SoC 2:4

A Doll for Jane

 

A s one of eight children of an impoverished coal miner, Jane had never had a doll. She was aware that her father couldn’t afford to buy toys for his six daughters and two sons, but she was confidant that Santa would bring the doll she longed for so passionately. She knew that jolly, generous Santa had a workshop at the North Pole where busy elves worked all year long making toys for good little girls and boys.

Each year her heart brimmed with hope, but each Christmas came and went with no doll for Jane. Santa left only a tangerine and a few walnuts in her Christmas stocking. Jane wished even harder, and she remained certain that one day Santa would leave a curly-haired doll that fit perfectly in the crook of her arm.As each Christmas approached, anticipation flowered in her breast, but the years passed and the doll never materialized.

Eventually, Jane developed into a charming, red-haired beauty. She married, and after two years,a baby boy arrived. She named him Richard David, and she cuddled him, nurtured him, and for Christmas she dressed him in short royal blue velvet pants and an ivory-hued satin shirt. As soon as Richard learned to talk, however, he rebelled. He was the quintessential man’s man, and there would be no Little Lord Fauntleroy outfits in his closet.

Jane acquiesced, and as each Christmas approached, her meager savings were spent on trucks, trains, and planes, so dear to her little boy’s heart. She derived satisfaction from watching him enjoy the rewards of his good behavior, and she almost forgot her longing for a doll under her Christmas tree.

Jane’s generous spirit even extended to me, her niece. One Christmas, she gifted me with the beautiful baby doll that she had always dreamed of embracing. How she enjoyed watching me cradle that doll in my arms! The doll’s hair was arranged to provide a loop for attaching the huge ribbon bows that were worn by children in that era, and she and I changed the dolls hair ribbons frequently, always plumping them to spectacular heights.

In the 1950s, with her son grown and her husband gone, Jane found that she had outlived her savings. When looking through the classified pages in search of employment, she came across an ad for assistant to the “doctor” in a doll hospital. She applied immediately. The doctor probably recognized her love of dolls and her eagerness to assist in their renewal, so even though she had no experience, he hired her.

Working beside the doctor, Jane learned to clean and refurbished dolls to pristine condition before returning them to their owners. She lovingly replaced missing fingers, re-stuffed damaged bodies, and repaired eyes that no longer closed in sleep.

One day, when the doctor discarded a doll that he thought was beyond repair, Jane rescued it from the trash bin, took it home, and began a loving reconstruction.

Bodywork included replacing an arm, rebuilding several toes, and repairing a chipped tooth. Jane untangled the doll’s matted hair, one strand at a time. When the tresses were free of tangles, Jane wound tiny bits of hair on makeshift rollers, and when set, she styled the doll’s hair into a mass of golden curls. Each missing eyelash was individually replaced and crimped with a curler. Facial cracks were filled in, and cheeks were sanded to their original smoothness and repainted. With a touch of red, lips once again took on a healthy glow.

When the doll had been restored to perfection, Jane went to Woolworth’s Five & Dime store on her day off and bought a McCall’s pattern for making doll clothes. With meticulous care, she cut, basted, and fashioned pale yellow organdy into a dress that she trimmed with white lace. She purchased tiny white shoes and socks, and a wide-brimmed straw hat that she decorated with daisies and forget-me-nots.

Dressed in newly found splendor, Jane’s doll resembled a princess. She named her doll Janine because it sounded like Jane, but was more elegant.

Her masterpiece completed, Jane placed the doll in a box on a bed of white tissue. She wrapped the box in glossy red paper printed with Christmas trees and wreaths, and tied it with a red, tinsel-edged ribbon. She placed the box on a shelf in her linen closet, where it remained until the night before Christmas.

In the starry silence of Christmas Eve, Jane removed the box from the closet and placed it next to a tiny tree that she had festooned with shiny balls, tinsel, and lights.

When she relaxed in her familiar armchair to watch Lawrence Welk and his carolers on television, she stole furtive glances toward the gaily-wrapped package next to the tree, but she refrained from opening it. She retired early, eager for the day she would finally receive the gift she yearned for.

On Christmas morning, Jane lay awake in the dusk before dawn, her heart racing with anticipation. She watched the window for the first hint of sunshine, and when a golden ray crept over the windowsill, Jane threw aside the quilt, slid her feet into slippers, and hurried toward the Christmas tree.

Quivering with delight, Jane picked up the gaily-wrapped box, and pulled the end of the silver-edged bow. When the ribbon parted, she slid trembling fingers beneath the red and green paper. It crackled, and tore away.

The miner’s daughter lifted the lid, pushed the tissue paper back, and beheld the exquisite doll that was hers and hers alone. Jane lifted the doll from the bed of tissue and embraced it. Tears of joy cascaded down cheeks flushed with triumph.

On this Christmas morning, in her sixtieth year, Jane’s dream of cuddling her very own doll had at last come true.