Gazing around the foyer of the abandoned old Victorian, Grace was overcome with sentimental nostalgia, “Well old girl, someone has finally come for you after all these years. I hope they cherish you and treat you as well as Ella did. You deserve nothing but the best.”
Grace had been the housekeeper for the previous owner’s family. Her heart was filled with all the love and joy this house had seen, but it was also grieving with the knowledge that young Ella had moved on without her. Grace had watched that little girl grow up within these walls and played with her every day. One day, Ella had simply disappeared. The house had gone dark and had been empty ever since.
Now, with someone new moving in, Grace feared Ella was gone for good. Grace had no idea who the latest owners were but had come to clean the house for the new proprietor. She worried they wouldn’t be as kind as Ella. However, if she was being truly honest with herself, Grace didn’t want to work for anyone else. No one would ever measure up.
Walking across the star-mosaic tile floor to the formal parlor, Grace slid the walnut pocket doors open. The family portrait hanging over the carved-marble fireplace across the room greeted her. Grace couldn’t help but grin when she remembered Ella confiding in her how much she hated sitting for that painting.
She had complained how the crotchety old painter made her remain perfectly still, no fidgeting or wiggling, for hours on that stiff, overstuffed ottoman with her little legs crossed uncomfortably ‘all proper like.’ The old man kept fussing with and pulling her hair. She had to finally beg someone to just plait her straight black locks, so he would leave them alone. (Grace thought her braided hair in the picture, tied with a blue satin bow and draped over her shoulder, looked truly fetching.) Ella had griped her parents, who were standing behind her in the painting, faces set as unflinchingly straight as their backs, had ignored the painter’s torture, and her mother even helped him.
“That backfired though, didn't it?” Grace laughed, smiling up at little Ella. “You told me the artist finally had to take your mama’s fan away from her because she moved too much bopping you on the head with it. She was the one who ultimately disrupted his painting, not you.”
Walking over to the magenta velvet covered chair and footstool in front of the fireplace, Grace proceeded to thump the dust from their soft, plush cushions. Turning to the opposing chestnut-brown leather chair, she wiped the tufted back and brass-nail trim of the chair. She lovingly picked up the gold-framed photo of Ella from the marble-topped, mahogany side table and shined the glass over the girl's smiling face. Grace started delicately removing the intertwined silk threads from the chandelier when she was startled by a rustling behind her. Quickly turning, she was disconcerted by what she did, and didn’t, see hanging over the fireplace.
“That girl isn’t Ella and that's not a painting,” Grace whispered, staring up at the large family portrait.
The young girl in the photograph wore a crushed red-velvet dress, white tights, and black patent leather shoes, and a red-satin headband tried to contain her bouncy raven ringlet curls. With her hands clasped demurely in front and her head tilted to the side with a timid smile dancing on her lips, she appeared adorably bashful standing in front of her grinning parents.
”And those are definitely not Ella’s stodgy parents,” Grace hoarsely muttered.
Fearing what she wouldn’t see, but nonetheless needing to be certain, Grace warily glanced at the gold-framed photo. Her heart ached when she saw Ella’s picture had been replaced by the bonny, curly-haired cutie. The last small physical connection Grace had to Ella had simply vanished, and Grace didn’t know how or why.
“What is happening?” Grace murmured as prickles of terror raced up her arm and across the back of her neck. “Ella told me once the safest place to hide when you’re scared is under a bed.”
Crossing herself for protection, Grace bolted back into the entrance hall and up the stairs.
“EEEEEE,” Olivia squealed when she saw the Victorian dollhouse underneath the Christmas tree. “Oh, Mommy, I love it. It looks just like Grandma’s house.”
Clapping her hands in front of her mouth, as if at evening prayer, Ella smiled at the joy emanating from her daughter’s face. “I’m so glad, dear. This dollhouse is very special to our family. It was Grandma’s when she was a little girl, and then she gave it to me when I was about your age. Grandma’s dad, my grandad, built it when she was little and made it look like their family’s home. Grandma still lives in that same house.”
Ella had been so excited to pass this cherished family keepsake to Olivia. When she was a young girl and had this dollhouse, Ella played with it every day. She hoped Olivia enjoyed it that much. Since pulling the dollhouse out of the attic last week, Ella had been rearranging and cleaning the furniture, adding new things, and updating photos. Now, sipping her Earl Grey, Ella sat back on the loveseat and watched Olivia slowly swing open the front of the three-foot tall house and begin exploring the rooms and furnishings.
“Look Mommy! The picture over the fireplace is our Christmas photo,” Olivia exclaimed excitedly. “And the gold frame on the table has a picture of me, too.”
Ella was elated. “I’m so glad you noticed. The tradition is to have those pictures be of the house’s owner. I replaced my old family painting with a new photo of you.”
After exploring a few more minutes, Olivia sat back in an exaggerated humph and furrowed her dark bushy brows in quizzical contemplation. She finally turned to her mom and gently put a comforting hand on Ella’s knee. “The house looks the same as Grandma’s, but I think you got her furniture all wrong. These things are way too old, Mommy. That’s okay though,” she promised, assuring Ella with a few light taps. “I still love it.”
Pulling her adoringly-innocent daughter into a giant hug, Ella hid her tickled smile in her little girl’s curls, “Sweetie, those are little copies of Grandma's furniture when she was growing up. The furniture and most of the dolls are original to the house.”
“That explains why the family's outfits are so old-timey,” Olivia giggled, as she looked at the top-hatted, coat-tailed gentlemen and petticoated, parisoled, and bonneted women.
“Grandma did have me pick out a new maid, though. I named her Grace,” continued Ella as she helped Olivia gently take the dolls out of the protective shoebox. “Grandma says every little girl who owns the house gets to choose their own unique maid. She will form a special friendship and bond with that girl and stay with her after the house moves on. That’s why Grandma kept her maid Betsy and I’ll eventually keep my Grace. You get to pick out a new maid that is special and perfect for you. For now, I left Grace with the others so you can see her.”
Ella’s maid Grace, however, was missing from the box. Following an exhaustive search of the house, Olivia finally found her underneath a bed on the top floor. Grace was a bedraggled mess. She had dust on her face and apron and cobwebs in her hair.
Ella was distressed when she saw her doll's mussed face and clothes. She never would have let Grace get so dirty. Getting to specially handpick Grace from all the dolls in the store, Ella had cherished and protected her. Grace had become Ella’s closest, and only, friend growing up. Spending more time with her than anyone, Grace had become Ella’s caretaker and confidant. She had shared all her secrets and dreams with Grace, knowing she would keep them safe.
“Don’t be upset, Mommy. I’ll get your friend cleaned up.”
Ella watched as her daughter gave Grace a thorough inspection. She checked Grace’s soft cloth body for any tears and examined her porcelain feet, hands, and face for cracks. Olivia gently cleaned the dirt smudges from Grace's face and brushed the cobwebs from her hair. Dusting the dirt from her apron, she sat her up next to the dollhouse.
“Thank you, honey. She looks beautiful.”
Ella tenderly picked Grace up, “I’ve missed you, old friend,” Gingerly cradling her childhood companion in her lap, she leaned down and inaudibly whispered, “After Olivia has gone to bed, we’ll have to come back and visit the dollhouse. We have a lot to catch up on.”
Oblivious to her mother’s tête-à-tête with Grace, Olivia had continued primping the other dolls. She was extremely meticulous with each one, as if it were a doll up in her bedroom. First Olivia fluffed the squashed skirts and petticoats of the mother and daughter’s dresses, before combing their tousled hair. The father and son simply needed their wrinkled suits straightened and their mussed hair slicked down. Placing the swaddled baby in its mother’s arms, Olivia sat the dolls up on the living room floor for an overdue family reunion.
“Look Mommy,” Olivia said, sitting back to admire her work. “I spruced them all up. Don’t they look better?”
“They look wonderful. You did a marvelous job.” Applauding her daughter’s work, Ella watched as Olivia started positioning each figure inside the dollhouse. She thoughtfully considered the placement of all five family members around the house then posed them in different rooms. With a satisfied smile, Olivia climbed into her mom’s lap and gently cuddled Grace.
“When I get my new maid, Mommy, we can invite Grandma over for a tea party. She can bring Betsy, and you can bring Grace.”
Wrapping her arms around Olivia and Grace, Ella pulled them both against her heart, “That sounds lovely, dear.”
Author: Katie Yusuf
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