You can’t fix me, you know, she’d said. No, I’d thought, I can only love you. And I’d been right. All I could do was love her.
The next day was gray and rainy, and as I sat in my studio working to finish the very final details on the foliate band for the German library, I paused now and again to glance outside at the watercolor scenery. The door opened and Ellie, smiling, ducked inside, closing an umbrella, a package under her arm.
“Hi,” I said, smiling.
“Hey. Dominic went into town and picked up your order at the hardware store.”
“Oh, thanks.” I’d forgotten I even placed an order there. “Did he say how Sal was?”
She furrowed her brow. “Dominic?” She shook her head. “Dominic doesn’t talk to me much.” Her cheeks flushed slightly and I frowned. I’d asked her if Dominic was treating her poorly and she’d denied it, but I didn’t quite believe her.
I pursed my lips, and she seemed to read my thoughts. “I told you it was fine between us. He’s just … quiet around me.”
Quiet? Dominic? That didn’t sound right. I sighed. “Ellie, I can talk to him if you decide you need me to. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable at work.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I don’t need you to talk to him. Everything’s fine. Really.” Her smile brightened. “Looks like you’re almost finished.” She nodded to the piece in front of me.
“Yeah. A couple of hours and it should be done.” I focused on the carving as Ellie started unpacking the box. I got involved in the details, and when I glanced up a few minutes later, was surprised to see Ellie standing in front of an open cabinet.
I sat up straight just as she turned. Her expression was slightly stunned. She blinked at me. “Are those …”
My eyes moved behind her, and it dawned on me which cabinet she’d opened. I stood, walking to her. Slowly I took the figurines out, placing them on the table next to us one by one.
Her eyes met mine, wide and full of compassion. “They are,” she breathed.
I looked at them for a moment, letting the feelings they brought forth wash over me. Picking up the first one, I said, “His name is Racer, Knight of Sparrows. Racer was my dad’s nickname for me. He started calling me that after I won a race in first grade. He said I was the fastest kid he’d ever seen. It just sort of stuck.”
She seemed to have stilled, her lips parted as she looked back and forth between the figure and me. “Knight of Sparrows … after the birds that sang outside your bedroom window.”
I smiled a small smile. “Yes.” I looked at the figure, the armor he was wearing, the tiny bird perched on his shoulder. “You can see he’s the handsomest one, for obvious reasons.” I shot her a bigger smile, and she blinked at me and then laughed softly.
“He … he represented you?”
I thought about that for a moment. “I think so, yes.”
I placed Racer down and picked up the second figure, looking at his perpetually grinning face. “Shadow, the Baron of Wishbone. Shadow was our family dog.”
I paused, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth for a moment. “I guess Wishbone was because of his love for burying bones, but also a memory of my mother drying one on the kitchen windowsill every Thanksgiving and my brother and me pulling it apart. I always considered that wish so important.”
I smiled at the memory before placing the figure back on the table and picking up the next one, studying the way his lip curled up in a slightly mocking smile, the glint of devilishness in his eyes. “Gambit, the Duke of Thieves. My brother and I used to collect comic books. Gambit was one of my favorite characters from the X-Men. He was a former thief whose powers were charging objects with kinetic energy, enhanced agility, and hypnotic charm.” I grinned, setting him down.
“There’s a sticker of him on the dresser in the guest room.”
“Yes. That was the dresser in my room when I was a kid.”
I picked up the next figure, looking at her wise, motherly face. “Lemon Fair, the Queen of Meringue. Lemon Fair was a river my dad used to take us fishing at when we were kids. We’d camp … he called it ‘guy time.’ ” I cleared my throat, the memory choking me up for a second.
Ellie was still, watching me so intently. “Lemon meringue is your favorite dessert.”
“Yeah,” I breathed. “My mom used to make it for me on special occasions.”
I looked at the last doll, suddenly filled with nerves. I glanced up at the shelf that held the basket of small items I’d carved as I’d brought them to life—tiny loaves of bread, swords, combs, and books. I considered showing those to Ellie first, but knew they didn’t really matter. It was the last doll that mattered, and the reason I was stalling.
I swallowed as I replaced Lemon Fair and picked up the last remaining figure. I met Ellie’s eyes. “Lady Eloise,” I said softly, “of the Daffodil Fields.” Her forehead furrowed in confusion as she glanced from the stone girl to me and back again. “My mother collected children’s books. She used to read a series to me about a girl named Eloise. My father would bring my mother daffodils in the spring. They were her favorite. She said they were the happiest of all flowers.”
I looked down at the doll in my hands. “She, Lady Eloise, was the one who took my hand and led me away when he came downstairs.” Ellie looked startled. She shook her head slightly as if she was both denying something and trying to work it out in her head. “I think … I think I loved her more than any of them because she was the one who saved me when I needed it the most.”
I watched Ellie as her expression turned from shock and confusion to sorrow and pain. Her eyes moved to me, and I saw such deep hurt in them, I reached for her. “Is this why?” she asked on a broken whisper.
Confusion rolled through me. “Is this why what?”
“Why you love me? Is it because of …her?” She nodded down at the doll as a tear slipped from her eye. “Oh,” she let out a shuddery breath, “it makes sense now.”
“God, no, Eloise. I love you because of you. I loved you before I even knew your real name.”
“But …” She looked so devastated, and it made my guts twist. God, I’d never imagined she’d react this way, that she would think I’d what … made her into some living, breathing version of the figure in my hand?
I held it out to her, stepping forward and placing it in her hands, wrapping my own around hers. “It’s only a doll, Ellie. A piece of rock.”
I let go of her hands and she held it up, studying the details of the small girl, the peaceful smile, the long, flowing hair, the flowers held in her tiny grasp. She’d been the last one I’d carved, and because my skill had grown with each figure I created, she was the most beautiful, the most detailed. I could see Ellie’s hands shaking as she held her.
She sucked in a small sob and stepped back, losing her grip on the doll. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Ellie’s eyes widened as she stepped forward and attempted to catch Lady Eloise. For a second I thought she had it, but her finger only grazed it, sending it farther from her hand, speeding to the floor where it hit with a smash and broke into a hundred pieces. I froze where I stood.