The Doll Maker
“A merchant, who had three daughters, was once setting out upon a journey; but before he went he asked each daughter what gift he should bring back for her. The eldest wished for pearls; the second for jewels; but the third, who was called Lily, said, 'Dear father, bring me a rose.' Now it was no easy task to find a rose, for it was the middle of winter; yet as she was his prettiest daughter, and was very fond of flowers, her father said he would try what he could do. So he kissed all three, and bid them goodbye.”
“Papa! That merchant had three daughters, as well, just as you have three daughters,” Serendipity laughed as sat upon her father’s knee, listening to his deep voice portray the tales of the Brother’s Grimm in full spectrum.
“So he does,” Rudolph Fizzlestitch confirmed. “But I’m sure that his three daughters are not nearly as beautiful as mine.” He lay the book aside for just a moment and smiled at the sweet face of his youngest daughter, her blond curls pulled into sharp braids behind her ears, just the way her mother liked them.
Serendipity giggled, looking up at the ruddy face of her dark-haired father. “When shall I learn to read, Papa?” she asked, shifting her eyes to the much-loved volume as it sat on the end table next to Papa’s comfy chair.
“Soon,” he confirmed. “You’re going on five years old now. Both of your sisters learned when they were about your age. Have you been studying the ABC book I brought you from my last trip?”
Serendipity glanced across the room at where the volume poked its spine out from the shelf, its binding already showing some wear. “Yes, Papa,” she nodded. “I’ve been looking at it each day. I have asked Charity and Grace to help me with my letters, but they are always so busy with their own lessons.”
“And what of your mother?” Rudolph asked, adjusting her small body on his knee so that he could better meet her eyes and running a finger across the end of his bulbous nose.
“Mama is quite busy with the household. Ms. Maevis has sat with me from time to time but….” Serendipity hesitated, her finger instinctively hooking the corner of her mouth.
Rudolph gently tugged her hand away. “What is it, darling?”
“Well, sometimes, some of the letters look exactly the same. And… sometimes I think the book has grown new letters, ones that weren’t there the day before.”
Rudolph chuckled and patted her knee. “Oh, Serendipity, my sweet, you’ll get the hang of it. I promise, as soon as I get back from my next trip I will take some time off and I shall work with you myself.”
Serendipity’s face lit up. If anyone could teach her to read, it was her father. “Do you promise?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her chest.
“Yes, yes, my dear,” Rudolph replied, hugging her to his neck. Her arms squeezed him tightly. “As soon as I return from Germany, I shall teach you to read.”
“Germany…” came her mother’s voice from the entryway to the parlor. “Of all the silly notions…”
“Now, now, dear,” Rudolph said, lifting Serendipity as he stood, sitting her in his chair and crossing to his wife. “Though I will fully admit it was Serendipity’s idea to broaden our horizons, I’m not at all against this change in goods. You know as well as I do that the cotton market is drying up. If the States go to war as expected, there will be far less opportunities to procure enough marketable goods to continue current profit levels. Diversifying our assets just makes sense.”
Prudene Fizzlestitch shook her husband’s arm off of her shoulder and took a few steps into the room. “Rudolph, you can spring those canned phrases on our associates as much as you’d like to, but I for one know that the only reason you chose to explore the bisque doll market is because of this young lady right here. She has you completely wrapped around her finger.”
Serendipity’s eyes widened. Her mother was a tall, thin woman with proper shoulders and a pointy nose. Though she had often witnessed pats of affection and confirm glances aimed at her sisters, she had very few remembrances of tenderness, and while she often supposed that her mother had possibly loved her once, when she was an infant, that time had long since passed for some reason completely unbeknownst to her. Though she was never cruel, she was often sharp and impatient, always choosing to side with Charity and Grace whenever there was the slightest possibility that Serendipity had remotely wronged either of them.
However, staring into her mother’s blackened eyes, the kind voice of her father reassured her that she was loved, and his fondness for his youngest daughter more than made up for any disdain seething from her mother. “Prudence,” Rudolph chuckled, absently stroking his nose again, leaving it a familiar shade of red, “to be sure, our sweet girl did have some influence on my decision. After all, no one loves her dolls more than our little Serendipity. But I do not make business decisions based on the whims of wee tots.” He crossed to stand next to her, his eyes silently asking if she would evade another attempt at fondness. Her eyes softened slightly, which he took as acquiescence, and he rested his hand softly on her shoulder. “We’ve already made a significant profit on the first two shipments. I promise you, this is my last trip to Germany for some time, and I will return to the cotton mills just as soon as these last pieces arrive.”
Prudence shook her head. “You already have an entire warehouse full of heads, fabric, glass eyes--human hair…”
“Mostly mohair…”
“How many more pieces do you need?”
“Prudence,” Rudolph implored again, taking her gently by the shoulders to face him, “this is a wise investment, I promise you. You’ll see. Have you ever known me to throw away good money?”
Prudence turned her head and her eyes bore down on Serendipity where she sat in an over-stuffed chair. The longer her mother looked, the more she began to sink into the chair, a lump forming in her throat, her stomach knotting beneath those dark eyes. After what seemed like ages to the small child, her mother returned her stare to her father and said calmly, “I only hope you haven’t let the dreams of a small child destroy our fortune.”
Rudolph Fizzlestitched laughed, his smile reaching his eyes. “I haven’t, I assure you. After all, I named her Serendipity for one simple reason. She is our fortune.” And giving his wife one last squeaze, he turned to his daughter, still laughing, scooped her up in his arms, and began to dance her around the room.
At the touch of her father’s hands, Serendipity’s trepidation melted away, and she began to giggle, swaying through the air to the tune of “Ring a Ring of Rosies,” as her father hummed. As the verse ended, he lifted her high into the air and then brought her quickly back to the ground as she sung, “We all fall down!”
Serendipity shut upright, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced around the room for a moment, not quite sure of where she was or where she should be. The familiar surroundings of her own loft began to calm her raging pulse, and she put her hand on her chest, pressing down slightly least it should chance to try an escape.
She half expected to see the smiling face of her father, half expected to see the disparaging stare of her mother. Neither were there, of course. She wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. They were both gone, long gone. She had done them both in, one at a time, through different, yet ultimately equalizing circumstances.
After a few moments to shake the memories from her head, she threw the thin blanket she allowed herself off of her legs and slid across the rough hewn floor to the ladder, half climbing, half falling down the stairs to her workspace below.
Regardless of the time, the room always looked the same--dark--and though she had a pocketwatch somewhere, she never cared to look at it. She could tell the time only by the arrival of her friend Maevis, who came by at least twice each day, once in the morning and once in the evening, and occasionally by her own stomach, which would often alert her when she had not eaten for several days. Other than that, time was of little importance to Serendipity, and she measured the passing of her life only by the number of dolls she completed and the number she still needed to finish. As she made her way to the table and the previously cast aside dress, she was certain of two things: Pozzletot would show his disappointment in her behavior through his absence, and the letter would still be present--staring at her just as distinctly as the unfinished dolls.
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