The Dollhouse

Chapter 24

BY New Year's Day, the thick layers of snow had been cleared in towering mounds off the roads, slippery with ice. Large amounts had been bulldozed to clear room for the markets; seemingly, out of nowhere, a banner had appeared down the main street. It stretched across the streetlights, screaming  'Happy New Year 1965!'.

Bundling myself up in a coat and gloves, I made my way down the road alone. Irene refused to leave the comfort if the roaring fire, nibbling on leftover cakes. I was glad to escape the house - Violet locked herself in her room, and Rudy and Father Edgar had gone out to watch a football championship. Unexpectedly, it was a tradition they upheld every year.

"I didn't know you liked watching sport," I said.

"Generally, no," Rudy said, looping a scarf around his neck. "But it's something I've done with my uncle since the first time he visited us up here. He's always been good to me like that."

Distant sounds of the piano had been echoing through the Dollhouse. It found in comforting when I was holed up in the bath, lying back in the warm water.

Sometimes Violet would play a bit of Juliette Gréco on the record player. There was something about French music that seemed so avant-garde.

Dead trees with jagged icicles moved in the howling wind. There was a cruel bite to it, and I put my hood up in an attempt to cover myself. The curbs were crammed with cars submerged in white. The sky above was dreary, flecked with grey.

The gloom matched my mood. I wasn't feeling particularly sociable, not that it mattered, because Betsy declined our invitation to hang out anyway. I'd caught up with Sam and Nick at the diner a few days after Boxing Day, where we'd enjoyed hot coffee and camomile tea.

I caught my reflection in the store window. I was paler than Dracula. Nevertheless, I had an inkling it was not entirely due to the weather.

It was my mother's birthday today. Wistfully, I wanted so badly to deliver flowers to her grave - I had only seen it once in the cemetery back home. Face stinging, no one down the street would even look twice at my watery eyes.

Ordinarily I hated exercise, but I needed to clear my head.

Strings of lights with tiny purple bulbs were still hanging above shops, illuminating the dim street. Clumps of grey-brown sludge collected in the gutters, the remains of snow run over repeatedly by vehicles.

The markets were held in the church hall - the same place Violet and I had sat outside on that rainy afternoon. I crossed over the slick black road, my boots splashing through the shallow puddles.

Adjacent to the shops, I saw an unexpected sight. Danny, ice skates slung over his shoulders, was coming out of the town library. A pile of books were wedged under his armpit, a few clippings from the paper flapping in the wind.

I quickened my pace. No way did I desire any conversation today.

When I came home, the adults were downstairs watching television, the pastel walls of the house a sanctuary from the bitter weather. Pennsylvanian winter had not spared even the highest of mountains. I imagined the stream we'd swum in only weeks before would be frozen over.

"Can you just make sure everything's okay upstairs?" Arabella asked me vaguely, penciling ground hog day on to a new calendar. "Mother heard some commotion."

"Bet she did," I uttered quietly.

I could help but think that Irene would die from shock if she unearthed the things I knew about this family. I had a strong feeling she'd hold some conservative opinions about honor. Charging up the stairs with a smirk creeping on my face, I could wait to find a pen and paper - the grandmother had inspired several characters which I could have fun playing with.