for a little miracle in our lives. Maybe Plucky will come back, safe and unharmed, and Papa will let him stay. Now wouldn’t that be a miracle? I cannot help wishing.

  Once Chanukah is over, Papa, Mama, and the O’Learys really have to buckle down to work. There’s not much time until Christmas, and there are still plenty of dolls to prepare. Night after night, the four of them stay late in the doll shop, cutting, stuffing, gluing, and sewing. We girls help, too, though Mama does not want our schoolwork to suffer, so she will not let us stay up too late, and sends us up to bed.

  The stress takes its toll. First Papa gets a cold, and as soon as he is better, Mama gets it, too. Kathleen and Michael come down with it at the same time. They have to stay home. I miss Michael’s whistling and Kathleen’s lilting speech. Sophie, Trudie, and I are lucky enough not to catch it, but poor Tania gets it worse than anyone else and runs a fever of one hundred and two. She has to miss school and stay in bed. I know Mama is worried about her. I can tell by the tight line of her mouth and the deep shadows under her eyes. Trudie and I take turns bringing Tania hot tea with honey and bowls of Mama’s chicken soup. But Tania will not eat or drink. She clings to Shannon and calls for her mother. Yet even when a new letter comes—one of the thin, gray envelopes we know so well by now—she seems too agitated to read it, or even to have it read to her.

  One morning just before Christmas, while Tania is still sick in bed, Papa asks me for Shannon—he has a meeting with Mr. Greenfield in a little while and he wants to bring the doll along. I creep into the room. Tania is asleep, and so I quietly take the doll from her arms and give it to Papa. “I’ll be back before she gets up,” he says.

  When I get home from school, I hurry into the shop to see Papa. He is at his desk, with his big order sheet spread out in front of him.

  “What did Mr. Greenfield say about Shannon?” I ask.

  “He seemed to like her. But he said he was so busy now he couldn’t think about her,” Papa says. “He’ll have to get back to me.”

  Oh. Well, at least he didn’t say no outright. But I don’t feel too hopeful. If he had really liked her, he would have said so right away.

  “There’s another problem,” Papa says. “One of the buckles on the satchel isn’t there. It must have gotten lost.”

  I remember how much Tania liked those buckles. But then I also remember there was a bunch of belts—and a bunch of buckles, too! Quickly, I locate the box, find the belt, and show the buckles to Papa. I am able to replace the buckle before Tania wakes and notices it is gone.

  In the morning, Tania’s fever has broken. She drinks a cup of tea and eats a piece of bread and jam. Mama is relieved. The worst, she says, is over. And soon, Christmas is over, too. All the dolls are delivered—barely!—in time, and Tania is better. She looks a bit pale after her sickness, but Mama assures us she will be all right.

  I am glad we are all well again. All except Plucky. I wonder where he is now? But there is no way of knowing. Plucky, I think as I walk to the library or to the grocery store for my mother. Plucky, we’re thinking of you. Stay safe. Stay strong. Some people might think I am being foolish, talking in my head to a cat, especially one who is not even here. But I talk to my doll, don’t I? So why not talk to a cat? It may not help. But then again, it can’t hurt either.

  12

  WINTER WONDERLAND

  The month of February brings snow, snow, and more snow. Everything is transformed by the wonderful whiteness that pours down from the sky. It’s as if all the everyday objects we know so well—a shop sign, a mailbox, a fire hydrant—have suddenly been covered with a coat of frosting. Because of the snow, school is closed on Thursday, a glorious day that we spend outside with all the children on our block who have come out to play. We make snow angels. We build snowmen, snow women, and snow children. We fashion forts and igloos and pelt each other with snowballs until we are so cold and wet that we simply have to get warm. Waving good-bye, everyone drifts back home.

  But my sisters and I have fun inside, too. Mama makes cups of hot chocolate, into which she drops fat, pillowlike marshmallows. We pop kernels of corn on the stove. Sprinkled with salt and drizzled with melted butter, the popcorn is delicious. We bring our dolls out, too, and give them hot chocolate from the tea set we bought one year at F.A.O. Schwarz.

  Even Sophie, who hasn’t wanted to play dolls much lately, is willing today, especially when Mama gives us a bag of scraps from the furrier, Mr. Rosensweig, who has a shop on Orchard Street. Mama is friendly with his wife.

  Sophie, Trudie, and I sew muffs for our dolls. Sophie’s is dark brown, Trudie’s is black, but mine is the best of all—pure white, like the snow. Of course the dolls have to model the muffs, and then we pretend they are all very fine ladies, strolling on Fifth Avenue in their real muffs, and their (imaginary) fur cloaks, and when they are tired, they take a carriage ride around Central Park.

  It’s only when we are finished with our game that I realize I have not seen Tania for hours, not since this morning. She played with us in the snow, though she went in earlier than we did. I thought that she was cold, and when she warmed up, she would come back outside. But she didn’t.

  “Have you seen her?” I ask Sophie.

  “No, not for a while,” Sophie says. We both look at Trudie, but she too shakes her head.

  “Do you think we should go looking for her?” I ask.

  But before anyone can answer, Papa comes in, stomping the snow off his boots and untying the long, woolly muffler Mama knit for him that is wrapped around his neck.

  “Hello, hello, hello!” says Papa. Now he unbuttons his overcoat and shrugs it off. It seems like he is especially happy to be home.

  “Hello, Papa,” I say. “There was a snow day today. No school.”

  “That’s news!” Papa says. “But I have even bigger news.”

  “Tell us,” I say.

  “I met with Mr. Greenfield today.”

  “Was it about Shannon?” I ask. Maybe Mr. Greenfield remembered her after all.

  “Yes it was!” he exclaims. “Anna, Mr. Greenfield wants her for the store. He placed an order for fifty dolls. Fifty! Can you imagine?”

  “He did?” I say. “I thought he wasn’t very interested.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. But then after the holiday, he found the buckle from the satchel! It was on the floor in his office
. It reminded him about Shannon, and he started thinking about what a good idea it would be to have a schoolgirl doll. We’re going to start making her right away. She’ll be in the store by late summer, in time for the new school year.”

  “That’s wonderful, Papa!” I say.

  “I liked her right away,” says Sophie. “I knew she was special.” The admiring look in her eyes makes me feel very proud. And when Trudie breaks into her “happy dance,” I am so happy that I join in.

  “He thinks she is going to be a big success.” Papa beams. “Now let’s go upstairs and tell Mama.” Papa bounds up the stairs and we follow.

  Mama has made stew for dinner, and as she is ladling it into the blue-and-white bowls, we talk about the new doll and all the exciting plans Mr. Greenfield has for her. It’s only when everyone has been served that Mama comments on Tania’s absence.

  “Have any of you girls seen her?”

  “No, Mama,” I say. “We were just talking about that when Papa came home.” Now I feel guilty. In my excitement about Shannon, I forgot all about Tania.

  Mama gets up from the table and goes to the window. The snow, which had stopped for a few hours, has started falling again. “This is very strange,” she says. “She usually is the first one at the table.” And it’s true. Now that Tania no longer hoards food, she eats with real appetite.

  “Can we start?” Trudie asks. I am glad she asked. I’m worried about Tania, but all that time playing in the snow has made me very hungry.

  Mama hesitates and then says, “Yes, girls. Go ahead and eat.” We dig in, but Mama does not come back to the table right away. Instead, we hear her go into each of the other rooms, as well as the toilet in the hallway.

  “Maybe she went out,” says Mama when she returns to the kitchen alone.

  She goes to the rack of hooks by the door. “Her coat isn’t here,” she says. “And Shannon wasn’t on her bed.” Walking over to the window, Mama peers out as if she is searching for Tania in the swirling snow. “I’m going out to look for her.”

  “No, I’ll go,” says Papa. “You stay here with the girls.”

  “I hope she’s all right,” Trudie says.

  “Me, too,” adds Sophie.

  “I’m sure she is,” Papa says. He dips a heel of bread into the stew and then stands up and walks over to the coatrack.

  “She’s not a baby, after all,” Mama says to no one in particular. It’s as if she is trying to convince herself that Tania is all right. “She’s a big girl.”

  A big girl who doesn’t speak much English, I think but do not say. Why worry Mama any more than she is already worried? Suddenly, I have no more appetite. Even though the stew is delicious, I put down my fork and nudge the bowl away from me. Is it something we said or did that drove her away? I try to remember. Nothing jumps out at me. I had thought she was even feeling a little bit better about her life here. She seemed to love Ginger Cat so . . . Ginger Cat! Most nights, she comes up during dinner, winding herself around Tania’s ankles in search of a tidbit. But tonight she’s not here either. Could that be because she is where Tania is?

  Suddenly, I jump up from the table. “Mama! I have an idea about where Tania might be,” I say.

  “You do? Then tell us right away.”

  “Come with me,” I say. Everyone leaves their food and follows me downstairs. There is a big closet in the shop, where we used to keep some supplies. Since most of them are now kept on the shelves in the main room, only things we don’t need too often are stored here, and the door is usually kept closed. It was closed today. I thought nothing of it. But now I think that the closet is a cozy, warm spot, perfect for reading, dreaming, playing games—or playing with a cat.

  Sure enough, when we all troop downstairs and open the door, there is Tania, sitting on the footstool that was in her drawing. She looks startled to see us. Her coat is in a little heap on the floor. Shannon is sitting next to the coat, and Ginger Cat is curled up at her feet. She greets us with a soft mew. What a relief!

  But even more astonishing is the fact that there in Tania’s lap is Plucky. Plucky! He looks so sleek and well fed. And also calm. When I think of how desperate he seemed to get away when I caught him, I can’t believe this is the same cat. But then he shifts a bit in Tania’s lap, and I can see that his hind leg is missing. It is Plucky all right. But not the same Plucky we remember.

  “Tania!” Mama exclaims. “We were so worried!” She drops to her knees in front of Tania, who begins speaking rapidly in Yiddish. Mama turns to us. “She was hiding because she didn’t want Papa to know that she had brought Plucky inside. But she was worried about him out in the snow and didn’t know what else to do.”

  Then Tania looks at Papa, and says very clearly: “Pluk-hee iz hap-hee!” She strokes his head and he yawns, a wide, sleepy cat-yawn.

  A sentence. Tania has uttered an English sentence! I don’t know if I am more astonished by that or by Plucky’s transformation. His pale orange fur gleams, and he has lost the scrawny look that had me so worried.

  “You did this?” I say to Tania. “You tamed him, fed him, groomed him all by yourself? How?”

  “I luhk for Pluk-hee,” Tania says slowly. “I find. I gif him my luf. Many days. I feed, I pet, I speak mit soft voice. I know what it iz to luf a katz.”

  “Tania, that is wonderful. And wonderful that you can tell us about it in English. When did you learn to speak so well?” I knew she was saying some words but this—this is all new.

  “I listen,” Tania says. “All day. Hear words. Understand. But no say.”

  “You listened and understood, but you couldn’t speak? Why, Tania?” I ask.

  Tania doesn’t answer, but looks down at the floor.

  “You were too shy?” I say, beginning to understand. “You thought we would make fun of you?”

  Still looking down, Tania nods.

  “I guess Tania didn’t need a teacher,” Sophie says. “She taught herself.”

  “Yes!” I say. “She did.” I turn to my father. “Papa, can you see the difference in Plucky?” Papa nods, clearly as amazed as the rest of us are. “It’s Tania, Papa. Tania did this. She helped Plucky. He’s a different cat now.”

  “It’s true, it’s true!” Trudie chimes in. “Please can we keep him, Papa? Please?”

  And Sophie adds, “Plucky needs us, Papa. But Tania needs Plucky, too. Caring for the cat has helped her.”

  “He is like a different cat,” Papa murmurs.

  “And Tania is like a different child,” adds Mama.

  I can see what Mama means. Tania does look like a different girl from the one we first greeted. Her eyes—so very blue—are sparkling, and there is no trace of that awful blinking anymore. Even her posture seems different—straighter and taller. Best of all, she is smiling, really smiling, as she holds one cat and strokes the other.

  Tania stands up and hands Plucky to Sophie. I feel a pang of worry. Will he claw or scratch? But he seems very content to be in Sophie’s arms and nestles his creamy apricot head just under her chin.

  “I think what Tania was able to do with Plucky was a fine thing,” Papa says slowly. “But I don’t like it that she disobeyed me. And I didn’t want another cat. I made that very clear.”

  “So you won’t let Plucky stay?” I say. Tears start welling up as I utter those words.

  Papa looks at us. Can he see how much we all want Plucky to live here with us? Does he understand how important that is, not just to Tania, but to me as well? Before Papa can answer, Tania starts tugging on my hand. “Come,” she says, so I follow her upstairs, through the apartment and into our room.

  She leads me over to her bed and reaches for the pillow. My heart drops like a stone in a pond. The pillow—the pillow is ever so slightly lumpy. Is that because there is food underneath it? I thought all that was finished now.

  But when Tania moves the pillow away, I don’t see fruit or bread or eggs or rolls. I see a small, orange-colored toy cat. His face is made of fabric. H
is eyes are ambercolored buttons and his nose a tiny pink felt triangle. Black stitches form his whiskers, and a black ribbon is tied around his neck. It is the same ribbon I used to tie Shannon’s braids. Tania must have found the scraps in the doll shop. The cat’s body is made of soft, orangey fur. I remember there was a piece exactly that color in the bag of fur scraps.

  “How did you do this?” I ask. “And when?”

  “Today. After snow.”

  She did go in early, I remember. Way before the rest of us. I look at the cat again and realize something else.

  “Tania, this cat would be just the right size for Shannon. He is Shannon’s cat, isn’t he?”

  She nods. “Katz for Shannon.”

  “Well, Papa has got to see this!” I rush back down the stairs, clutching the cat in my hand. Tania is right behind me.

  “Look!” I cry, bursting into the shop where my parents and sisters are still gathered. “Look at what Tania made!” I show the cat to Papa. “You see—a cat for Shannon. And it’s Plucky, Papa! It looks just like him!” Though I notice that Tania has cleverly gotten around the issue of the missing hind leg by only showing the cat’s two front legs. The back ones have been gathered into a rounded shape underneath his tail.

  “Let me see that,” says Papa. He inspects the cat. “The scale is just right, isn’t it?” he says, more to himself than to us. “A doll with her own satchel and her own pet cat. Now that’s a good idea!”

  “No, it’s a marvelous, brilliant, perfect idea!” I say, and give Tania a big hug. For the first time, she hugs me right back.

  “I think Greenfield will like it,” Papa says. “In fact, I think he’ll like it very much. I can’t wait to show him.”

  “So does this mean Plucky can stay, Papa? Does it?” Trudie asks. She is hopping from one foot to another in her excitement. Not quite her happy dance. But almost.