The Doll Shop Downstairs by Yona Zeldis McDonough Page B

I hug him tightly before I run downstairs. Papa seems more like Papa these days: warm, patient, and kind. He didn’t even get too angry when we broke the rule about taking the dolls out of the shop.
    â€œThank you, Papa!” I call over my shoulder. “Thank you so much!” A store-bought china doll of my very own—I can hardly believe it’s for real.

8
    G ONE
    Now that we actually own our dolls, we want to fix them, not let them stay broken. But Mama and Papa are too busy making new dolls to help us, so one day after school, Sophie, Trudie, and I decide to try on our own. Even though Papa said there were no more parts, we will look one more time. We hunt inside cabinets and behind the counter, on shelves and in the closet, searching for any parts that Papa might have missed. After twenty minutes, we are ready to give up when Sophie spots a box way up on the top shelf; it is nearly hidden by a basket of yarn that sits in front of it. The only reason she can see it at all is because she has climbed up on a chair to look. But the chair is wobbly, and she gets down. I find the stepladder and hold it steady for her.
    â€œCareful!” Trudie says, and I have to smile because she sounds so much like Mama. Sophie is careful and brings the box down slowly. It is covered with dust, and we all start to sneeze. But it is worth it: inside are treasures.
    â€œLook!” says Sophie, as she holds up a small package wrapped in cotton wool. Eagerly, we unwrap it. Dolls’ eyes. Angelica Grace needs an eye. But two of these are brown, and the wrong size anyway. The other is blue and looks as if it will fit, but it is not the same shade of blue as Angelica Grace’s existing eye.
    â€œWhat else is in here?” I ask. We find a wig, a few dusty arms, and several legs.
    â€œNot exactly what we need ...” says Trudie. But to my astonishment, there is not a trace of a whine in her voice. Instead, she adds, “Maybe we can use them anyway.”
    â€œMaybe we can,” says Sophie. “We can show Papa and see what he thinks.”
    â€œI had no idea these were here!” Papa exclaims when we bring the parts upstairs. “If I had known, I might have been able to fix some of the dolls I sent back. But as long as you’ve found them, we might as well use them now.”
    â€œWhen can we do it, Papa?” asks Trudie. “Today? Right now?”
    Papa smiles. “Give me a little time,” he says. “And remember—these parts aren’t the right ones; the results won’t be perfect.”
    â€œThey’ll be perfect for us,” I tell him, and my sisters nod eagerly in agreement.
    Papa carves out a bit of time each day to work on our dolls. He inserts the eye—a deep, dark blue—into Angelica’s hollow socket. Even though the colors don’t match, she looks interesting and even mysterious. He is able to use the wig—it’s a pretty shade of strawberry blonde, not unlike her original color—for Victoria Marie. The wig is too large, but Mama fixes that by taking it in with a needle and thread. And to replace Victoria Marie’s missing clothes, Mama uses scraps from her basket to sew new ones—a long black-and-white polka dot dress, a white apron, and undergarments, too. Papa can’t replace the doll’s legs—he doesn’t have ones that are the right size—but he files down the broken toes, and Mama paints them to match the color of Victoria Marie’s skin. Then Sophie figures out how to sew her some shoes using bits of black felt and snipped-down pieces of her own worn-out shoelaces. Finally, Papa shows her how to use a bit of wire to attach shiny black beads to the two holes in the doll’s ears.
    My doll, Bernadette Louise, is given a new left foot to replace the missing one, though the two feet look quite different. And although Papa can’t fix her cracked arm, I add some lace trim to the sleeve of her