Door At The End of The Hall

"Go home, we don't want you here!"

Caroline pressed her back against the brick wall, and traced her fingers through the scraggly yarn hair of her smiling cloth doll she named Dorthy. At seven, she could never spell her name correctly, but her doll's name was fitting since she named her after her mother.

"I..I just came over to play," her voice was trapped from what felt like a fist in her throat.

Gerry moved closer to her now, his broad chest thrust against her.

"Oh, let her play with us," his much smaller and younger sister protested, as she stood behind him at the mouth of the door.

"We don't need her here, she is weird! Look at her, in her yellow poor coat and her messy hair, " He stammered, his freckles clustering together in his now scrunched nose.

Thunder boomed from the distant, darkening clouds that rolled like waves.

"Go!" Gerry shouted this time, spit spewing from his lips. Hot spit that splashed her face with indignity. That, and the tears that now spilled down her pale cheeks, like pearls on a wedding dress.

As she spun around to make her way down the four cracked steps, to the path way, his foot clipped her heel on her red rain boots, and step three met her face with a slap, and a shriek escaped from somewhere inside her. Dorthy fell beside her, her face up. Still smiling, but her painted eyes appeared in shock.

The laughter echoed. First, Gerry's, and then his sister Tracy's squeal.

As she struggled to her feet, the November rain applauded. For grace or for surrender. Sweet blood tasted her mouth from her torn lip.

The door closed behind them, taking their gurgled laughter with them.

She ran.

The rain hammered her face mercilessly as her legs carried her through the field of withering grass and weeds. The reeds slapped and stung her naked legs, and her knees retired as she collapsed into a heap of herself into the rain swollen desperate ground. Dorthy flopped beside her, her painted upturned once smiling mouth now bled black from the corners, wet and sad.

Something grazed her face. The swish swish of what sounded like a broom like on a wooden floor. Humming of a voice, and then voices entwined like a symphony.

"Dear, dear," this voice suffocated all the rest and was assuring and gentle.

Her eyes fluttered as that something that grazed her face was a cool cloth of some sort draped over her forehead and licking her eyelids. It felt as soothing as the voice.

As her eyes focused, Grandma rested her eyes on hers.

"You've got a wee fever, lass," Grandma's voice was like syrup, sweet and thick. "We will get you all better. Found you in the field across the road. Soaking wet, you must've hit your head? You were out, just lying there. Your Auntie was on her walk and found you there,"

Caroline gasped, a cough bellowed from her rasping chest. "Where..where is Dorthy?"

Grandma smiled. "No worries, your Dorthy is here safe too. I'm going to fix her up, she is drying right now. She was just as soaking as you were."

A smile curled on Caroline's face. Her grandma's dark kept hair sparkled with bits of grey and her lips were rose colored. Grandma always took such care of herself. She hoped one day she would be just like her.

"Can..can you fix me up too?" Caroline spoke through a wheeze. Her chest hurt.

Grandma cocked her head, shuffled on the edge of the bed where she sat, the mattress squeaked as she moved.

"Fix you up? Oh I will fix you up. Make you well again. Is that what you mean?"

"Fix my messy hair," Caroline replied, Gerry's voice taunting her, even now.

"Tonight..." Grandma replied "I will fix you up. A nice hot cup of broth and get that fever down and we will do your hair."

Grandma's room was at the far end of the corridor.

As Caroline thread her way down the long hallway dressed by plum carpeting, in her bare feet she felt light and somewhat faint. She passed Auntie Peggy and Uncle George's bedroom and pressed her ear against their door. Uncle George snored and as long as she heard his snoring, she knew it was safe. Tonight she and Grandma would spend their own time together as Grandma promised. Grandma was a night owl and spent her nights reading and Auntie Peggy had Caroline ready for bed at 8 pm. Of course, Caroline was just a child.

A sliver of light illuminated under Grandma's door. It was bright and piercing but warm.

She tapped with her knuckles. "Grandma, its me," she whispered, her voice weak and raspy still.

Grandma greeted her with an open smile and ushered her inside the room. Dorthy was sitting on a swivel red chair, her smile was painted brighter this time, and she adorned pink ribbons in her freshly renewed yarn hair.

Caroline rushed over to the awaiting doll and scooped her up in her arms.

"Let us do your hair now," Grandma's cheeks were flushed with joy.

A record on the turn table began to spin.

'Sweet Caroline, -(da-da-da, Good times never seemed so good'

The song played.

Caroline gushed. "Momma named me after this song,"

"I did,"

Momma appeared from the corner of the room, her dark hair draping over her shoulders, and dressed in a sheer white blouse and pencil black skirt. How lovely she was.

Strong hands enveloped her waist and she could smell Papa's scented Old Spice as he gathered her in his arms.

This can't be true, Caroline quizzed. They are dead. They should be dead?

But they laughed and they danced and loved some more.

The swish swish sounds.

Auntie Peggy shuffled her feet to and fro, in a dizzying array. She squeezed a wash cloth from a bowl of cool water and pressed it to the child's forehead.

"Where's Grandma? And Momma and Papa," Caroline restlessly raised the question while the scent of Vick's permeated from the washcloth.

"Sweetie, you are not well. You have a fever. You were dreaming, baby girl. They are gone, honey."

Auntie Peggy rose from the bed where the child lay, picked up the cloth doll that must have fallen.

Dorthy smiled the brightest smile.