The Bisque Doll

The polished glass fogged as Rudy peered into the window, his thin boots soaking through from the snow. Her eyes were lilac, periwinkle, plum, lavender, or mulberry? Closer to violet. The shopkeeper gently placed the porcelain faced doll into the small, wooden rocking chair. Beautiful blonde curls cascaded from her head. And her eyes were the most brilliant shade of… violet. After he made sure the doll was tucked in safe, he raised his eyebrows at the spry boy who was leaving murky fingerprints on his clean glass. Rudy sprang backwards when he realized his carelessness. His mother would have scolded him. Henry, the shopkeeper, came around the corner, stroking the gray beard on his face.

“What is it son?”

“How much for the doll in the window, sir?”

Henry paused. The boy seemed familiar, although he was sure he’d never seen him before. He turned to the window.

“The Bisque doll? What does a scruffy boy like you want with a girl’s toy?”

Rudy wouldn’t look him in the eye. He glanced sideways.

“It’s for my sister, sir. For Christmas.”

“Well, in that case,” he said as he looked at the help wanted sign on the door. “The doll is 16 dollars. If you can help an old man deliver Christmas packages until Christmas, she’s yours.”

“Okay, yes sir, thank you so much sir. I will be back tomorrow!” Rudy exclaimed before he turned and ran back down the street.

“You can clean my windows too sonny!” Henry called after him.

Rudy ran back down to the gray and monotonous street that housed the orphanage that he and his twin sister Violet now lived. He was supposed to have returned by now. He hoped no one noticed. He ran inside, past the common area, where a handful of the other children sat and studied as the sun went down. He slowed down as he approached the girl’s dorms. He saw Violet lying in her bed, eyes closed fast asleep. He sat down beside her, not sure if he should wake her. She looked peaceful. Watching her sleep, he thought back to the last time he had seen her this peaceful. Last year, when they were 9, they had left the orphanage. The Garrisons, a nice and respectable family, welcomed them into their home where they already had two children. They were warmly welcomed by their new family and felt like they finally had a home. But not everyone in the household felt the same.  Ruby, their 12-year-old daughter instantly took to teasing Violet.

“What kind of name is Violet?” Ruby sneered.

 “Same as yours, it’s a color!” Violet shot back.

Ruby smirked “I’m named after a JEWEL, idiot.”

Ruby lived to torment Violet. Our last day there was one neither Rudy nor Violet would ever forget. Violet had sat beneath a great white oak tree with her doll. The doll with the violet eyes. It was a Christmas gift from their parents the night they died.

Violet hugged her doll to her whenever she felt anxious. It was the very reason why she hugged her doll to her as she sat under the tree, looking up and the red faced Ruby. 

“Aren’t you too old for dolls? Only babies play with baby dolls. That’s why they’re called BABY dolls.”

Violet’s usual defiant stare was replaced by fear. She knew how Ruby operated. She liked to hurt Violet. Whether it was a pinch, kick, or insult. Whatever brought Violet happiness, Ruby tried to destroy.  

She snatched the doll by the legs, right out of Violet’s clutches. 

“Ugh, it sure is ugly. Why are her eyes purple? What a freak.”

She swung the doll by its leg and smacked her face against the tree. Her face shattered.

While Violet’s eyes always stayed the same shade, Rudy always heard that the violet of his eyes turned into a stormy gray when he was angry. And the storm had come. As he watched Ruby laugh at Violet clutching the broken porcelain, he had never felt so angry. He didn’t even remember walking towards Ruby. He had never hit another person before. Rudy felt her tooth come loose as he pulled his fist back and connected with Ruby’s mouth.

“RUDOLPH JENSEN!” Ruby’s mother just so happened to see the violence that had just taken place, not what Ruby herself had done. He hadn’t meant to do it, but he knew what that doll meant to Violet and after that day it was as if she was broken as well.

They were back at the orphanage the next day. Even today, he could remember that guttural wail Violet let out as she tried to pick up all the broken pieces.  There was still a small white gash of a scar on his right knuckle where Ruby’s broken tooth had lodged.

But he wanted to protect his sister. That was why he had to have the doll. It was an exact replica of the gift their parents had given Violet. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but it was his chance to bring some light back into her life.

That was what he kept telling himself after a week of delivering gifts all over town. Most of the families were rich and rude and he was exhausted. Some families were appreciative and generous, slipping coins into his pockets when he had his hands full. Then there were the families that slam the door in his face after the last package left his hands.  There was one particular delivery he was dreading. Not only because of the size of the order but because of who the family was. There were at least twenty packages that he had to deliver to this one home, which meant multiple trips. The Frost family was well known throughout the city. It was a family of wealthy merchants who had employed his father. Rudy’s family wasn’t exactly prestigious his father worked as a groundskeeper for the Frost family.

It was also the family that hosted the Christmas party the night his parents died. In fact, the only reason the family was even invited was because Mrs. Frost had taken a liking to his mother, which was no surprise. Everyone loved his mother.  Her spirit was contagious, like Violets.

 It was Christmas Eve night. Rudy and Violet were 6 years old. He remembers the elegance of the party and how spectacular the house was. The grand staircase had dark green garland intertwined with gold and silver wrapped around the banisters. Off to the right, in the large sitting room stood the 10-foot-tall Noble fir Christmas tree beside the enormous fireplace that housed the roaring fire. The deep, lush green of the branches was set off by the golden glow of the Christmas lights that had been strung. Four-foot nutcrackers stood on either side of the tree. The regular décor of the house itself felt like it was designed just for the occasion. Ornate golden angels adorned the walls, their chubby cherub faces smiling down at them. Even the vaulted ceilings were painted with various shades of pastels, depicting grand scenes of lovers and divergence. Some of the art seemed to be sacred in a sense.  The tinkling of glasses and silverware was mixed with the hum of low refined voices and laughter. But what Rudy remembered the most were the smells. Food he had never smelled much less eaten in his entire life. Hints of chocolate and mint from intricate desserts, sumptuous roasts, the sweet and citrusy smell of candied fruits, and the rich, robust smell of sauces and soups, and rich, smoky cheeses. After dinner he had never felt so close to bursting as he watched Violet chase the family cat around the tree. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her laughter.  Rudy was always afraid of cats, but not Violet. She befriended every soul she met. She was like her mother in that sense.

When it was time for the gift exchange, Violet was handed a box wrapped in green paper and silver twine with her name written in elaborate script on the card tucked behind the twine. Rudy was told his gift wasn’t quite ready yet and would receive it the following morning. His younger self couldn’t help but feel resentful in that moment. It was an emotion that his father picked up on quickly.

His father looked at him sternly and said, “Patience is a virtue son.  Just wait. You will be given your gift tomorrow.” 

Later that evening, Rudy had fallen asleep on the Frost’s couch. He awoke to screams and thick black smoke. He remembered not being able to breathe and coughing with tears streaming down his face. The last thing he remembers is being hoisted up and carried out of the house alongside his sister who still clutched the cat.  And from that night on, they were orphans.  He would later learn that the giant fir tree had collapsed and fell into the giant fireplace, facilitating the deadly blaze.

He loved his sister, but he always envied that she had that last gift from their parents. He had nothing. He didn’t know what his gift was going to be. It was like a mystery that could never be solved. Unfinished business as they called it.  He wanted something that connected him to his parents and longed for that knot of comfort.

Christmas Eve had arrived, and that evening Rudy was walking back into the shop after delivering his last packages.

“Well, I have to admit, you’re the best delivery boy I’ve had ‘round here. As agreed, the doll is yours. I hope your sister enjoys her. You know, it’s one of the last dolls my wife ever made.”

“Your wife made her?” 

“Yes, she did. She was quite talented. Everyone loved her work. She crafted and painted them, and I dressed and fashioned the wigs for them. After she died, I packed away all her old creations and turned the shop into a stationary and gift-wrapping business. I just didn’t have her artistic sensibilities. She loved the joy she brought to kids, although we never managed to have any of our own.”

Henry stopped talking abruptly. He reached behind the counter and handed Rudy a box wrapped in red foil paper.

“If you don’t mind Mr. Henry, I’d like to leave her here so that I can surprise Violet. I will pick her up early in the morning.” 

Henry agreed and Rudy left the shop.

That night Henry was sitting in his wife’s rocking chair in the dark. He always liked his spirts. But ever since the night of the fire they had been used to fill that void his wife’s absence left. The anniversary of her death was particularly hard on him. Harder than her birthday or even their wedding anniversary.  Thanks to Rudy, all the perfectly wrapped Christmas gifts had already been delivered. All he had to do was wait the night out. The creak of the rocking chair met the chirp of the grandfather clock. He turned up the whiskey bottle and wiped his mouth. He felt angry. He was angry at the world it seemed like. But mostly he was angry with himself. If he had only delivered those gifts himself that night, Mary would still be here. So would their child. They hadn’t told anyone yet, and he never did. It was too painful to even form the words aloud. The child would be around four years old now. Just the thought made his heart ache and brought a fresh wave of guilt and anger. He let the alcohol take over him. He threw the bottle against the wall and watched it shatter, shards of glass spinning in all directions. He let his anger consume him as he tore through empty boxes. He used his large hands to shove everything from the shelves lining the shop walls. The cash till dinged and pinged as it hit the floor, coins spilling everywhere. He heard the faint crushing of glass that the alcohol wouldn’t allow him to care about. He ripped apart tissue paper, flung rolls of twine and string, shredded cards and flowers, destroyed bows, seals, and vials of ink.

When he’d had enough, he lay spent on the floor on top of the mess he made, tears falling from his eyes. He could not fathom why his family was taken from him. He let the whiskey rock him to sleep on top of the rubbish heap that used to be his livelihood.

He felt someone shaking him.

“Mr. Henry, Mr. Henry! What happened? Are you alright?”

Henry opened his eyes and snapped them shut again quickly. His head was pounding, and the stream of sunlight made his stomach turn. He sat and looked up at Rudy as the boy took in the state of the shop. Even Henry himself wasn’t sure how he had done so much damage. It would take all day and part of tomorrow to clean up.

Rudy narrowed his eyes as he looked around at the mayhem. “Mr. Henry, where is Violet’s doll?”

Henry scratched his head as he stood up. “Well I’m…I’m not sure. I had a little too much to drink last night, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”

But Rudy wasn’t listening. He was too busy sifting through the damage looking for the box. Every time he spotted something red that could have been the wrapping around it, his heart leapt.  Finally, underneath Henry’s workbench, he spotted the glimmer of scarlet he was looking for. He sped over and snatched it up. The packaging was torn and crumpled.  Her blond hair was sticking out, knotted. 

“No, no, no, no…please be ok, please be ok,” Rudy pleaded.

But he knew in his heart that wasn’t the case. He pulled the doll from the crushed packaging and watched in horror as half of her face hit the pile of rubbish beneath him. He couldn’t speak.

Henry walked over and touched Rudy’s shoulder. “Rudy. Rudy, I’m so sorry. I promise, we can find something else she will enjoy.”

As he spoke, Rudy’s voice quivered from the sheer amount of will it was taking not to cry.

“No, you don’t understand Mr. Henry. This doll is identical to the doll that my parents gave Violet the night they died. It was destroyed last year, and she hasn’t been the same since.” He hung his head low and tried to stop the tears from coming.

Henry was frozen in place staring at Rudy. He didn’t understand why it had taken him so long to put the pieces together.

“You’re the twins,” he said. “I didn’t realize…until now.”        

Rudy looked up at him, confused.

“Your parents came here a week before the fire and asked that my wife make a set of dolls for their twins. Your mother requested dolls with the most beautiful blonde hair and violet eyes. Hair and eyes like her own, like yours.”

“Why would she make me a girl doll?”

“The one you hold in your hands is only a replica of the doll that was given to Violet. Mary thought it so beautiful, she wanted one for our child. The child she was to bear the following summer and she longed for a little girl. Mary died in the same fire your parents did, delivering gifts to the Frosts on Christmas Eve.” He paused and cleared his throat.

“But there’s another doll, Rudy. A boy. It was to be delivered Christmas morning because I was behind on my work.”

Henry walked over the debris strewn about and into the back room. When he returned, he was clutching another doll and gave it to Rudy.

Rudy examined the doll in his hands. They body was soft, just like the other ones. Its porcelain face was identical to them. The only difference was the clothing was more masculine and the hair. Of course, the hair was the exact same golden shade, but it was a close crop versus long curls.  Looking at the doll it felt like his universe had shifted into place. This was what he had been missing. A tangible connection from his parents that he felt never existed. Now he was the one with who had a piece of them, and Violet didn’t. He gently touched the hair atop the dolls head, thinking.

“Mr. Henry, would it be hard to change the hair?”

Henry stared at him.  “What do you mean? You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that. I know my parents loved me and so does Violet, but she needs this more than I do. Please Mr. Henry, can you turn this into the doll that Violet loves?”

Henry looked down at Rudy with a smile.

“Of course I can.”

He took the doll from Rudy. This wouldn’t take long. It was only a matter of separating the wig from the scalp of the doll and gluing a new wig down. And of course, replacing the male clothing with the dress from the broken doll. 

When he was done, the doll looked exactly like Violets doll. He tucked her into a box filled with flowers and beautiful whimsical tissue paper. He wrapped the box in silver paper that shimmered when it hit the light from different directions. Then he wrapped a gauzy red bow around the box with a green cardstock and her name written in gold.

As he waited, Rudy’s mind was occupied. He had always wanted something that his parents had left for him. But as he stood there watching Mr. Henry tenderly wrap the doll, he realized that his parents had left him Violet. The best gift he could have asked for was his sister.

Finally, Henry handed the beautifully wrapped doll to Rudy and watched him run out to the street and towards the orphanage. He turned around and began clearing the mess scattered on the floor.