An old short story of jealousy.
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THE WISHING DOLL
by Sandra S. Corona
One of those violet colored evenings when the rain has taken prisoners, it was only natural that the children should be fighting. Where was the rainbow in the sky?
Two girls--each with only one natural parent left--they played one against the other. Each parent thought the other's child was the "problem child".
Lynda, the quiet, withdrawn one, was seven; Robin, the blonde social butterfly, was eleven. They were constantly at odds with one another. Lynda was always "doing things".
Lynda sat down on the carpeted steps knowing that she soon would be sent upstairs to her room . . . again. Robin had started the argument but no one ever seemed to believe that.
Her stepmother hurried from the kitchen, through the hallway and stood tapping her foot at the end of the staircase. "Why are you sitting there? You know better than to break a vase because you can't watch your favorite program on television."
Pouting, lip quivering, Lynda interrupted, "I did not do it!"
"Lying is even worse, young lady." It was hard being a step-parent. "Now go to your room."
Whimpering, Lynda got up and scampered up the stairway to her bedroom at the end of the hall.
Robin's pigtails bobbed up and down as she skipped around the foyer, tired of watching television. In the den, the girls had not been able to agree on one station. Robin had knocked a vase over, told her mom that Lynda had done it and leisurely enjoyed watching her show. It worked every time.
Waltzing into the kitchen, Robin chatted away. "When are we going to get rid of her, mom? She's nothing but trouble."
Mother smiled, embraced her only child, "Let's not tease her, sweetheart." Robin was always cheerful, a perfect helper.
"Mom, can I go skating?"
"You lost your skates last week, didn't you?" Lois was the typical mother trying to keep track of things.
"No, Lynda lost hers."
Lois sighed, remembering, "I think we agreed that you would replace them out of your allowance. You gave your sister's skates to the Goodwill."
With innocence, Robin smiled, "An accident, I thought that they were too small for her since she hardly ever wore them." Pity was easy to get from your mother. "I will still have money left over. It has been such a dark, gloomy day, Mom."
Lynda's father, a doctor, was away far too often; Lois loved her daughter blindly. Lois assumed that Lynda was just a jealous, troubled little girl . . . always into something.
Tonight was to have been Lynda's turn to be "special", but it seemed that everyday belonged to Robin. Overhearing the conversation upstairs, Lynda just rolled over on her bed. What else could she do? Tears played at the corner of her eyes but she wouldn't let them fall.
"Of course, sweetheart, you may go." The second Mrs. Hollister was soft-hearted and she meant well. She just wasn't too smart. Plump but pretty, Dad loved her for her kindness, her understanding.
Lois went back to preparing dessert for dinner hoping that Michael would not be late.
The house rules were never to be broken. One of them was that on "special" days, they had to go with Mom, Dad or a friend.
Dad was working, Mom was busy, leaving Robin free to choose someone to go skating with.
Anticipating Robin's actions, Lynda picked up the extension.
The phone rang several times before it was answered.
"Hello." The voice was barely audible.
"Hello, Stella?" Robin wasn't used to such a low voice from her best friend.
"Yes."
"Robin here." You could feel her anxiousness to get out. "Grab your skates. Okay?"
"Can't." Diappointment was obvious. "I got an F on my report card. I'm grounded!"
"So . . .?"
"So, silly. I can't go!"
"You could sneak out."
Stella giggled, "I'm not as good as you are, Robin. I'd get caught."
"Let me talk to your Mom."
"No," Stella was quite firm. "Dad grounded me. Mom can't undo that."
"Why the heck?"
"See ya," Stella was a little nervous, "I gotta get off of the phone." The phone went dead.
Robin, angrily, hollared into the phone. "You can hang up now, snitch." She had known Lynda was on the line all along.
Too smart to be fouled up, Robin decided to go it alone. Peering into the kitchen, she smiled sweetly. "Mom, I'm going to go to Stella's. Stella's mom is driving us to the rink."
Retriving her skates and her jacket from the hall closet, she skipped into the kitchen casually kissing her mother on the cheek. "I won't be late for dinner."
"Be careful," Lois automatically responded.
Lynda strained her ears until she heard the front door slam. That HAD to be Robin. Neither of her parents slammed the doors.
Lyndia changed into her nightgown. Her step-mother might check on her. After closing the shades, she got into bed. She did not have to go to sleep. Dr. Mann had told her that. He had been very nice. He had seen nothing wrong with her talking to the rag doll her grandfather had given her. She had not seen Dr. Mann for some time.
Miss Nancy stayed with her every night, slept in her arms. Robin had been the one to complain. She'd snitched about her "talking to her doll"--a real nut case. Dr. Mann said Robin had to go; not Miss Nancy. After that, the girls had separate rooms. Miss Nancy and Lynda were closer than ever.
"Miss Nancy," Lynda whispered, "Robin's done it again." Miss Nancy lay quietly beside Lynda ever faithful. Lynda thought she saw a movement in the dolls eyes which scared her. "I know I should tell daddy, but he's never home. You know how busy doctors are, Miss Nancy! Robin's always an angel around adults."
Miss Nancy nodded, perhaps with a little help from Lynda.
"Miss Nancy, remember when I asked you to help me get Robin out of my room?" She paused. "You did it."
A homemade doll with yarn hair and stitched eyes, Miss Nancy was a uniquely fashioned creature. She was blessed with "soul" and listened to every word Lynda said. Her dress was made of white material with beautiful puffed sleeves. She wore pantaloons and had shoes of grey felt that slipped off. She was a Christmas present from a grandfather that she had never met . . . a present to a baby before dying.
Mommy had told her that it was a special doll--that if you wished something, Miss Nancy would make that wish come true . Mommy had been sick and wished to die so she wouldn't hurt anymore. Miss Nancy made that wish come true . You had to be careful what you said to Miss Nancy. She didn't know right from wrong.
Carefully studying her friend, Lynda noticed that sometimes Miss Nancy smiled broadly. She had seen her frown before but had never seen her cry.
Mischievously, Lynda wished aloud squeezing Miss Nancy tightly to her chest. "Make Robin break a leg. It doesn't matter which one." Her blue eyes widened. "Make it happened tonight so they will catch her in a lie." She hugged tighter. "Please, Miss Nancy?"
Relaxing, her wish made, Lynda cuddled the doll tenderly, stretched out on the bed and fell fast asleep.
An hour later the ringing phone woke her.
Lois answered downstairs. "Hello. Hollister's residence."
"Mrs. Hollister, I'm Kathy Perkin's mother. Robin was doing some fancy skating, lost her balance and it looks like she's broken her leg."
"Why didn't Mrs. Holmes call me?"
Puzzlement waited on the line. "She isn't here. Robin came alone. My understanding is that she hitched a ride, but you know how the kids joke around." Momentarily distracted, she continued, "the ambulance should be here any minute. Would you like me to ride with her?"
Lois felt the compassion, accepted it. "No, thanks, Beverly. I appreciate your calling, but I'll meet the ambulance myself."
Walking into the den, Lois was glad that the day was almost over. Michael sat slumped into an overstuffed leather chair. He was too tired to eat dinner, Lynda was asleep upstairs and she'd just assumed that Mrs. Holmes was running late. Dinner was a dud.
Lois sat in his lap and kissed him awake. "I have to go to the hospital, dear. Robin fell at the rink. They think she has a broken leg."
Dr. Hollister, stretched, yawned and kissed her softly in response. His work, his pace, had added early grey hairs to his temples. Still, he was an impressive man.
"Want me to go see about her, hon?" He was so worn out. Sleep was a luxury.
Her concern faded somewhat. "No, sweetheart, I can handle this." She stood up and drew him upright. "You go on to bed before someone else decides to have a baby. You've got to get some rest."
"You sure?" Concern was echoed on his face.
"Sure."
Together they walked to the staircase, kissed once more. Slowly, Michael mounted the stairs.
Grabbing a coat from the hall closet, Lois drove herself to the hospital. Michael had given her everything. She'd had nothing before. Even the air she breathed was healthy now. If only there had been no children involved, everything would have been heavenly.
Early the next morning, Lois returned. On tiptoes, she crept up the stairs, undressed and quietly slipped into bed. Michael stirred, still exhausted.
"You spent the night?" He raised up to look at the clock. It was two a.m.
"The leg is broken but she also hit her head." Wearily, Lois explained. "They kept her for observation."
Michael nodded, drew her into an embrace and they driftly off to sleep in each other's arms.
Breakfast was a quiet matter . . . fried eggs, bacon, toast, strawberry jam and milk. Everyone was famished having skipped dinner the night before. By habit, Lois sat a place for Robin. Lynda noticed but said nothing. She was too busy eating.
Lois considered it thoughtless. "Aren't you even going to ask why Robin isn't here?" She stared at the child, still in her nightgown with that dumb doll in her arms.
Lynda shrugged her shoulders, "You said that if you wanted me to know anything, you'd tell me."
Michael almost spit his coffee out. "That's right, Lois. You did tell my daughter not to cross examine you." He patted the small little shoulders. "That's my girl!"
If looks were bullets, Lois would have mortally wounded her husband. "You shouldn't encourage defiance?"
"Temper, temper, Lois." Michael teased. Fortunately, his smile could melt rocks. "She has been told to mind her business many times. She's merely obeying your previous orders." After melting the first stone, Michael turned to his little one.
"Your mom is jumpy today, love. Robin broke her leg last night. They both spent the night in the hospital."
Careful not to smile, Lynda quizzed him. "Which leg did she break? Does it hurt?"
"Whoa, girl." He turned to Lois, "See, she does care!" Winking, he continued talking to Lynda. "She fell while skating and broke her right leg. Yes, it hurts but they only kept her overnight because she bumped her head."
Lynda smiled shyly at her plate.
"What bothers me is that . . . " Lois stopped short. "Oh, never mind." She was thinking out loud.
Michael sat his empty cup down. Presently, he stood, made his way to her side and slid his arm around her waist. "What is bothering you?"
Lois stammered. "S..she lied to me. Still, she was a fabulous skater. How could she fall down?" She glared at Lynda. "It doesn't make sense."
"Accidents happen, sweetheart." Michael thought she was being childish. "Anybody can fall."
Lois continued to stare at Lynda. "Are you happy?"
Michael pushed away quickly, "What was THAT about? She was upstairs asleep at the time. That's what you told me." The idea was stupid. "How can you blame her?"
"Go get dressed, princess." Daddy grinned gaily. "I promised you a trip to the zoo." He held his arms out for her. Eagerly, Lynda ran to embrace him. "Get dressed and we'll go today while Lois gets some rest."
"I'm fine." Lois was a bit pale. "I do need to spend time with Robin today." She busied herself with kitchen chores. "Go on. Get out of here, you two."
Daddy carried Lynda upstairs taking two stairs with each step. It was going to be a great day!
Dressed, her bed made, Lynda laid Miss Nancy on the bed. "If only Robin would stay away forever," she mused. "I'd have daddy all to myself every day." It was a thought, not a wish.
Robin came home, healed quickly. Fall drifted into winter. Snowflakes clung daringly to the naked trees afraid to let go. Holidays came and went . . . Halloween, Thanksgiving . . . and now Christmas. The girls got crankier with one another.
Sneaking open Lynda's door, Robin saw the maroon robe that Lynda was attempting to wrap. "Is that for Father?" Robin wrinkled up her nose. "Ugh, what an icky present!"
Lynda ran to slam the door shut. "You are not supposed to peek. Get out!" The door closed hard.
As Lynda walked back to the bed, her door swung open. Robin strolled in hiding something behind her back. "I've got something for Father, too. I'm going to give him THIS!" Robin held out Miss Nancy. An eye had been picked out--the thread all gone--and an arm had been pulled off. Stuffing bulged out of the arm socket.
Lynda threw the package aside, running after Robin. Robin threw the doll down on the floor in the hall, stepped on her chest and ground her foot around several times. Lynda couldn't push her off. Tears welled around her eyes, but she wouldn't cry. Satisfied, Robin finally galloped off.
Picking up the crippled, blinded doll, Lynda was mad. "Oh, Miss Nancy, I told you that she was bad. I. . .I'll get you a new eye. I'll fix your arm, too." She held Miss Nancy very, very close. "Miss Nancy, I wish Robin would go away and never come back."
Christmas Eve brought the carols, the newly fallen snow, the anticipation of presents under the tree. Everyone was happy, singing, enjoying the idea of sledding down suicide hill. Everyone but Lynda.
"I am sorry, Lynda, but you do have a fever." Daddy explained patiently why they were going out without her. "We want you to enjoy Christmas tomorrow." He kissed her forehead, pulling the covers up about her. Mrs. Holmes, Stella's mom, was staying with her.
Mrs. Holmes had come upstairs after they had gone bringing with her a sewing kit.
She knocked, then swung the door open. "Heard your doll had an accident."
"No," Lynda was firm, "Robin intentionally pulled her arm off and took out her eye."
"Look what I have here." Out of the sewing box came the missing arm. "Stella gave it to me, told me about what Robin did." She was quiet for a minute. "I volunteered to stay with you so we could repair Miss Nancy."
Lynda was puzzled, "How did Stella get her arm?"
Mrs. Holmes winked, "Robin told Stella that it was a wishing doll." She found that amusing, smiled. "Said it wouldn't work if some of the parts were missing. Stella hid the arm in her room." Hugging the little girl, she apologized. "They both are jealous because you are so pretty."
Lynda fell asleep watching Mrs. Holmes repair the doll. When she finished, Mrs. Holmes placed the doll tenderly in the sleeping child's arms.
The day turned to night. All was quiet except for the radio downstairs softly playing Christmas music.
Awakened, Lynda knew they should have been home by now. It was too dark to be sledding anywhere. Besides, it was Christmas Eve. Getting up, she put her robe on as she walked downstairs, dragging Miss Nancy by her newly sewn arm.
Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were downstairs in the living room. The door was ajar but she could still see them. It was late! There was a fire in the fireplace but the tree lights were off. Mr. Holmes was whispering sadly in his wife's ear.
Lynda padded in. "Where's daddy?"
Mrs. Holmes began crying out loud, shaking her head. "I can't tell her."
Mr. Holmes got off the sofa and started toward Lynda but the child kept backing away. She didn't know him very well. He stopped, turned back toward his spouse. "I'm scaring her."
Mrs. Holmes nodded, she could see that. Blinking back tears, she opened her arms. "Come here, sweetheart." She choaked back tears. "We've got to talk."
"Your family went to heaven, tonight." Salty tears streamed down. "Along with Stella."
Lynda jumped out of her lap. "NO! NO! NO!" Distraught, she began to claw at the fabric of the doll, scratching her, pulling out the stuffing. "NO! NO! NO!"
The couple behind her sat stiffly like puppets on a string. Shocked by her reaction, they watched the show before them.
Pity poor Miss Nancy. A tear trickled down from the strange new eye. She couldn't fight back, had no strength. She only lived on love. She was dying, crying. Had she misunderstood?
Overtaken by grief, Lynda thrust her beloved doll into the burning flames.
Together they sifted through the ashes of life unable to put the pieces back together again.
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
