The Cats in the Doll Shop (2 page)

I happen to love libraries. Once a week, I walk up to the Tompkins Square Library on Tenth Street where I can check out books. I have my very own library card. The librarian, Miss Abbott, is so nice. She sets aside things she thinks I will like. She's always right, too. What if one day Miss Abbot were able to give a book
I
wrote to some other little girl coming through those doors? Wouldn't I feel proud!

“Those are all fine dreams,” says Mama. “If you work hard in school, you'll make them come true. And Tania—we want her to have a chance to dream, too.”

“How long will she be staying?” Sophie wants to know. “Will we have enough room for her?” I have to admit these are good questions. Our apartment has only four small rooms—kitchen, parlor, and two bedrooms.

“Your mother and I have talked about that,” Papa says, glancing over at Mama. From that glance, I can tell that some of the conversations haven't been so smooth. “Tania will be here with us for about a year,” he continues.

“A year! That's a long time,” says Sophie.

“Aunt Rivka needs that much time to make the money for her own passage,” Mama says. “And then she'll come over, too, and we'll help her find an apartment of her own nearby.”

“It's going to be crowded,” Trudie says. Sophie nods vigorously.

“Yes,” Mama says, lifting her chin a little. “It will be. And it may not be easy to have another girl living in your room.”

“We'll manage,” I tell Mama. “You can count on us.” Sophie and Trudie don't say a thing. “When will she be here?”

“That's what Rivka and I are trying to arrange now,” says Mama. “I'll let you know as soon we've figured it out.”

Shortly after that conversation, September starts and with it, school. Trudie is in fourth grade now. She has the same teacher I had back when I was in that class. Sophie is in eighth grade, her last year in our school. Next year she'll be in high school, which seems impossibly grown up to me. And I'm in sixth grade, right smack in the middle, where I always am.

I begin to take more careful notice of the letters. I ask Mama what they say, so she reads them to us at night, after our lessons are done. It seems I have more schoolwork than last year. History, arithmetic, geography, spelling, and reading—my favorite. Sometimes I don't finish until late, and so Mama reads the letters while we are already in bed. Of course she has to translate from the Yiddish, or Trudie and I won't understand.

“July 7, 1915,” reads Mama one night just after school has started. She smooths the thin sheet of paper with her hand. “Today I went into town to get the papers Tania will need to make the trip. I'll fill them out and then next week, I'll deliver them to the proper office.”

“July?” says Trudie. “It's already September.” She leans over to get closer to the letter—not that she can read it anyway—and her elbow pokes me in the side.
Ouch.
My sisters and I sleep together in one big bed. I didn't mind so much when we were little, but now that we are getting bigger, I wish we didn't have to share. Papa says since Tania is coming, he will be getting us new beds, one for each of us. No more sharing! I am looking forward to
that.

“It takes time for the letters to get here,” Mama explains. “A long time.”

“Keep going,” I say, inching away from Trudie as best I can. “What else does she say?” So Mama continues reading, and even though I can sense my sisters losing interest, I want to hear every word. I crane my neck so I can see the foreign letters on the page.

“Mama,” I ask. “Will Tania be able to speak English?”

“No,” Mama answers. “So I hope that's something you girls can help her with—learning English.”

“I can do that,” Sophie says, rather boastfully in my opinion. “I'm going to be a teacher, remember?”

“That would be wonderful,” Mama says. “Just what we need.”

I don't say anything, but privately I think that if Sophie is going to act like a know-it-all with our cousin, she isn't going to be much help to her.

To my surprise, the next day there is another letter. Mama reads it to us after supper. “Tania's application was finally approved. Now I have to buy the ticket and start packing.” As I listen, I wonder if Tania has a favorite doll. Will she bring it along with her? Then I wonder if she has a doll at all. For a long time, Sophie, Trudie, and I did not have dolls of our own, even though our parents had a doll repair shop. Dolls, especially bisque and porcelain dolls, are very costly. We used to play with the dolls our father fixed, but we did not own them.

Then the Great War broke out in Europe. America sided against Germany. All of the doll parts Papa used for repairs came from Germany. Because of the war, the parts were no longer available. Some of the dolls, including the ones we named Bernadette Louise, Victoria Marie, and Angelica Grace, were abandoned by their owners. It was only for that reason that we were able to keep them. Now Mama and Papa do not fix dolls but make them instead. They produce Nurse Nora—who was
my
idea and is now everyone's favorite—and also a fairy doll and a queen doll.

Mama told us that Aunt Rivka is poor, and it has taken her a long time to save the money for Tania's ticket. So I am pretty sure that Tania will not have a doll, or even if she does, it will not be a very nice one. Well, if Sophie decided that she will be Tania's English teacher, I decide that I will be the one to help her get a doll. Maybe it will be one of the dolls that Papa and Mama make. If I ask Papa, he will probably let Tania have Nurse Nora. I wonder if Tania would like her.

But then I get another idea. A much better idea. I will
make
a doll for Tania, all by myself. A Russian princess ? A Spanish dancer? A bride with a long train and a lace veil? I don't know yet. But what I do know is that she will be a very special doll, a gift to my cousin that comes straight from my heart.

Although the big calendar Papa keeps posted in the doll shop says September 1915, the days are as beautiful, warm, and golden as summer. I lag behind my sisters on the way to school, wishing I could stay outside and play instead of going inside to join my class. And on the way home, I let them get even farther ahead, stopping to look in all the shop windows along the way. There's a shop that sells only buttons, and another that sells hats of all kinds. My favorite is the store that sells the prettiest undergarments for ladies and girls. I love the frilly petticoats and delicate camisoles, the embroidered nightdresses and matching robes. I wish I could buy Mama a set like that for her birthday.

When I get to the candy store at the corner of Hester Street, I check my pocket. Empty—too bad. If I had any money from my allowance—two cents a week—I would stop for a soda or a milk shake.

When I finally do get home, I still don't want to go inside, so I head out in back of the shop, where there is the barest sliver of a yard with hard, parched dirt that grows exactly nothing. Even the weeds struggle back here.

“There you are!” I turn to see Sophie, who has followed me outside. “Trudie and I have been home for an hour. We were wondering where you were.”

“I came home a different way,” I tell her.

“I've just about finished my lessons. You haven't even started yours yet,” Sophie says.

“In a minute,” I tell her.

“Suit yourself,” says Sophie, and goes back inside.

I sigh. There was a time not so long ago when I thought Sophie was beginning to view me not as a little sister but as an equal. Lately though, it seems she has gone back to thinking that I am just so far behind.

Sophie is changing, both outside and in. She has gotten taller, and though it pains me to admit it, even prettier. She no longer wears her hair in braids and is occasionally allowed to wear it up, like when we go to
shul
on the holidays or when Mama and Papa invite company for dinner. And on her last birthday, Mama gave her a pair of earrings with real garnets at the center. The dark red stones glow against Sophie's pale skin. I am so jealous of those earrings! They belonged to Mama's own mother, and Mama says when I am a little older, she will give me a pair, too, but it is hard to wait.

Is it any wonder that I sometimes need to be by myself, even if that means sitting in the drab, cramped yard, looking up at the backs of the neighboring buildings and the network of black metal fire escapes that are attached to them? There is another tiny yard directly behind ours, separated by a brick wall. At the end of that yard is a building much like the one we live in. The view is pretty dull, but I continue to look at it anyway, because there is nothing else to look at.

So that is how I happened to see her—the big gingercolored kitty padding along the third-story fire escape attached to the building just behind ours. Judging from her swollen belly, I am almost sure that she is going to have kittens. Soon. In fact, I'll bet she is probably looking for a place to have them right now.

Immediately, I head back into the shop, where the three worktables are covered with scraps of fabric and dolls in different stages of production. Papa is cutting the twine on a box. Mama is attaching capes to Nurse Nora dolls. Our two new employees, Kathleen and Michael O'Leary, are busy working on other dolls. Michael gives me a little wave. I smile back, but I don't stop to chat.

“Sophie!” I call. “Sophie! Trudie! Come quick.”

Trudie comes right away, but Sophie doesn't answer. So I lead Trudie out back, where the cat is now sitting on the fire escape.

“Look!” I say, pointing upward.

“What?” Trudie does not see.

“There! I wave my arm excitedly. “That big orange cat. Don't you see her?”

“I do now!” says Trudie. “But why is she so fat?”

“She's going to have kittens,” I explain. “And she's looking for a good place to have them.”

“The fire escape doesn't seem like a very good place,” Trudie says.

“The fire escape doesn't seem like a very good place for what?” Sophie comes out into the yard. She has arranged her hair in a new way, with two small braids wound around her head and secured with pins. The rest, long and loose, hangs down her back. Where did she get the idea for
that
? The style makes her look a bit unfamiliar. And older, too.

“Doesn't seem like a good place to have kittens,” says Trudie.

“Who's having kittens?”

Together, Trudie and I point to the ginger cat, who is now pacing nervously across the fire escape.

“Trudie, go get that box that's under the table by the window,” Sophie says. Then she turns to me. “Can you find something soft and warm, Anna? One of the rags Mama uses for cleaning. Or even two?”

Trust Sophie to waltz in late and start taking over like she is the one in charge. Still, I can see what she has in mind—a bed for the soon-to-be-mother cat. And she did ask me very nicely about the rags. So I run upstairs in search of the rag basket.

Inside, Mama is in the kitchen making supper. One of our neighbors, Mrs. Kornblatt, is sitting at the table. She and Mama are chattering away and take no notice of me. I slip past them and dig through the rag basket, where I find two pieces of faded blue flannel. Perfect to line a cat bed. I go downstairs to where Trudie is waiting with the box, but I don't see Sophie. I lay the flannel inside.

“Do you think the cat will come down here?” Trudie asks.

“We need something to lure her,” I say.

“I've got just the thing,” says Sophie, walking back into the yard with a bag on her arm. “Look.” She pulls out a tiny pitcher filled with cream, and a saucer.