Ghost Rider by Bonnie Bryant Page B

shower and a scrub-brush and some bathroom cleanser can’t get off,” Stevie agreed cheerfully.
    “Very nice,” Christine said, admiring the results of the girls’ efforts. “Would you like your cheese now or later?”
    “That realistic?” Lisa asked.
    “Absolutely, and if you think you look good, wait until you see how Kate is looking.”
    When they returned to Mrs. Lonetree’s workroom,they were astonished. It was their friend Kate, all right, but she didn’t look at all as she had a mere fifteen minutes ago. She was wearing a very well-padded gingham dress with a long skirt and a full apron. She had a white cap on her head and a very long carving knife in one hand. Mrs. Lonetree said her outfit would be complete with the addition of some black leather shoes.
    “I think this particular farmer’s wife is going to have to make do with black leather riding boots. Will it work?”
    “It will be the perfect touch,” Mrs. Lonetree agreed. Then she turned to Christine. “So what’s it to be for you?” she asked.
    “Mine’s going to take a little longer,” Christine said. “Can we work on it later?”
    “Sure,” her mother agreed. “That will give me some time now to show the girls the dollhouse.”
    “Oh, thank you!” Stevie said. “I was afraid you wanted to keep it a surprise. Where is it?”
    “This way,” Mrs. Lonetree said, standing up from her sewing machine. She took the girls into her pottery studio. They had seen her work before. It was very special and very beautiful. Some shelves had pots that she was making for tourists. She followed the authentic traditional shapes and designs. The ones she was prouder of, however, were more moderninterpretations of the traditional Native American pots. Carole and Lisa looked to see the new items she was working on. Lisa had taken pottery lessons for a while and had an idea of how difficult the work was. She really admired Mrs. Lonetree’s skill. She was about to say so when the first gasp of delight came from Stevie, whose eyes had gone straight to the dollhouse.
    “Oh, wow!” Stevie said, hurrying to where the dollhouse stood.
    Carole and Lisa joined her and agreed with her completely.
    There, in the middle of the studio, was the dollhouse. It was a perfect model of an adobe pueblo—a Southwest Native American home. A pueblo was essentially a box with steps on one side leading to the flat roof. There was only one entrance to the pueblo and that was from the top, via ladder. Since this was a dollhouse, Mrs. Lonetree had designed it so the whole thing opened in the center with a hinge to reveal the inside.
    There were simple furnishings with traditional designs and patterns. A shelf near the cooking area held a complete array of miniature pots and bowls—just like the ones Mrs. Lonetree made for the tourists. There was a wall hanging, a woven rug, in traditional patterns. A rough-hewn table held miniature weapons used by the Native Americans of the old days—knives,a bow, and even some very tiny arrows that actually had feathers on the shafts!
    There were small wooden cooking utensils as well as gardening tools.
    “It’s perfect!” Stevie said.
    “How can you bear to give it away?” asked Lisa.
    Mrs. Lonetree smiled. “I had fun making it,” she said. “Now somebody should have fun playing with it. I suppose I
could
have made some dolls, but …”
    “Don’t even think of it,” Stevie said. “You’ve already done about a hundred times more than anybody could possibly ask. And if you want to know what I think, I think donating this incredibly beautiful work of art to benefit the after-school program at the reservation school is just about perfect.”
    “I kind of thought the same thing,” Mrs. Lonetree said. “Those kids need every bit of help they can get. So, with your clever planning and my pots and sewing machine, we’ll do well by them, won’t we?”
    “The best we can,” Stevie said.
    Lisa had a little chill right then. From