The Cats in the Doll Shop (6 page)

“Well, if Mama says it's all right . . .” Papa says. I look over at Mama, who nods her head.

“Thank you!” I say. I get up and take my plate to the sink, where I wash it hastily. Then, it's back downstairs to the schoolgirl doll I have left on the table. Goldie and Zahava tweet briefly when I enter the shop but soon settle down.

I am still thinking of the satchel. But how will I make it? I rummage through the box again, and there, at the bottom, is a wadded-up bit of canvas. It's dull beige, almost the exact color of our satchels. Using Mama's iron, I press it smooth. Then I sketch a pattern onto the material. Cutting it is hard because the scissors are not strong enough. I keep at it, even though it hurts my hand. Soon, all the pieces are cut.

Sewing is hard, too. The first needle will not go through the fabric. I have to hunt all over to find a big, thick needle. Best of all is when I go through the box one more time and find a few twisted doll's belts with tiny gold-colored buckles. I pull the buckles off two of them and attach them to the flap of the satchel. Now it can be opened and closed, just like a real satchel.

The last thing I want to do is paint a few freckles across her nose, so I find the tubes of paint and a handful of brushes. Choosing a thick one for mixing, I create a color somewhere between orange and brown. Then, using the thinnest brush in the bunch, I dot tiny freckles on the doll's face. “Anna!” calls Mama. Her voice sounds just a smidgen irritated. “Anna, you need to get ready for bed.”

“Just in time,” I say to the doll. “Now all you need is a name.” And as soon as I have said those words, the name comes to me: Shannon. Shannon is the name of an Irish river. Kathleen has a sister back in Ireland named for it. She's told me all about her.

“Anna!” Mama calls again. “Anna, I do mean now!”

“I'll be right there!” I call back. And grabbing Shannon the School Girl under my arm, I flip off all the lights and take the stairs two at a time.

The next day, I wake up early, before anyone else in the family. I'm just so excited about Tania's arrival. Quietly, I get dressed and remove Shannon from her hiding place under my pillow. I am just as pleased with the doll this morning as I was last night. Maybe even more. I look at her cheery freckles and pat her orangey-red hair and tuck her way back under the pillow before my sisters wake up. Even though Mama and Kathleen know about the doll, no one has actually seen her yet. I want Tania to be the first.

At school we have a special assembly during which a group of actors performs a play. It is Shakespeare's
A Midsummer Night's Dream,
and it is set in a lush forest filled with fairies, spirits, and all kinds of magic. Later, during our geography lesson, we draw maps of Europe. Miss Marsh is back and says my map is so well done that she picks it as an example to show to the whole class. I took special care with drawing and coloring Russia, because that's where Tania was born. Even our arithmetic lesson is not too bad today. Miss Marsh has brought in several loaves of pound cakes that we have to divide into different fractional pieces. When the lesson is over, we get to eat the cake. It's delicious.

Three o'clock comes sooner than I expect. I meet my sisters right outside school, and once again, we race home after school. This time when we get there, Papa is gone—a good sign!—and Mama is in the shop with Kathleen and Michael. Today Michael is whistling while he stacks the boxes. He whistles better than anyone I have ever heard.

“How did the doll turn out?” Kathleen asks. I know she means to be kind, but I shake my head and whisper, “Not yet.” She nods and doesn't say anything else about it. Fortunately, neither Sophie nor Trudie seems to have heard her question. Today Kathleen is working on a group of fairy dolls, which have wings made of wire and gauze that attach to their shoulders. She sews a few tiny sequins on each wing. They remind me of Titania, the beautiful queen of the fairies in the play we saw today.

“When will Papa be home?” Trudie asks.

“I don't know,” Mama answers. She turns to Sophie. “Why don't you girls start your lessons? That way you'll have gotten some of them done before your cousin gets here.” Sophie goes into the kitchen and Trudie follows. I'll go, too, but first I pause so I can say something to Kathleen.

“I promise I'll show you the doll later,” I tell her. “But for now, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“No need to worry, darlin',” says Kathleen, head bent over her sewing. “I can keep a secret.” The sequins wink in the light.

All of a sudden, Mama grabs a roll of muslin, holds it up, and frowns. “What—again?” she says. Kathleen, Michael, and I all look in her direction.

“What's wrong, Mama?” I ask.

“Mice!” exclaims Mama. “They get into everything.” She holds up a roll of muslin that has been chewed at one end.

“Maybe Ginger Cat could help with the mice,” I say.

“You know that Papa says cats are for outdoors,” argues Mama. “He doesn't want a cat living inside the apartment.”

“But they catch mice,” I point out.

“That's true,” she says. “And we need a mouse catcher. . . .”

She pauses, as if thinking. “Where is the cat now?”

“I'm not sure. But she's been coming by for food—the dish is always empty after we've filled it. Do you want to see?”

Together, we walk outside, and sure enough, there is nothing in the saucer. To my surprise, Ginger Cat is sitting in the box right next to it! She looks up at us very prettily, as if to say, “May I please have some more?”

“Hello kitty,” I say extending my hand to pet her. She startles and darts off.

“Papa told you not to touch,” Mama scolds. “It's a good thing she didn't scratch.”

“I'm sorry, I forgot. Sitting there like that, she looked so tame.”

“Well, you have to be careful just the same,” says Mama. “You may not be so lucky next time.”

“Anna, come quick! They're here!” Trudie's words interrupt Mama's lecture.

We hurry inside and upstairs, all thoughts of the cats forgotten for the moment. Finally, Tania has arrived. Standing in the kitchen is a slender, shy-looking girl of about my height. Mama rushes over and kisses her twice, once on each cheek. Then she says something to her in Yiddish, but Tania doesn't answer.

Mama turns to us. “Girls, meet your cousin Tania,” she says in English. “Tania, this is Sophie. And that's Anna, and here is Trudie.” She slips into Yiddish, and I am guessing she repeats her introductions so Tania can understand.

“Hello Tania,” I say. Mama told us not to worry about speaking Yiddish. Tania will need to learn English, so we might as well just start right in. On impulse, I give her a big hug. But I feel her stiffen in my arms, so I let go. I look at her more closely then. She really does have blonde hair, just as I imagined she would. It's long and thick and would be beautiful were it not so . . . dirty. Her clothes are dirty, too, and I can see crescents of black underneath her fingernails. Well, it must have been hard to stay clean on the boat and Ellis Island, I think, defending her in my own mind. Now that's she here, she can have a hot bath, and Mama can wash her clothes.

I glance down at Tania's feet. She wears boots that are worn and broken. I can see her bare toes peeking out from the holes. Those boots will need more than simple cleaning. Her bag, a battered and worn-looking thing, sits on the floor right next to her. It is small. She has not brought very much with her. I look up, wanting to see her eyes. Are they as blue as I thought they would be? Yes, even more blue, but I only see them for a second. When she catches me looking at her, she quickly looks away.

“Do you want to see our room?” Trudie asks. Her voice is timid, as if she is a little afraid of Tania.

Tania doesn't say anything. Of course not. She can't understand. Mama repeats Trudie's question in Yiddish. Tania still doesn't answer. I want to take her hand to lead her to the room. But after the way she reacted when I hugged her, I am reluctant.

“Don't worry, girls,” Mama says. “Tania is just a little shy. She'll feel more comfortable soon.” She turns to Tania and begins a low, steady stream of Yiddish. Tania doesn't say anything. She stands there and chews on one of her exceedingly dirty nails and blinks rapidly, as if the sun is shining in her eyes.

“Let's give Tania a snack,” Mama says. “And then she can have a nice hot bath.” Mama repeats this in Yiddish. I see Tania glance at the claw-footed bathtub and then glance away. I can't imagine that she will object. I never saw anyone who needed a bath so badly.

Mama leads Tania to the sink to wash her hands, and then to the table, where she sets out the fresh raisin cake she has baked for our cousin's arrival. Sophie, Trudie, and I each have a piece of cake and a tall glass of milk. Tania just looks at the piece Mama has put before her.

“Do. You. Want. Cake?” Sophie says clearly and slowly. She accompanies these words with a series of gestures. First she points to Tania, then to the cake, and finally to her mouth. She pretends to chew. Tania responds by blinking rapidly. I am beginning to see that this is a nervous habit she has. Sophie seems annoyed when Tania doesn't understand. But then, Sophie is annoyed by anyone who is not able to grasp things quickly.

“It's all right, girls,” Mama says. “Tania will join you if she feels like it.” We start eating our cake, which is so tasty that I ask for another slice. Mama says no, it will spoil my dinner. Tania finally breaks off a tiny piece and gnaws it. Trudie, Sophie, and I finish our cake, and Sophie brings the plates to the sink, where she washes them. Trudie reaches for her satchel. I feel a bit strange, sitting there and watching as Tania stares at her cake without finishing it. Finally, Mama asks me to get her sewing basket in the parlor. I am relieved to have a reason to get up from the table.

I return with the basket. Tania is not there. Neither is her piece of cake. Maybe she ate it after all. I am guessing she went into the bedroom, to get ready for her bath. The pots of water are heating up on the stove now, and because our tub is in the kitchen, Mama has set up the screen for privacy. Good. That hot bath will surely make Tania feel better. And there's still Shannon, I think. Maybe Shannon will help.

I go into our room, where Sophie is curled up on her bed, copying something from her French book. She is studying French this year and makes a big show of telling us that
parler
means
to speak
and
marcher
means
to walk
. Trudie is sprawled on the floor, doing what looks like fifty arithmetic problems. I should start my own lessons, too. I have a composition to write and another map to complete. Before I get started, I go over to the bed that is Tania's and pretend to be fluffing the pillow. What I am really doing is making a space for Shannon. I have taken her out of her hiding place under my pillow and plan to put her under Tania's as a surprise. But when my hand moves around, I feel something crumbly and slightly sticky. I pull out a piece of Mama's raisin cake.

“Look,” I say to my sisters, “I found this under Tania's pillow.”

“It's a piece of raisin cake,” Sophie says. “But how did it get
there
?”

“I know I didn't do it,” I say to Sophie. “Did you?” Sophie shakes her head. We both look at Trudie.

“It wasn't me,” she says.

“It must have been Tania,” I say.

“Why in the world would she do that?” asks Trudie.

Neither Sophie nor I can think of a good reason for such a thing, and so the question remains unanswered.

A little while later, Tania comes in from her bath. My sisters and I stop what we are doing to look at her. Her long, gold hair has been washed and combed. Her cheeks are flushed from the hot water, and next to the pink, her eyes seem even bluer than before. She is wearing a clean, though ragged dress, and a pair of shoes that are only a little less worn than her boots. But her blinking, which I noticed earlier, is rapid and constant.

“I sleep in the bed above yours,” I tell her. Tania just blinks. “We made some space for your things in the cupboard. . . .” Still more blinking. I look at my cousin and sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought. But then I remember Shannon.

“I have something for you,” I say, pulling Shannon out from under the pillow. I take care not to move the piece of cake, and reach behind it instead. “It's a doll.” I hand her to my cousin. “I made her for you.”