A Small Cloth Heart
by Jo Gatenby
“Oh, Mommy, look, a dolly.”
“Don’t touch that filthy thing, dear. You never know where it’s been.”
Filthy thing! The doll’s stitched seams tightened in silent pain, and another thread in her small cloth heart broke. She’d once been loved and cared for; top of the line, with her lifelike painted porcelain face, dainty arms and legs, and eyes that closed when she lay down. But that had been long ago, too long.
At first, she remained hopeful, convinced her own beloved girl would never abandon her, trying to imagine their joyful reunion. She had waited so patiently, secure in her certainty Amilia would return for her.
The driver, having no children of his own, placed her in the carriage’s rear window, amused by her presence, or hoping her patron would return. Endless days became filled with the rhythmic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestone streets, the lurch forward when setting off, sending her tumbling. The hansom cab’s side-to-side swaying motion, interrupted by the occasional bump or dip in the road, jiggled and bounced her back into the corner.
Coal smoke from nearby factories clogged the air, seeping in the open windows, blackening her features, and turning her dress gray and dingy. Days grew into weeks, months dragged into years, and she withdrew inside herself, offering her frozen face to the dull, unfeeling world.
Most entering the cab remained oblivious to her sitting hidden in the shadows. Those that did notice her, ignored her or kicked her further into her hiding place, chipping her porcelain toes. A stitch let go on the side of her cloth body, and sawdust trickled down inside her dress and lacey pantaloons.
She grew dirtier. And she very much feared she smelled of horse dung from following that aging beast for so long.
Yes, she agreed sadly, by now I am filthy.
Although she feigned indifference, her small cloth heart frayed a bit more with each passing decade. As time passed, her eyelids drooped closed, and she shut out everything around her, withdrawing into herself, growing cold and still inside, the light of her belief in Amilia’s love dimming within her.
Then someone new entered the carriage. She ignored them, as she always did, until strong, gentle hands picked her up. Though startled, her lids remained tightly closed.
“Here now, little one. Look at that sad face. Are things really that bad?”
Is he talking to me?
“You’re in much better condition than a body might expect. And I wager I know someone who will absolutely adore you.”
She refused to be enticed by his words. It was too late for hope. Only a single thread held her small cloth heart together, and she wouldn’t risk tearing it apart. Resolute, she refused to open her eyes.
The carriage swayed and jolted over the cobblestones. The noisy clatter of the cab’s wheels drowned out everything but his voice in her ears. He kept talking to her as if he expected her to answer. She ignored him as he stroked the crazing of her porcelain cheek, not seeming to mind the web of tiny cracks.
With an abrupt jerk, they came to a halt. Calling out a cheery farewell, the man leapt down, carrying her with him. Part of her yearned to open her eyes, yet she didn’t dare. Anticipation flickered inside her, and she ruthlessly stamped it out. Don’t be an idiot. You can’t take another disappointment.
“Auntie? Come see what I’ve brought you.”
“Robert! You’re home early. What are you on abou—”
The doll felt a shiver deep inside. The voice sounded older; yet filled her with the warmth of long-buried memories. She rose, weightless, laying exposed on the man’s outstretched hand, as the woman trailed off.
“Oh, it can’t be. Not after all these years!”
That voice. She knew that voice.
“You know, Auntie, the moment I saw her, I remembered the story you used to tell us when we were little. She was in a hansom cab. Just as you said. How many dolls matching her description and location could there be?”
“I do love you for being a hopeless romantic. But it’s ridiculous to believe... after so much time...”
The doll’s fabric and sawdust body quivered in the woman’s trembling hands.
“Auntie,” Robert’s soft voice turned coaxing, “you said your father commissioned her with eyes that matched your own. Open her eyes. You’ll see.”
Insistent fingers brushed the doll’s eyelids, coaxing them apart. She resisted at first, her tiny cloth heart shivering, but finally, with great effort, her dusty lashes fluttered wide.
The woman gasped, tears welling up. “It is you,” she whispered. “My precious dolly. I never forgot you. All these years, I never forgot.”
Amilia’s warm, tear-streaked face came into view. Supple skin had grown older, etched and lined with time, but the bright eyes looking at her with so much love remained the same. This was undeniably her beloved girl. The decades melted away as the doll found herself clutched to the woman’s chest.
“I’m so sorry I forgot you,” Amilia murmured.
The doll felt a thread in her heart reweave.
“We were late catching a train. Mother and Father pulled me along, and Nanny gathered our things. By the time I realized she had missed you, we were under way. Father said we couldn’t go back.”
The brokenness inside her eased, the warmth of each teardrop seeping inside, unraveled years of loneliness and pain, as Amilia continued. “I thought I’d never hold you again, and I cried for days.”
Each spoken word, like a gentle stitch, mended the doll’s small, torn, cloth heart.
For the first time in decades, a sense of warmth and security filled her. As she stared at that familiar face, the cold inside her thawed. Nestled in Amilia’s embrace, her porcelain face’s smile no longer felt forced.
Her eyes drifted closed again, despair replaced with contentment. She was home.
Copyright © 2024 by Jo Gatenby
