The Dollmage

Many tried to find out about the dolls before the ceremony. Some asked subtle questions and reminded me of all the favors they had done for me. Some brought whitemeats and puddings to my door and tried peeking around while I thanked them. It was for naught. I had hidden the dolls in the secret, locked room of my house.

Before sunrise, on the day of the promise doll ceremony for the new babies, the women were moving quietly in the dark, covering the tables in the village common with hot bread, with dishes of fresh butter, stewed fruits, crisped salt-meats, baked brown eggs, and baskets of sweet buns. Milk still warm from the cows’ udders steamed from clay jugs.

The sun rose while the moon was still in the sky. Men and children tumbled out of their cottages and crossed the arched bridges to the common. The mountain forests gleamed green, polished by the heavy rains.The mountaintops were blue and there was no snow on them. The rushy waters of Shrink Creek were swollen to the tops of the banks, spilling over in places throughout the valley to water the fields already deep in corn. It was an auspicious day.

As the villagers gathered, they eyed the food but they would not touch it until after the ceremony. The four new mothers, holding their infants, stood in the center of the common. One by one I would hang the promise dolls, each as small as a child’s thumb, round the necks of the infants in the presence of the witnesses.

Because it was the day I would give the promise doll to the new Dollmage, I had also made memory dolls for each member of the village.

“Take them,” I said as you assembled. “Take them, one to a person. There are some of cloth and some of wax. Here, for you, the one who lingers in the back, who did not reach out to grab — for you, I have a glass one. Put it in the window of your home and see what happens. Here, little ones, whose arms are short for the grabbing, I have dolls filled with pebbles and corn and wheat, and for the infants I have some filled with horsehair or sheep’s wool or feathers.”

You pressed around me, my people, talking and laughing, for your memory dolls. Some of you did not want memory dolls, for you saw no benefit in remembering. To those I gave dolls with more than one purpose. For those, I had dolls with beaks and bills and snouts. “As you keep them,” I said, “so will your barnyard animals be healthy and avoid hoofrot and lice.

I may have forgotten to tell them that their memories, too, would have beaks and bills. That is what you get.

For a woman whose child whimpered at her breast, I had a fever doll, and for Old Man Peel, who had many sins, I gave a memory doll that was also a mercy doll. “Who said old age is a time of rest?” I said as I gave it to him.

Finally, when everyone had been given his gift, I stood upon Weepers Stump. In the ritual way I said, “God has given me the gift to fashion the god of your spirit. It is my gift and power to do so, and will any of you gainsay it?” Normally I do not wait for an answer, but today I let the silence hang in the air for a time.

“So have I done for the four babes.” I cleared my throat. “I have used two different types of wood for the boys, but the same wise beech for the girls. With my knife and many incantations I have carved the woods into small totems, each with ear markings, to ensure that we hear the promises others make and so encourage them in the keeping of those promises. Each has eye markings, so they can watch that we keep the promises we ourselves make. The other markings are different for each child. The markings of a Dollmage are given to none else. The powers of a Dollmage are breathed upon her by God, fallen down from heaven, dream-given. It is the gift. It cannot be taught or learned. It comes out of the sky and lands in a baby when she is born.The only things that can be learned are the dollmaking skills, and the ability to interpret the promise God has given each soul.” The crowd looked up at me expectantly, but some murmured among themselves.

“What is it?” I asked. No one answered.

“What is it?” I asked again.

Only Oda Weedbridge had the courage to speak up. “Dollmage,” she said, “they are wondering how you made promise dolls for the two girls, both born on the day upon which the Dollmage was to be born.”

I smiled patiently and nodded. “I will reveal to you now what I did. Both girls’ promise dolls have the eyes of a Dollmage: slightly askant so they may not see the world straight on, but that they might see under the corners of the everyday world. As I made them I will confess to you that I was amazed. How, I asked God, can there be two? I had searched the scripts of the Sacred dolls, and the law was clear: There shall be only one Dollmage in one village.

“Then God told me what to do, something that I have never seen done before. I made an important difference in the promise dolls. Then, he told me to allow the babes to choose before all the people.”