Steps

He stood, as the sun hit his day after funeral shoeshine and the doll’s hand. Stunned, as his aunt’s voice pitched then twisted to turn, like tractor wheels pushing blades of a combine, now heading his way. Neither his faint tremble, nor burning hot ears could shield her words. He might as well have been a cowering rabbit pretending the machine of a mouth would go away. The thatching sickle cut: “She kept quoting verses about forgiveness, when she was the one who pushed him away! I’m sorry speaking of your mother, may she rest in peace, but she broke your uncle’s heart. He was never the same after. Unless, he was spending time with you, Casey.”

Sweet grey church curls framed Aunt Halina’s face and silver horn rimmed glasses. Halina remained anything but the meaning of her name; ‘calm, tranquil’. Casey cowered queasy as he mentally tucked for cover, the combine blades nearly chopping overhead.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can always rely on family?” Sensing rhetoric, Casey kept quiet in his suit coat. “Don’t count on it because . . . “, Halina surged ready to deliver the fatal blow, but silence seeped in with a sunbeam; she sucked in air. The blades of the thatcher’s mouth retracted. Halina walked to a garden door and then outside. Casey stood alone with the stairs before him.

Sensible wooden steps reminded Casey of near slips with woolen socks on Christmas Eves.  White banisters, intertwined with glittering lights and evergreen garlands, led Casey to his favorite cache in the house. The treasures of uncle’s travels drew Casey to sit patiently on the window seat, at the top of the landing, until Mikal clambered the farmhouse stairwell to join his nephew. Within minutes, the two would be lost in times past of the Merchant Marines. Mikal’s tales usurped any party below. Casey donned a seaman’s cap and medals suspended by stiffened striped ribbons. Mikal attached honorary pins to the boy’s Christmas jumper while enhancing seafaring tales.

Soon, Casey would be at sea. Christmas seemed left far behind on a shore. The little sailor stood spine straight, feet shoulder width apart, securing the helm. With Mikal’s lilting voice, and the eagle crowned, tan woolen hat, the boy could tip the black visor against the spray of an imaginary salty sea.

The garden glass door tattled a turn as Halina, sniffling walked in. Casey felt himself return to the older cast of a grown man, in cold reaffirmation that Mikal was gone. Halina crossed the room to bury herself in Casey’s shoulder. He uncomfortably embraced the old aunt.

“You never disappointed him, not once,” Halina intoned. She stepped back to hold out his lapels. “Every day you wear a suit like uncle told you. He was right. It made you go far.” Casey looked down at a step to Mikal’s milky glass vase, now empty, and felt quite the same. He would trade every bit of success just to be with the old man again.

“Well, here! It’s yours now,” Halina denounced pushing off his chest to swivel and snatch up the doll haphazardly. Casey deftly righted the white vase before it toppled down the bottom stair.

“Here.” Halina stood, huffed, then stiffened. Her cold resolute had returned. “I am keeping my word. Mikal said, ‘It’s Casey’s doll now.’” Halina thrust the heirloom forward and released her hold, as if she were done with it. Casey scrambled once more, but now to capture the falling form. The weight of the ocean blue dressed doll surprised him. Its eyelashes fluttered when caught. Chestnut hair plumed to settle beneath the sturdy ruffled bonnet. The doll’s china lower legs clinked, below white bloomers, rebounding little laced boots of the same deep sea blue as the paisley dress. Casey recalled the figure being shelved in the corner of Mikal’s room.

Turning, Halina grumbled beneath her breath, “She came, just a girl herself, toting that doll.” Casey’s eyes widened then glared, first at the toy then Halina. The doll’s cheeks still held a blush; tiny lips pursed, to pout. Halina strolled discordantly towards the kitchen, until she caught her balance on the countertop, her hand sliding, guiding to open the refrigerator door.

“Jello mold, Casey? It’s all we have left from the funeral. Uncle would keep you busy each Christmas with his stories until only the Jello molds were left.” Halina managed a snicker. “You never minded then. Do you still like red?” Halina sighed opening the refrigerator door, her back still to Casey.

“Who toted the doll?” Casey barely managed a dry cracking voice. “What girl?”

Halina slid the red Jello from a refrigerator shelf and headed towards a counter loaded with pill bottles. “There is no one left to care but me, Casey,” Halina crooned. She tiptoe reached for two small white bowls in a cupboard, spoons from a drawer, and began to scoop. “I said you should have known all along.” Halina reached for a pill bottle and counted out two.

“What should I have known? Please, Aunt Halina!” Casey’s voice timbered; his hands sweat clenching the doll. Halina threw pills past thin lips, drank cold coffee, and wiped white hairs along her mouth with a tea towel.

“Your mother was adopted, Casey. Mikal made me swear . . .  afraid to lose you too. He loved that little sister, more than me, even after she was gone!”

Casey’s heart imploded. Grandparents had told him his mother died shortly after his birth, nothing more. The grandparents that raised him had passed many years ago.

The room spun. Casey held the doll tight to right himself. He felt, as Mikal had retold, what a rough day at sea would be like. “Rough seas make good sailors, Casey!”  He decided, then and there ~ resolute, that love not blood makes a family and dismissed the news as marginal compared to the loss of Mikal.

Halina hastily ate two bites of Jello, choking down pills. Casey held the doll, deeply inhaling. “I will always love Uncle Mikal!” he announced.

“Jello, Casey? What’s on the stairs is yours, photos of you two, mementos . . .” She was still speaking when she heard steps creak. Casey collected the filled white wicker basket and vase.

“I would check that doll for vermin, Casey!” Halina called after his departing sounds. “Her body made a ‘crunchy’ sound when I carried her downstairs, probably a nest!” The front door slammed.

Casey balanced the items safely to his car. Once inside, he sat paralyzed, still in grief, in disbelief over the news, and relief from getting away from Halina. He stared at the odd collection of items Halina had chosen. Where were the maritime treasures she knew meant so much to him? Halina and Mikal had no children. Why had she withheld the keepsakes she knew he truly desired? Casey’s left foot stepped outside the still open car door, ready to stand up, return, and face Halina for what Mikal would have wanted his nephew to have. A fall gust ruffled the doll’s dress as it lay on the passenger seat.

Casey remembered Halina’s warning and carefully lifted the doll’s lace frocked dress. The core of the manikin did feel “crunchy”. Casey’s left leg relaxed to join the right, back in the car. It did not seem as if the cotton torso had been torn or ripped. Casey then found a seam along the spine of the doll secured with sewn on snaps. Carefully, he opened the snaps, one by one.

Casey peered inside the doll, like a surgeon, to find she was a very clever receptacle. The doll’s body was filled with posted letters. Casey dismissed his earlier plan to battle for maritime treasures with Halina and closed the car door. The last thing he needed was her peering eyes and raucous voice. Casey started the car and headed for a quiet park just down the road. The ride filled him with layers of emotion, pushed down at the funeral. Layers now ripped open like the doll’s spine. He accidentally turned on the car wipers to clear his tears. Overwhelmed and somewhat dazed at his state, Casey parked the car and deadened the engine with a turn of the key.

In dimming autumn light, Casey carefully lifted a letter from the doll’s core. He speed read through tears, perfumed pages, and pressed flowers to learn of a love between Mikal and his mom. Their love had fused and bloomed into himself, a child from true hearts. Casey, now reading his mother’s words of devotion for her child to be, cried out in pain. Birds flew startled. Casey, scattered, looked past letters to carefully pick up the doll. He held it tight to his chest and slowly rocked. The doll brought him peace. Had it done so for Mikal? His orphan mother too? The questions denied consolation as did the meaning of his uncle’s name: ‘Who is like God?’

© ruth follmann