The Dollhouse

Jane was bored. She and her sisters, Lizzie and Flora, stayed with their grandparents every summer while her parents went on vacation. She’d spent the day moping about until she discovered the attic up on the third floor and toiled away looking through old boxes. There wasn’t a window and it felt airless and hot, and she was about to leave when she noticed out of the corner of her eye a small door. A door for a child! She had to tug and pull at it until it opened, and she sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and then decided it was to be her secret room.  

What delight! There were toys! And a small round window that let in the light, dismal though it was. The toys were old, from a distant past. She ran a gentle finger over a porcelain doll, its dress a pretty lace that had yellowed with age. And then she discovered the most beautiful dollhouse! She stared at it for a moment, suddenly shy to touch it. It was painted white with black shutters. The roof had miniature shingles and a black door with a brass handle. Carefully she unhinged the delicate clasps, and then she slowly opened it to reveal its interior. 

Her breath caught. The inside was just as intricate, as though she was a giant looking inside an actual house. There were wooden floors, paneled into perfect lines, a red brick fireplace with miniature logs, a kitchen with green tiles and an old-fashioned stove, even a tiny rocking chair and a basket of small fabric clippings. She reverently fingered every curtain, every piece of furniture. But where were the dolls? She searched the room, and then discovered a rosewood box. It opened to reveal three figurines: a woman with black hair dressed in a blue housecoat; a man dressed in a tweed jacket and a top hat; and a little girl with chestnut girls, wearing a yellow dress, the color of dandelions. There was even a small dog with black and white spots.  Jane was enchanted. “You will be Seraphina,” she breathed, holding up the little girl. “And you, of course, will be her mother and father,”  she said to the man and woman. She picked up the little dog. “And who shall you be? You don’t want to have just any ordinary dog name, do you? No, I didn’t think so.” She thought for a moment. “Lucy,” she decided.

And so she began playing, lost in her make-believe world, time standing still. She played until the room grew dark and she didn’t stop until she heard muffled voices. Panicked now, for she didn’t want her special place discovered, she quietly emerged from the room, pushing over a box to cover the small door. In the hallway, she was startled to see the entire household. 

“Jane!” her oldest sister Lizzie cried. She grabbed her by the arms and shook her. “Where have you been?”

She replied in a small voice, “I fell asleep.”

“But where?”

She pointed to the attic. “In there.”

“But we looked in there!” her other sister, Flora exclaimed. “Over and over again.”

She saw that her grandfather, with a trembling hand, was holding a lantern, and that Flora and Lizzie were wet.

“What happened? Why is Papa holding a lantern?” 

“The electrical went out. And we’ve been outside looking for you,” Berta, their crotchety nanny,  snarled at her. “Thought you’d drowned in the pond.” She didn’t look all that pleased that she hadn’t. 

“My dear,” her grandmother said, “we were quite worried.”

“It’s past my bedtime,” grunted her grandfather, and turned down the hall, her grandmother joining him. 

Berta thrust a finger at Jane’s face. “You little cretin.” Then she turned on her heels, leaving the three girls huddled in the hallway. 

For the next few days, Jane secreted herself in her special hideaway. She played exclusively with the dollhouse, imagining elaborate scenarios, such as Seraphina getting a toothache and her mother making her warm peppermint tea; the dog, the poor thing, was bitten by a snake, but the father, a doctor, was able to treat her, conveniently having anti-venom in his medicine bag. Jane used varying voices for the Terracotta family (which is what she’d named them, a word she’d long admired), yips for the dog, and endless dialogue. Naturally, the family was loving and devoted to one another. 

It became a routine for Jane to play all morning, eat lunch with her sisters, and if they were in the mood, to do something fun (their opinions varied greatly on this), and then they would spend the afternoon together. Otherwise, Jane would explore the forest behind the farmhouse, loathe to part with the sunshine and fresh air when dreaded school began. 

On one particular afternoon, Lizzie was caught up in a book and Flora was making raisin cookies, and so they’d each gone their separate ways. Jane resumed her path in the woods, singing as she went, pausing now and then, and distracted as she was, she didn’t realize she’d gone much farther than usual, that in fact she’d come upon a clearing. 

She looked around in wonder. Had she come across a hermit’s cottage, like out of a fairy-tale? She was partly titillated at the thought, caught up in the romance of an adventure, but seeing as how this was real life, and not one of her imaginations, she felt a stirring of unease. 

Because there, in the deep woods, to her utter surprise, she could see a house. Not a cottage at all. As she kept walking, the clearing turned into a sprawling green lawn. She’d had incredible dreams before, but she was quite certain she was awake. And then, when she came close enough to see the house, she stood there, rooted to the ground, her mouth open in shock. 

There before her was the exact replica of her dollhouse! From the black shingled roof to the bronzed door knocker. And was that a dog she heard? She stood there, frozen, her eyes wide. From the top corner window, a curtain parted and she saw the outline of a person. Someone lived there! And that person could see her! It felt impossible, and in her heart she knew it was impossible, but her eyes, unless they were playing tricks on her, could not deny that this was her dollhouse. 

She turned and ran, not knowing exactly which direction she was heading, terrified at the thought that she was running in a circle and would find herself back at the dollhouse- this gigantic dollhouse- over and over like a bad dream. But alas, she managed to run in the direction she’d come, because before long she was back at the farmhouse, so unlike the scene she’d just fled, which was pristine and white and utterly unreal. Incredibly, the farmhouse was the same- large and rambling with the afternoon sun magnifying its derelict. She walked into the kitchen to find Lizzie eating cookies. 

“Jane!” she exclaimed. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!”

“I was running,” she said, wanting to laugh and cry all at once. 

“Goodness,” Lizzie said. “Running from what?”

“Just running.” How she longed to feel comforting arms around her, even from Lizzie, but she understood how inconceivable her “adventure” would sound, and this from a girl who lived in a fantasy world as it was. Here in this kitchen, she had a hard time believing it herself. 

“You’re so silly,” Lizzy said. “Here, have a cookie.”

So Jane allowed herself to be soothed by cookies and milk and she stayed close to her sisters for the rest of the day, vowing she’d never leave their side. For two days, she stayed true to her resolve, meekly succumbing to their activities: dominoes, card games, book after book. They didn’t seem to notice this torpor of hers because it rained steadily, and they attributed this to being cooped up in the house. Yet on the third day, the rain cleared and Jane made no move towards her regular afternoon excursions. 

“What’s wrong with you, Jane?” Lizzie said irritably. “Go outside!”

Jane dreamed of the forest at night- that she stood at the treeline, at the boundary between fantasy and reality, and her name was called like a whisper, beckoning her with a sense of promise. She felt desperate to yield, but something held her back. It felt like a hand, ready to snatch her from behind, but when she looked, there was no one there. 

Finally, Jane could resist no longer, and so she decided to set out again, if only to prove once and for all that her mind was far too lively. She pretended it was just a normal summer day, that when she finished her lunch, she would take her daily afternoon constitutional (as her grandmother was fond of saying). She hummed as she walked, swung her arms in a cavalier manner, but it was her eyes that gave her away- narrow and intent, her muscles tightly wound, as though ready to spring at a moment’s notice. 

And just as she expected (for despite her attempt at rationalization, deep down she knew), the forest thinned into a clearing, and the twigs and fallen leaves were swept away into lush grass that spread before her like a carpet. The house loomed and the air was still and eerily quiet. Where were the caws of birds and the buzzing of insects? Replaced by the sounds were the smells: blossoming flowers, baking bread, all mixed into one heady fragrance. 

And, yes, the unmistakable sound of a dog barking; one that sensed her presence and was pawing at the door, anticipating her arrival. 

This time she didn’t hide in the forest; with sure steps that belied her beating heart, she walked to the front door and tapped at the door knocker. She stood there patiently while the dog’s barks grew in urgency. She knocked again. She heard tiny nails scratching at the door, its barks feverish now. 

And then a woman’s hushed voice behind the door. “Lucy, hush now.”

Jane’s eyes grew wide, and as the door opened, she was confronted by a woman with shiny black hair and a blue housecoat holding a wriggling dog. A black and white dog named Lucy! Jane stood there, mouth agape, and the woman frowned at her in concern. 

“Are you all right, dear?” 

Jane couldn’t speak.

“My goodness,” the woman said. “You look as frightened as a cornered mouse. Is it because of Lucy?” She ran long fingers down the dog’s back. “She won’t hurt you. She’s actually a friendly little thing.” The dog continued to wriggle and she whimpered to be set free. “You see? She only wants to play.”

She set Lucy down and immediately the dog scampered over to Jane, sitting on its haunches, its tail thumping frantically, and looking up at her with such a beseeching expression, Jane couldn’t help but smile. 

“Would you like to come in?” the woman asked. “Being all the way out here, we don’t get many visitors.” 

Jane peered into the house, the fragrant smells  even stronger, the very air seeming to swirl with it. “How come you live all the way out in the woods?”

The woman smiled. “Well, you see, my husband prefers privacy.” 

“Is he a doctor?”

The woman looked surprised. “Why, yes, but how would you know that? Has he treated you?”

Jane shrugged. “Just a guess.”

The woman stood aside. “Please, come in. I’m making muffins.”

“I have a dollhouse,” Jane ventured. “It looks just like this house. And it has a dog that looks like yours.” She looked at the woman’s face. For what? An explanation? But her expression betrayed nothing. 

“Do you?  I didn’t get your name, did I? I’m Catherine.” 

“Jane.”

“Well, Jane, I need to get the muffins out of the oven. Do come in.”

She turned and left the door cracked open. The dog happily bounded after her while Jane stood there, feeling uncertain. She peeked into the house, and then, because curiosity outweighed her trepidation, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. 

To be inside her dollhouse was a surreal experience, giving her a sense of vertigo.. There was the black banister, the cherry wood floors, the brick fireplace. She walked into the kitchen and found Catherine just as she’d expected- leaning over the oven, setting the muffins down to cool. 

Catherine looked so delighted to see her, a glow inside Jane sparked to life. “Come join me. I want to hear all about you.”

The muffins were warm and the milk cold. She wasn’t sure if it would taste like cardboard or even air, as though she was play-acting with her sisters, and only miming the process of eating. For this was how it felt: one of her stories on a grand stage. 

As Jane ate, Catherine asked questions, making noises of interest and delight in all that she said. “Three girls! Imagine! I would have loved to have sisters.”

She gently probed as to why she was all alone, and when Jane shared her grievances about her sisters not wanting to play with her, Catherine’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, you poor thing.”  She leaned over and embraced her. Jane was quite overwhelmed by this gesture, closing her eyes, basking in the warmth of this woman, whose shape and smell was so familiar to her. 

She asked shyly, “Do you have children?” She knew the answer to this, half hoping she did not, but when Catherine didn’t answer, Jane was alarmed to see that her face had clouded over, that she’d begun to weep. 

“I’m sorry,” Catherine said, dabbing a napkin at her eyes. “You see,  Jane, as you’re no stranger to misfortune, it seems my husband and I have some of our own.”

“Did your daughter die?” Jane asked sadly, wondering why the handsome Mr. Terracotta couldn’t have healed her. It certainly had been one of her story lines.

Catherine looked momentarily flummoxed. “Why...no, but how did you know I have a daughter?”

“I guessed,” Jane said, far too loudly. 

“Yes, we do have a daughter. Our only child. And I’m afraid that....” She put a trembling hand to her throat. “She has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yes, she’s gone missing. She must have wandered off. She’s done it before. My husband and I have tramped all over the woods, but…”- she held her hands out in a helpless gesture- “nothing.”

“What’s her name?”  

“Her name is Sera.”

“Sera?” Jane asked. “You mean Seraphina?”

Catherine’s eyes lit up. “Do you know her? Have you seen her?”

Jane shook her head. “No I haven’t. And I don’t know her.” Although, truthfully, she felt she knew her very well. She felt pressed to add, “But I’m very sorry.”

“Oh,” Catherine said in a small voice. Then she leaned forward. “Jane, I don’t believe my husband and I came across a house of your description. A white house, you say?”

“Well, it’s sort of white, but it’s peeling, and it’s very ugly.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, in any case, can I ask a special favor of you? It’s quite important.”

“Yes,” Jane said, nodding somberly. 

“If you should see my daughter, if she should come wandering to your house, will you bring her directly back to me? Back to this house at once?”

Jane gave her a fervent nod. “I will. But if she’s hungry...may I feed her? Berta will be cross, but Flora can make some porridge.”

“How thoughtful of you,” she murmured. “Yes, that would be fine. But I will be anxious, you see, as I am right now, so I would hope you would not linger.”

“I will not linger.”  

“Thank you, my dear.”

“How old are you, dear?” Catherine asked.

“Nine.”

She put a palm on her chest. “A little older than my Sera. But she’s not like you, Jane. Not so quick and lively. She’s...how shall I say it? Special. She doesn’t speak much, is quite withdrawn, so that’s why we worry, you see.” She leaned down close to Jane, so that she could smell the sweetness of her breath. “She needs a strong girl like you, Jane, to lead her home. You can do that, I know you can.”

It didn’t occur to her why Catherine was so certain Seraphina would stumble upon her grandparent's house, or why she would place this burden on her. To Jane it made perfect sense- Seraphina would come to her because she was meant to. She felt territorial of this lost girl, so enamored of her smaller, doll-like figure, and furthermore, she felt the utmost responsibility to restore this family to the sanctity of their daily lives. 

Catherine told her she must start supper, as her husband would be home soon. Jane was curious to see this fatherly-doctor figure, but she had the impression that she should leave, and that she shouldn’t return without their daughter, strange as it was. 

And so, as Jane walked home, Lucy’s barks echoing behind her, she asked herself once again if she’d imagined the whole thing; if in fact she was dreaming now.

When she returned, she didn’t tell her sisters where she'd been, and over the next couple of days she became convinced that it was  her imagination run amok; that she might be- and she shuddered at the word- crazy. 

But then a remarkable thing happened. Lizzie, Flora, and Jane were sitting on the front porch, lazily enduring a sweltering day, when Flora sat up and pointed. “Who’s that?”

There before them, coming up the dirt path, with awkward ungainly steps, was a girl. She was smaller than Jane and had chestnut curls and was wearing, to Jane’s delight, a yellow dress the color of dandelions.