The Dollhouse Romance Read online

  Their praise is enough to make a timber wolf blush. I just laugh away their flattery, though a secret part of me is delighted to be so appreciated. I wonder what David will say when I take his dinner upstairs. My stomach does little flips. I can’t decide whether that’s because I’m nervous about the riddle test going poorly, or if it’s because I’m so eager to see him again. It’s ridiculous to want to see him again.

  All through dinner, the Whitmans tease each other. They even include me, joking about what the chefs must have thought as I stole bitty portions for the tray. Whenever a few sentences pass and I’m not part of them, Nathaniel pulls me back into the conversation with his quick wit. If he were at high school, he’d be a class clown. As it is, he’s the perfect host who carefully steers everyone away from darker topics.

  “Now there’s another girl, we can hold dances again,” he tells his mother. Under the table, his boot meets mine in a gentle nudge. I can’t stop the flattered grin that springs to my lips – he makes me feel so accepted. I nudge him back.

  Eleanor’s face lights up. “I’ll plan a party to celebrate our new freedom.”

  George scowls. “It’s not freedom yet.”

  “It’s better than the drawer, dear.” Her voice drops into a low, playful reprimand. “And that’s worth celebrating.”

  He allows her to wipe the corner of his mouth with her napkin. When she’s done, she squeezes his nose and returns to her broccoli.

  Nathaniel and Henry keep eating and talking as if their parents’ behavior is totally normal. In my world, married couples aren’t so openly affectionate. In fact, I can still hear my own parents shouting at each other. The vicious accusations they didn’t bother to hide. Since The Abandoner left, it’s been peaceful – but how isolated Mamá and I are! What I would give, to be part of a family like this!

  Normally, I avoid thinking about my father. But I wonder, for the thousandth time, how different my life might have been if he had stuck around. Maybe Mamá would have smiled more. Maybe, with his paycheck, she wouldn’t have had to work two jobs plus the Navy Reserves. Maybe she wouldn’t be missing in action right now.

  I’m a traitor. Mamá’s missing, probably dead, yet here I am laughing, even letting Nathaniel flirt with me. It’s not right. Perhaps, by the sheer power of my misery, I can earn the cosmic right to bring her home. Instead, I’m enjoying myself with new friends and a gorgeous dollhouse. I’m so ashamed.

  Henry, sitting next to me, nudges me with his elbow. He has to do it twice before I look at him. “I know what you’re thinking,” he whispers. “I do the same thing. Your mother would be happy to know you’re happy. Just like my Alexis would want me to be.”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s not betrayal,” he continues in his low whisper. “Doesn’t she try to cheer you up when you’re sad? Wouldn’t she rather you go to a party and be with friends?”

  “I can’t help it. I miss her so much.”

  “I know. Better smile now, though. My mother’s pretty perceptive when it comes to how people feel.”

  Yep. Eleanor’s looking at us with questions in her eyes.

  “Our little friend could use some amusing,” Henry announces.

  She’s quick to catch his intention. “She’s never seen the workshop. George, dear, why don’t you show her the marvels you create down there?”

  “They’re just toys,” he mumbles, but he brightens at the chance to show off his work. “Follow me, young lady.”

  Henry rises from the table, too. “Want some help with the dishes, Mother?”

  “How nice, Henry. Nathaniel, why don’t you run dinner up to your brother? Tell him I’ll be up soon.”

  Nathaniel pouts. From the way he’s watching me, it’s obvious he’d rather go with us downstairs. “I’ll hurry. See you soon.”

  “Okay,” I reply, baffled by his desire to spend time with me. I’m not pretty and I certainly don’t have the best personality. My entire dating record so far consists of one boyfriend back in sixth grade. Boys simply don’t notice me. Maybe Nathaniel’s just interested because I’m something new in his otherwise boring life. Or because I’m the only available female in his world. Or maybe he really does like me and I’m too stupid to play along. I never did understand the rules of the dating game, the way other girls insist on getting gifts like teddy bears or flowers as proof of their guy’s love.

  David wants to spend time with me, too – he invited me back at midnight. But that’s more a business arrangement than a social call. His family’s entire fate depends on testing my hypothesis for the riddle. So maybe his desire to be around me isn’t sincere, either.

  Enough calculating! Too much head, not enough heart. I’ve known them for less than a week, so any factoring is totally unrealistic. Why am I planning a future in my head with either one of them?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

  MODERN ARCHITECT

  To me, everything in George’s basement workshop looks like misplaced tools and projects covered in wood shavings. As he talks, though, it becomes clear he’s organized in his own way. A large circular table squats in the center of the room, with two smaller tables up against the far wall, and rows of baskets filled with tiny toilets, tubs, sinks, lamps, wire coils, bricks, pipes, shingles… everything he’d need to build dollhouses. Or tiny real houses.

  “That child was obsessed with houses,” he says, shaking his head. “I think it’s why she kidnapped me and my family in the first place – so I’d keep building for her.” He gestures to another row of shelves filled with nearly a dozen perfect dollhouses. “I don’t know if she plans to shrink anyone else, but if she does, they’ll be able to live in these.”

  He hands me a cottage. It’s heavy! If I were standing outside the dollhouse, big, the thing would be the size of a large matchbox. Here, though, it’s as big as a toaster.

  “A doll’s dollhouse,” I murmur. Except for its size and the way it swings open in the middle, it could really be someone’s home. I pass it back to him. “I don’t know much about toys, but this could be worth a fortune. You should consider selling them when you get back to the real world.”

  “No chance of that. We always thought once Phoebe grew up, she’d be able to reverse the damage she caused. But she’ll never grow up, so there’s no hope.”

  I almost tell him about the riddle, but David’s right. It’s not solved yet. Offering false hope seems cruel. “Maybe she’s changed her mind. It’s been a century, right?”

  “You’ve got the mirror. Is she still throwing tantrums?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she hasn’t changed.”

  “Isn’t there anyone, another Artemic maybe, who can help?”

  “They already tried. The best they could do was make us comfortable while we wait.” He snorts through his nose. He makes a grand, sweeping gesture to the waist-high table in the middle of the room. It looks like a model village, but I’m learning things here aren’t toys. “The village of Whitman. My dream property for my family.”

  The closer I get, the easier it is to see the circular table isn’t a table at all, but rather a hemisphere of earth supported by table legs. A thick forest of tiny oak, maple, and apple trees fringe the perimeter. In the center of the forest, twenty-five blocks lay in a five-by-five grid to form a square village. I bend to inspect the cobblestone streets, a water-powered mill for grinding flour, and several stores. I’m looking so closely I don’t see the sparkles floating in a sphere around the table until my nose almost touches them. With a yelp, I leap backward. They’re just like the dome that surrounds the dollhouse, except those sparkles are green and these are ocean blue. “Is it safe? The sparkles, I mean.”

  He frowns. “You mentioned that before. Sparkles. Do you see them?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No. What color are they?”

  When I tell him, he nods in understanding. “Each Artemic has her own color, as Henry told you. This land was a present to Phoebe from Callista, one of
the Aunts, but Phoebe gave it to me as a sort of apology. Now that you mention it, I seem to remember Callista favored ocean blue. She’s the only one who knew the ancient secret of making terrariums. See how she channeled the river here at the edge of town? It goes into the earth and cycles back up to the mouth. A circular spring, she called it.”

  I turn my attention back to the village under the dome. Those are real roses and tulips in the central park, fringed by tiny white blossoms that perfume the air.

  “Sweet alyssum,” he tells me. “Easy to grow. Phoebe shrank all kinds of seeds for us.”

  “So I could really eat one of those apples?”

  “Go ahead.” He gestures toward the trees, careful to keep his distance.

  I pinch off a bead-sized apple and pop it in my mouth. It’s just as juicy and full of flavor as a real apple. Because it is real, I remind myself.

  “He planted all of this, Nathaniel did. He loves to grow things. Like his mother.” He points to the four houses in the northwestern corner near the barn and community garden plot. Each house sits on its own block. “This house is for Mother and me, and then each of the boys gets his own.”

  One of the homes uses part of its back yard for a garden. All its plants are dead and have started to decay. “Nathaniel’s, right?”

  He nods. “For a few years, we’d go to town when we needed fresh air and green grass. But one day, Nathaniel got stuck. Couldn’t get out without turning to wood. Phoebe had to fetch him. We haven’t used it ever since, except to look at. And dream.”

  That explains why George stands so far away from the table. He’s afraid to touch his little village. “You stopped building?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “Too bad. I’d love to live here, myself. It’s so much prettier than anything nowadays. Of course, you’d need to add a supermarket and a movie theater to make it more modern. We don’t use mercantiles or millineries anymore.”

  “You don’t?” He wags his head. “Things sure have changed since my day.”

  “Not for the better, though. Nowadays we build functional things. Big, ugly boxes for churches and supermarkets and schools. No more flower boxes under the windows. No porches for swinging on, either. Trust me. I’ve lived in a lot of different houses, and none of them are as charming as what you build. My world could use you again.”

  I’m still too shy to admit I could use him! After all, he’s an architect. And more than anything else in this world, I want to build a home for Mamá. Remembering what Eleanor said about him needing to feel useful, I blurt out my idea. “What if I teach you about modern towns, and you teach me how to build my own house? I’ve been sketching plans for years, but I have no clue how to make them real.”

  “You want to build?”

  “Girls do, nowadays. I already know how to paint and lay down flooring.”

  “Anyone can do that,” he says with a wave of his hand. “But figuring a roof pitch or wall width…”

  “I’m great with math. And I’m a hard worker. And…” I gulp. “It will give me something to do other than worry about my mother. I haven’t stopped thinking about her for even a minute.”

  His eyes fill with sympathy. But he shakes his head. “I don’t really build anything anymore. My projects were always large-scale. To be forced into miniaturization… to never enjoy the actual result of my labor… it’s too futile.”

  “Oh, please, sir. There’s so much I’d be able to teach you in return. We use solar panels nowadays, and everything’s green – that means environmentally friendly – and you’ll have to learn about carbon footprints and HEPA filters.”

  “I would if it meant something, child. But anything you make in here will only turn to wood out in the real world.”

  Shuffle-bump, shuffle-bump. We both look towards the staircase, where David clings to the railing as he eases himself down step by step. He’s panting for breath by the time he reaches the bottom.

  “Son? What are you doing here?”

  David limps around a stack of beams on the floor and attempts a smile. “She’d make a fine apprentice, Father. Have you seen her portfolio?” He holds out my sketchbook.

  My heart leaps to my throat. I thank David with my eyes while George flips through my pages. His eyebrows furrow, then shoot upward in surprise. “These are good,” he murmurs.

  I hold my breath, waiting for his final judgment.

  “So you’ll teach her?” David presses.

  George almost relents. Almost. But he gets grumpy all of a sudden and pushes my sketchbook back at David’s chest. “She shouldn’t be here. You know the risk.” Without another word, he huffs his way upstairs and slams the door shut when he reaches the top.

  David gives me back my book. “Sorry.”

  I hug it to my chest, ready to cry. “Thanks for trying anyway.”

  “Don’t give up, Miss Zenia. He needs time to consider new ideas. I shall find a way to force his hand.”

  He seems sincere, but George was too firm. “Don’t promise what you can’t deliver.”

  “Like your promise to break our curse?”

  “That’s different. Someone out there thinks I can do it.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  He looks like he wants to say something else, but Nathaniel comes tumbling down the stairs in a whir of excitement. “Mother’s trying to cheer up Father with some waltzes. What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing,” David replies.

  “Well, she says you’re to come play the piano.”

  “In a minute. I’m busy.”

  “She said immediately.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  Henry’s voice floats down the stairs. “David? You down there?”

  Nathaniel smirks. “See?”

  He sighs. “Please excuse me,” he tells me with a slight bow. Then he tackles the staircase again. It hurts me to watch him.

  Nathaniel offers me his arm. “You’re invited, too.”

  “To dance?” I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

  His arm wilts back to his side. “Why not?”

  Should I tell him how clumsy I am? “I was supposed to have a quinceañera – like a sweet sixteen birthday party. In Paraguay we celebrate when we turn fifteen. It says you’re old enough to be presented to society.”

  “So it’s a coming-out party.”

  “Yes. The girls get to wear beautiful white dresses. Traditionally, it’s also your wedding dress, although people don’t get married quite so young anymore. Anyway, you’re supposed to know how to waltz by the time you have your quince.”

  He nods in understanding. “But you didn’t. What happened?”

  “Everything. Even if we could afford a fancy dress and presents for the guests, who would I have invited? We always move. No community, no roots. So there was no need to practice. Mamá made it special anyway – she bought me a really nice sketchbook and made me my favorite cake. And a week after that, I won a laptop from a science fair contest, so it was almost a birthday present. I don’t know what I’d do without my laptop.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” His blue eyes smolder as he looks at me across the model table. “Do you want to learn to waltz? And don’t say you’ll step on my toes or you have no rhythm.”

  “If you’re going to take away my excuses…” My heart begins to pound furiously as he walks around the village to my side.

  He steps close enough for me to smell his sweet, musky cologne. “I’m a very good teacher. Well?” He pauses a beat longer and then gently touches my face.

  I’m about to get kissed! My first kiss…

  He’s leaning closer and closer.

  Logic kicks in – I’m attracted to him physically, but not emotionally. Not yet. I turn my face just in time. “How do you know you’re a good teacher?”

  He takes half a step forward to keep from falling off balance. “I was… popular… before we got stuck in here. There were always dances to att
end – barn-raisings, social functions.”

  “Ah.” The surprised look on his face makes me chuckle. “And did you try to kiss every girl you danced with?”

  “Of course not!”

  But his objection’s a little weak. And that magnetic confidence of his is too practiced to believe entirely. “Ever the charming Musketeer, I see. But you gotta catch me if you want to dance with me.” I dash up the stairs two at a time, glad to be back in control.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

  BARRIERS

  Piano music’s playing when I enter the parlor, where Eleanor and George have shoved back chairs to clear a dancing space, but it comes from the gramophone, not the piano. David beckons to me. “Now might be a good time to test your theory,” he whispers when I join him. “My parents don’t look at anything else when they dance.”

  “What about your brother?” I jerk my head over my shoulder. Sure enough, Nathaniel’s right behind me.

  “What are you two clucking about?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” we both say at the same time.

  He levels a look of disgust at us. “Very convincing.”

  “Truth is, I’m kind of tired. It’s been a busy weekend and I have school tomorrow,” I say.

  “Just one waltz?”

  He’s so cute, how can I say no? “Maybe one.”

  He holds out his hand.

  I sit on the couch. “I meant to watch.”

  “Then I’ll join you.” He sits beside me.

  David silently plops himself on my other side.

  I feel claustrophobic, sandwiched between them like that. I rise quickly. “Or maybe I’ll just get some of Eleanor’s tea. I don’t know what she puts in it, but it’s amazing.”

  David rises, too. “It’s chamomile. I’ll fetch you some.”

  Nathaniel frowns and hauls himself off the couch. “Allow me.”

  They’re both so tall, my nose points toward the ceiling as I look up at them. “You know what? I really am tired. I’ll see you later.” I give David a meaningful look.

  He nods in understanding.

  They both jerk their arms up, ready to escort me to the front door. Between their old-fashioned manners and Amelia’s speed-walking, I’ve had enough escorting for a lifetime. Sudden irritation grips me. “I’ll find my own way out. Good night.”