The Dollmage

“Why must she come?” Renoa asked.

“Because you are too lazy and willful to be Dollmage.”

“You are willful.”

“I am. And I will that Annakey come.”

“Why do you not name me the Dollmage?”

“When I do so, I will relinquish all my power. The villagers will need you to do the work of the Dollmage. You cannot work if you are off playing in the mountains.”

Renoa answered nothing. Even as she walked beside me, her heart was upon the mountain. I knew it. I had been grateful for it until now. As long as she was unnamed, I could delay my promise to go with my husband. Now, however, I was afraid. I walked resolutely to Annakey’s house, glad for Renoa’s sour face.

We found Annakey, already finished breakfast and bent over a blanket she was stitching.

She stood up. “There. It is done. See, Dollmage, what I have made.”

I could not help gasping.

The blanket was sky blue, with a yellow sun and pink and white clouds. Charming, but nothing that could not be done by another girl her age. What was startling was that there were birds embroidered into the sky. They were so cleverly sewn that one could distinguish what kind of bird each was, though none were bigger than my thumbnail: a plump robin, a bit-o’-sky, a jay, a dove, a thrush, a sparrow, a roof swallow, and a mill-thief. There were wild birds of the forest, tiny and perfect: quail, hawks, larks, and eagles. There was an entire flock of blackbirds. The blanket had been bordered in a darker blue, with tiny stars, and at the corners were clever moons in their stages. It had been made from scraps of yarn that others did not want. On the other side of the blanket was a worn, gray flannel lining. “For fog,”Annakey said, laughing.

“What have you done?” I said to Vilsa.

She said, “You told me to teach her the womanly arts.”

Renoa stared at the blanket and then at Annakey.

“It is a wonder,” I said sincerely, then. My admiration overcame my anger. God was right in giving Annakey the totem of a Dollmage, for in her hands it seemed there was skill. Nevertheless, the gift, I knew, was with Renoa. I knew this because of the beggar doll Renoa had made, and the worry doll she had helped to make. I knew this because I fed upon her power to do my work.

“My mother helped,” Annakey said, smiling at my praise. It was easy to see that her work had brought her much joy.

“I need Annakey to come with me,” I said to Vilsa. Her eyes asked for explanation, but I offered none.

“Dollmage,” Renoa said, “I want a blanket like this one.”

Ah, I thought, at last she is showing a desire to create in miniature.

“You will have to study it, to know how it was done, Renoa,” I said, smiling at her.

She frowned. “I want you to make it for me.”

“I can teach you,” Annakey said to Renoa.

“I cannot sew such things. My hands are made only for dollmaking,” Renoa said, and her voice was not dismayed but sharp. She glared at Annakey.

Annakey studied her hands and then looked at me. “I, too, want to make the beautiful things that you make, Dollmage.”

Renoa knew that Annakey had the promise doll of a Dollmage. She also knew that Annakey’s promise doll had a frown where hers had a smile, and that Annakey’s doll hung crookedly where hers hung straight. She had not feared that Annakey would have any power.

Now she looked at the charming sky blanket and for the first time she wondered if Annakey would not compete for her place as Dollmage. “The gift of dollmaking is not for you, but for me,” she said.

“You have not yet been named Dollmage,” Vilsa said quietly.

“She has a frowning promise doll. Mine smiles. Dollmage, I want a blanket just like this one. I want it, I want it.” She started to cry. “I hate her,” she said more quietly.

Vilsa’s face was pale, as if her whole soul was clenched in a fist. I saw her look from Renoa’s promise doll, to Annakey’s, then to her own. She placed her fingers lightly on her own promise doll and closed her eyes briefly.

“Annakey,” she said, “give Renoa the blanket.”

There was a silence in the room. The fire settled.

Annakey clutched the blanket. “Mama, no,” she said, so softly I barely heard.

“You see how Renoa weeps for it,”Vilsa said gently.

“It is mine,” Annakey said, more loudly now. She did not take her eyes away from her mothers.

“It would make her happy to have it. But it would make you happier still to give it. Do you understand, Annakey?”

Annakey shook her head and clutched the blanket close.

“Will you trust me?” Vilsa asked.

Annakey shook her head again, but her grip on the blanket loosened a little.

“You can make another blanket, Annakey,” her mother said. “But you may never get another chance to do so generous a thing for Renoa.”

“But, perhaps later, after I have slept with it one night?”

Her mother did not answer, but clutched her promise doll.

Annakey stared at Renoa with a frozen face. Finally, shaking, she slowly held out the blanket. Renoa snatched it with a cry of delight. She danced around the room with it. Annakey did not speak or move for a moment. Her face was blotched as if she had been struck.