Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

“What have you done?”

His aunt’s voice was cold with fury. He glanced up, saw her contorted features and cringed. Quickly, he turned back to the clay face, hoping to catch a glimpse of Maddy, but she was gone. His aunt had scared her away.

She came over to where he still sat, grabbed his arm and jerked him off the stool. “You just destroyed two days worth of work. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I wanted to find Maddy.”

“Who the hell is Maddy?”

Matthew clamped his lips shut. Shush. Mustn’t tell, a little voice warned him.

His aunt’s hand tightened on his arm. “I asked you a question. Who is Maddy?” When he still didn’t answer, she started to laugh. “I get it. She’s you, isn’t she? All right, then. You want to find Maddy? You go look for her in here.” She grabbed up the clay and dragged Matthew across the room by his arm. She opened a door to a small storeroom, shoved him inside, then threw the clay at his feet.

“That’ll give you something to do while you sit in there and think about what you did.”

The door closed behind her, and Matthew was all alone in the dim little room. Hands trembling, he took out the old Polaroid picture he kept hidden away in his pocket. He could barely see the faces in the photograph, but it didn’t matter. He knew them by heart. Six little girls seated at a table. Maddy was at the end, her face aglow with happiness. And in the window behind her, if Matthew looked hard enough, he could see Mama’s reflection in the glass.

It was a perfect picture. A perfect reminder of a perfect day.

Wiping the tears from his cheeks, Matthew slid down to the floor and reached for the clay. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined what he wanted to see.

“You’re in there,” he whispered. “I can feel you.”

And one of these days, he would find a way to let her out.

Matthew sat at the dressing table in his aunt’s bedroom and stared at his reflection. Savannah’s clothes were laid out on the chaise by the window, and all he had to do now was finish her makeup. The wig would come next, cut and styled just the way she liked it. His aunt was very particular about the way she wore her hair. For as long as Matthew had known her, she’d been fastidious about her appearance. He supposed it was an admirable trait, especially after the accident, when even the smallest tasks had taken a monumental effort on her part. She was a strong woman, though. Matthew was constantly amazed by her constitution.

He got up from the dressing table and went over to the bed to stare down at her. She wore a white cotton nightgown that clung to her thin frame. Her hair had gone completely gray, and the skin on her face was pulled so tight across her skull it almost appeared transparent.

She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, but when she sensed Matthew’s presence, her gaze cut to him and her eyes widened. Something that might have been anger glinted in the pale depths, and Matthew laughed softly.

“You’ve still got some fire, don’t you?”

A telltale frown appeared on her brow before she could relax it.

“I saw that,” he said with another laugh. “Your medicine is wearing off. I guess I’ll have to increase the dosage. Can’t have you grunting like a pig while our guests are here.”

She stared at him, unblinking.

“I did tell you that we’re having company this morning, didn’t I? A Sheriff Granger called a little while ago. He’s sending a couple out here later who are interested in a doll they think you may have sculpted. They say it looks like their missing daughter. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous in your life?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for the medicine vial he kept nearby. He also had a supply of hypodermic needles in her bedside stand. He’d made sure when he first came to take care of her after the accident that everything he needed was right at his fingertips. That was back when she had still wanted his help, of course.

Matthew drew his knuckles lightly down her cheek. It really was a pity that it had come to this. His aunt was a gifted artist, and he hated that her talents could no longer be utilized. But she had only herself to blame for her current misfortune. She shouldn’t have stuck her nose into Matthew’s business.

When he’d first come back to the area several years ago, he and Savannah had gotten on just fine. He’d been willing to let bygones be bygones, and she’d been flattered by his interest in doll making, had taught him almost everything she knew. Then she’d started to ask too many questions. The accident had curbed her curiosity for a long time, because she’d needed Matthew then. She hadn’t wanted to do or say anything to drive him away.

As time went on, however, she’d grown more and more independent. Eventually, the questions had started up again, and somehow she’d found out that Matthew had dropped out of medical school a few weeks after the family fortune had come under his control, and she’d threatened to expose the fact that he wasn’t a licensed physician. He might have been able to talk his way out of that one, but then another child had disappeared and her curiosity had turned into suspicion. Matthew had to take matters into his own hands, as he had learned very early on to do.

He drew aside the blanket and quickly gave her the injection in her left hip. Then he threw the needle away, pulled the covers up to her chin and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Walking over to the window, he stared out across the lawn, down to the gate and to the gravel road beyond. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could see a trail of dust in the distance, and his heart quickened with excitement.

She’s coming!

After all these years, Mama was finally coming back for him.

He felt moisture on his face and he quickly wiped it away. No time for tears. He had to be ready when she got here.

By ten o’clock that morning, Dave and Claire had crossed into Terrebonne Parish, and from Houma, they headed south on Highway 53, deep into bayou country. The sunlight that shone through the oak and willow trees was soft and dappled, and hot enough out over the bayou to melt all but a ribbon of morning mist. The water was dark green with algae and duckweed, and along the banks, lily pads grew thick and tangled and bursting with yellow blossoms.

Near the tiny town of Tiber, they took a side road that ran through acres and acres of sugarcane fields. The area was rural and impoverished, the houses they passed along the way little more than shotgun shanties with dirty yards and outdoor privies. From open windows and dilapidated porches, dark eyes watched with wary curiosity, and only an occasional hand lifted in greeting.

Claire had lived in Louisiana all her life, but she was still a stranger to the traditions and superstitions that permeated the bayou country. Voodoo had been a profitable tourist attraction for decades, but was still a serious practice in the Acadian swamps. It wasn’t unusual to see a dime tied around an ankle or a gris-gris hanging from a dusky neck to ward off bad luck.

As they drove into the countryside, Claire’s uneasiness deepened, but she tried to hide her trepidation from Dave. They’d spoken very little on the trip, neither of them ready to talk about what had happened the night before. And as they drew ever closer to their destination, Claire suspected that his apprehension was as great as her own. He stared straight ahead, jaw set, hands gripping the steering wheel. And when they rounded a bend in the road and could see glimpses of the house through the trees, he said tightly, “That’s it.”