The Dollmage

After that day I rarely slept well. When I woke the next morning, the weight of the day was a comfort compared to the dreams that had pinned me to my pillow. I decided it was Vilsa’s fault. When her cow died of the bloat that spring, I forbade the villagers to give her a widow’s allotment. “She would be offended since she believes she is not a widow,” I said. The following year I made sure all the sick and feeble had more than enough firewood for the winter. There was little left for Vilsa and Annakey. “Annakey is young and strong,” I said. “Let her chop.”

I hated to go into my secret, locked room. When I did, I would furtively bring out a piece of the broken valley doll and throw it in the trash. Soon there was not any of it left, but still I could not sleep. One day, I arose before dawn to walk away my bad dreams. As the sun lightened the sky, I stopped behind the shed. I thought I had seen my husband. He was not there, but in the faint light I saw footprints in the soft soil of the path. Worse, the ax had been moved from its usual place. Had he found his way out of the forest to come and cut my kindling for me? It would be so like him. But the dreams of the night pushed in on my waking a moment later, for I saw a black feather in the path, a message from the robber people.

The robber people had taken my ax.

It meant I was losing the power to make the story of my village, and for the first time in my life, I feared for my people.

Chapter 4

Inscription on the Planting Calendar doll:

Rutabagas are the key to happiness.

I hid the black feather so as not to alarm the village. The next morning, while the light was new and sideways, I went to summon Renoa to my house.

The clouds pinked up as I walked the path between the trees. In the clearing my shadow stretched out long and thin. I crossed the river and saw the waterbugs pluck at the water, and butterflies the color of new green leaves fly from under the bridge where they slept. No one could know by the beauty of the day that the robber people had discovered our valley. Because my house was farthest away from the other houses of the valley, because it was alone in the trees, the robber people had first come there. It was a precious thing to take, my ax, for it had belonged to my husband’s grandfather, but I knew from stories my grandmother told me of the other village that the ax would be only the beginning. The robber people are a cowardly people and would be timid at first. First they would steal an ax, then food from the gardens and sheds, then a cow. One day a woman would be gone, never to appear again, then children. The fear I felt as a child when my grandmother told me the stories returned to me now in my old age.

At the Willowknots’ house Renoa was peeling rutabagas.

“I need Renoa to come with me,” I said to Mabe.

“When she is done her work,” Mabe said. We had begun to despise one another. Mabe saw that I was causing dissension among her daughters by telling Renoa that she would be the village storymaker, that hers would be a life of seeing and making, far above her sisters who would labor all their lives in kitchens and gardens and fields. For my part, I felt to inspire Renoa to show her talent. Today, however, I had no heart to offend Mabe further and so I said, “Come, Renoa, when you are done your work.”

“No, Dollmage Hobblefoot,” Renoa said. “I would go with you now. I shall destroy my hands on these thick peelings.”

“Do as your mother says,” I answered.

Renoa was appalled. It was the first time I had upheld her mothers decision. One of her sisters laughed low from a corner of the house, and Renoa’s eyes slid from me to her mother to her sister. She went back to her peeling, but before I was out the door Renoa’s sister cried aloud. I turned to see blood dripping from Renoa’s hand.

“I told you I should destroy my hands if I were made to do such work. My hands are for dollmaking” Renoa said calmly.

Mabe’s skin went the color of the rutabaga. Her mouth would not close.

“It is not so bad,” I said to Mabe, thinking that she was fearful of the blood. “She will come with me, and I will bandage it.” Mabe’s fear was not assuaged by my words.

“Do you not see, Dollmage Hobblefoot? She draws her own blood to have her way,” Mabe said. She said it wonderingly, as if she had not given birth to the girl herself.

“Is this true?” I asked Renoa.“Did you cut yourself intentionally?”

She did not answer. She drew herself up tall and looked at her mother, defying her. I bound her hand myself, in silence, and a little roughly. After that day, Mabe Willowknot had little to do with disciplining her daughter. She became mine.

To punish Renoa I said, “Now we will fetch Annakey.” I said it also to arouse Renoa’s jealousy, to provoke her to study and work. I did not think of Annakey. God has since forgiven my ignorance, but punished me for my selfishness. That is the way he has always loved me.