Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.
 

Chapter Eighteen: The Doll Whisperer

Most boys don’t play with dolls—and some do.
 

It was a warm, sleepy sort of Thursday—one of those late-summer days where the sun filtered through the blinds like warm syrup and the world outside seemed to be waiting for school bells and falling leaves. Ethan—wearing one of his several little housewife dresses, this in light green gingham—had just finished wiping down the mantle in the living room when Colleen approached him.

“You’ve done such a lovely job in here,” she said, adjusting the white ribbon holding his dark brown hair in place. “Why don’t you take a little break, sweetheart? Auntie Penelope wants to take you out for a bit.”

Ethan froze, still holding the dust cloth. “Out? Like, out out?”

Colleen smiled sweetly. “Just a quick errand. She needs help carrying something delicate. I just laid out an outfit on your bed—something simple, don’t worry.”

Ethan sighed. This was happening more and more, going out dressed as Emily. He still hadn’t gotten over his fear of discovery, especially in such a small town—plus, it was just the bother of having to put on his wig and getting dressed and all of the little things that included. But he did it anyway, partly because it was expected and—if he was honest—the element of danger was a bit seductive, despite his anxiety.

After putting away his cleaning supplies he followed his mother upstairs to their former guest room—or what Colleen unironically called “Emily’s Room.” On the quilted coverlet lay a pale peach dress with fluttery cap sleeves and a scalloped white collar, dainty pearl buttons marching down the front like tiny soldiers. White socks. White patent Mary Janes. And, of course, a large satin bow—in the same shade of peach as his dress—for his hair.

He looked at the wig that had been set out—the one with the ringlet curls—and could already feel his insides tingle.

“I don’t know…” he began, trying to ignore his mother’s raised an eyebrow. “In public… in that, Mother? It’s going to make me look like a little girl.”

“Well, I would hope so,” she said, amused. “Better than looking like a little boy.”

“I guess so.”

“But seriously, darling—” Colleen smirked— “after all you’ve been through, you’re not afraid of a little shopping trip with your auntie, are you?”

“I guess not,” Ethan muttered, cheeks already pink.

“Then be a dear and get changed.”

 

* * *
 

Twenty minutes later, he was seated primly beside Auntie Penelope in the passenger seat of her spotless powder-blue Cadillac. She wore a floral blouse with a brooch shaped like a cameo, her gray hair pinned back neatly beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. She smelled faintly of lavender and just a touch of something old and spicy—vintage perfume, Ethan guessed.

“You look darling,” she said casually as she adjusted the mirror. “Like a sweet little Sunday school girl. If only your posture were better.”

Ethan straightened reflexively.

Penelope smiled. “There. That’s the spirit.”

 

* * *
 

The antique store was tucked between an old shoe repair shop and a shuttered soda fountain, the front window cluttered with teacups, bird cages, and a half-dressed mannequin in a 1940s swimsuit. A hand-painted sign read Miss Agatha’s Curios & Collectibles – Est. 1932.

A bell tinkled overhead as they stepped inside.

“Well, if it isn’t Penelope Whitaker,” came a voice from the back. “And who is this darling creature?”

Miss Agatha was a trim, birdlike woman in her seventies with cat-eye glasses and lipstick just slightly too dark for her complexion. She wore a pencil skirt and blouse, a string of beads clacking as she walked.

“This is my niece, Emily,” Penelope replied smoothly. “She’s visiting for the summer.”

Ethan managed a stiff curtsy and a mumbled, “Hello, ma’am.”

“Oh my! Such manners! And what a beautiful little dress.” Agatha beamed. “You don’t see girls dressing like this much these days.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said, barely audible.

Penelope led him past a display case of cameo brooches and into the back room, which smelled of cedar and powder. Along the way they passed a collection of dusty old dressing mirrors. He paused for just an instant to look at himself—it felt like he was being watched by a dozen or so curly haired little girls, all dressed in peach.

I look like I’m eight years old. In an act of self-mockery, he struck a pretty pose for just an instant, then shook his head at the effort. It’s a good thing Dani isn’t here—she’d never let live this down.

“Why don’t you explore a bit while I speak with Agatha about that sideboard,” his adopted aunt said. “There’s a little tea set in the corner, and I believe there are some dolls too.”

“Dolls?” Ethan blinked. “Auntie, really?”

Penelope’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to play with them. But it might be nicer than standing around looking like a nervous little rabbit.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing and wandered to the corner where a faded pink rug lay beneath a dainty child-size table. The tea set was porcelain, painted with roses and faint gold trim. Beside it sat a wooden cradle with three dolls nestled inside: one raggedy, one plastic, and a porcelain one exquisitely dressed in pink velvet.

Ethan knelt slowly and picked up the third. She had dark ringlets, soft lashes, and a tiny beaded necklace. Her name—stitched into her lace petticoat—was Adeline.

“She was handmade in Paris,” came Agatha’s voice behind him, soft as a memory. “One of my personal favorites.”

Ethan almost dropped her. “Oh—I was just—sorry, I—”

“No need to panic, darling. I always say: dolls are meant to be held. Especially by young ladies with gentle hands.”

Penelope appeared beside her, arms folded. “She does have gentle hands, doesn’t she?”

Agatha smiled knowingly. “She does.” She crouched beside Ethan. “Would you like to take Adeline home?”

He stared at her, stunned. “I don’t know. I’m not really—I mean, I already have several—”

“She’s talking about those modern fashion dolls girls like nowadays,” Penelope told her friend. “You know, Barbies and the like. The child doesn’t know a proper doll to save her life.”

The shopkeeper chuckled. “A girl like Emily should have a proper doll,” she said warmly, brushing imaginary dust from Ethan’s collar. She stood up and looked at Penelope and winked. “I’ve been waiting for the right little girl to adopt Adeline. Your pretty niece just might be the one, don’t you think?”

Penelope grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Adeline could not be in safer hands.”

Ethan bristled. “But Auntie… what about?—”

“Tut-tut,” the old woman smirked. “Grown ups are talking, darling.”

He looked at his aunt. He hated when she raised her eyebrow like that.

“Yes, Auntie,” he whispered.

The two women whispered to one another and a deal was struck. Ethan overheard a dollar amount, but he had to be mistaken: No doll is worth that much money, he thought.

“Then it’s settled,” Agatha said. “Adeline is yours, dear. On one condition.”

Ethan’s eyes widened.

“You must promise to treat her with care. Brush her hair. Keep her dressed nicely. Speak kindly to her, especially when no one else is around. Dolls have feelings too, you know.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” He dipped slightly at the knees, wincing as he realized that he’d done so without thinking.

The two women exchanged smirks. “Good girl,” Penelope cooed approvingly. “You get to know Adeline while I finish up with Miss Agatha, all right. That’s my girl.”

Ethan held Adeline carefully in his lap all the way home, watching the afternoon light flicker across her glassy eyes and wondering—half in dread, half in something else he couldn’t name—how he ended up with yet another doll. He already had so many, the one Penelope bought him in Capital City, his mother’s old fashion dolls… and now an old-fashioned baby doll? It wasn’t as though he hated dolls—he actually thought they were kind of interesting, if he was honest about it—but sometimes he felt like he was falling further and further into the role of being Emily… and he worried that one day he might find himself trapped… with no way out.

And if that ever happened… what would come next?

 

* * *
 

By the time they returned to the house, the sun had dipped low behind the trees, casting long golden shadows across the lawn. Ethan stepped gingerly out of the Cadillac, Adeline still nestled carefully in his arms, wrapped in tissue and reverence. From the trunk Penelope retrieved a small pink and gold painted cradle—containing a silver brush, a tiny satin hair bonnet, and two spare doll outfits.

“Well,” she said with mock solemnity, “Miss Adeline is officially under your guardianship now, young lady. I expect nothing less than devoted service.”

Ethan swallowed hard. “Yes, Auntie Penelope.”

Penelope kissed him lightly on the crown of his wig. “Good girl.”

 

* * *
 

Inside, the house was quiet. Colleen was in the kitchen, apron tied smartly over her blouse, hands busy arranging dinner in the oven. She turned as they entered and paused, eyes flicking from the cradle Penelope carried to the doll in Ethan’s arms.

“Oh my…” she murmured, taking in the whole tableau. “That’s Adeline, isn’t it?”

“You know her?” Ethan asked, surprised.

“Oh, everyone who’s been to Agatha’s knows Adeline,” Colleen replied, wiping her hands and stepping closer. “She’s been there for as long as I can remember. But she never left the shop… until now.”

Ethan flushed. “Auntie said I could have her. Miss Agatha almost insisted.”

“I’m not surprised,” Colleen said softly. She reached out and touched the little doll’s velvet sleeve. “She looks happy. Doesn’t she, Penelope?”

“Oh yes,” Penelope said sweetly. “And I dare say our Emily will be an excellent little doll mother, once she gets used to it.”

Ethan shifted on his feet. “She’s not, um… like a toy, is she?”

Colleen’s smile deepened. “Oh no, darling. Not a toy. A keepsake. A responsibility. Just like you are for me.”

He looked down at the doll again. Her face was porcelain perfection—painted lips, delicately arched brows, and eyes that never quite blinked. In the right light, they shimmered.

Colleen rested a hand on Ethan’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come now, little miss. Let’s get Adeline settled in her new home.”

 

* * *
 

Upstairs, in Emily’s room, Colleen had cleared a space just the right size on the dresser for Adeline’s cradle.

“Here we are,” Colleen said, gesturing to the shelf. “Why don’t you place her down, gently now.”

Ethan obeyed, handling Adeline as if she were made of glass and laying her in the cradle. The pink velvet of her dress shimmered faintly against the soft floral quilt beneath her. Her tiny bonnet, now tied over her curls, made her look like a child from another century.

He looked over at the vintage Barbies his mother had given him, and the “I Love Lucy” doll he’d gotten at Capital City. Part of him winced to think what his friends would say if they knew he had a collection of such childish, foolish things—another part of him felt a bit of excitement in knowing that he could cross between two worlds, being a girl and being a boy.

“She looks… kind of regal,” he said.

“She is,” Penelope said from the doorway. “She’s a little lady, like you. And little ladies require care. You’ll brush her hair every night, hmm? And no tossing her about. I don’t want to find her under your bed or—heaven forbid—with one of your old action figures.”

“I don’t have those anymore,” Ethan muttered.

Colleen chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Those were boxed up a while ago.”

There was a pause—quiet, full of lace and glances.

Colleen stepped closer, smoothing a wrinkle from Ethan’s dress. “Every girl remembers a favorite doll,” she said softly. “It’s… a sort of rite of passage.”

Ethan looked up at her. “But I’m not really—”

She touched a finger to his lips. “Hush, sweetheart. Adeline doesn’t care. And neither do we.”

Penelope’s voice chimed in behind them. “She’s part of the family now. Just like you, Emily.”

Ethan felt something shift in his chest then. Something small but unmistakable. A strange flutter of pride and terror all at once. He glanced at Adeline. Her eyes seemed to gleam.

“Come downstairs when you’re ready,” Colleen said, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “And do fix your ribbon before dinner. You got it crooked somehow.”

She and Penelope left the room, closing the door with the softest of clicks.

Ethan stood alone for a moment, fingers twitching near his skirt hem. Then he turned to Adeline and whispered, “I guess… I’m your mother now?”

Adeline didn’t answer, of course. But he could feel her approval.

He sighed, bent to straighten his ribbon in the vanity mirror… and smiled, just a little, at his reflection.

 

* * *
 

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of lace curtains and the rhythmic brushing of Adeline’s hair. Ethan sat cross-legged on the rug in his—no, Emily’s—room, dressed in his “after-dinner frock,” as Penelope called it. Soft rose-colored cotton with tiny white tulips. A sash that tied in a bow so large it made sitting back in a chair nearly impossible.

This isn’t too bad, he thought as he studied the little brush he’d been running through Adeline’s locks. He shifted his shoulder, adjusting an errant bra strap. At least Dani isn’t around to tease me.

Penelope sat in the rocking chair by the window, her knitting needles still in her lap, untouched for the last ten minutes.

“I was seven,” she began abruptly, startling Ethan from his careful parting of Adeline’s ringlets. “And I remember it because my grandmother had just given me a hideous plaid jumper for Christmas. I detested it. Red and green. It made me look like a boiled ham at a church picnic.”

Ethan blinked. “You… wore plaid?” saying it like it was a bad word.

“I endured plaid,” she corrected tartly. “And only because Grandmother insisted on photographs. Which, mercifully, were lost in the fire. But never mind that. The point is, that year… I didn’t get a doll.”

She paused. Let the silence hang just long enough to pull Ethan’s curiosity forward.

“My younger sister, Mary Alice, did. A proper bisque doll, imported from Germany. Blonde curls, blue eyes, a trunk of dresses that would put your little Emily wardrobe to shame.”

Ethan glanced down at Adeline, suddenly and oddly protective.

“I wasn’t jealous,” Penelope went on, adjusting a fold in her skirt. “At least not at first. I thought, ‘Why should I want a silly doll? I’m not some simpering baby.’ I said as much, too—loudly, and with a toss of my head, I’m sure. Grandmother said I was ‘showing off.’”

Ethan nodded. That sounded like something Penelope would have done.

“Shortly afterward, Mary Alice got sick and died,” she said softly. “Diphtheria. While everyone grieved, I crept upstairs and found the doll box. Took it out. Unwrapped her. I can still remember the smell—like lavender and sawdust. I sat with her for almost an hour, brushing her hair, trying on the different dresses. Pretending her name was Mary Alice.”

She sighed. “I suppose that was my way of grieving.”

Ethan said nothing. Adeline stared up at him from his lap.

“Of course,” Penelope continued, “I was caught.”

“What happened?” he asked, truly intrigued.

“Oh, nothing terrible,” she said breezily. “Just shame. My aunts all shook their collective heads, and Grandmother said I was ‘too old for that sort of play.’ I was seven, mind you. Seven and already being told to grow up and ‘be proper.’"

She sniffed. "I suppose I’ve been overcorrecting ever since.”

There was a pause. Ethan looked up. “Do you… wish you hadn’t been caught?”

Penelope didn’t answer right away. Her eyes went to the doll in his lap, to the careful way his fingers smoothed the velvet trim of Adeline’s sleeve.

“I think,” she said at last, “I wish someone had told me it was fine to be gentle. And to grieve in my own way. That I didn’t have to pretend I didn’t want tenderness. That softness isn’t weakness.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

“And I think you, my dear, are the sort of child who might need to hear that, too.”

Ethan looked down quickly, cheeks hot. “I’m not—I mean, I didn’t say—”

“I know,” Penelope interrupted. “You didn’t say. And neither did I.”

She reached over and tapped Adeline’s little shoe with her fingertip.

“But that doll—my little Mary Alice—sat in the attic for years. Then there was the fire. As far as I know, she was never touched again.” She paused, her eyes glistening. “I think Adeline will be luckier than that. Don’t you?”

Ethan nodded, barely.

“Good,” Penelope said briskly, rising from the chair. “Now come downstairs. Your mother made peach cobbler, and if we’re not quick, she’ll eat the corner piece.”

She turned with a swish of her skirt and walked out. Ethan sat still a moment longer, his hands gently cupping Adeline’s body, as if protecting her from some unseen breeze.

Then he whispered, “I guess I’ll have to do better,” and followed after.

 

Next up: Babysitting in Bows