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
