The Cats in the Doll Shop (8 page)

“Who told you that?” It upsets me to think that other children have been talking about Tania. Do they tease her? I hope not.

“My friend Frieda has a sister in that class,” Trudie says. “She says Tania won't look at anyone, even the teacher. And that she hides food in her desk.”

So she's doing it at school, too. “I still think she'll change,” I say stubbornly. “We have to give her a chance.” But neither Sophie nor Trudie looks like they believe me.

Several days later, Papa pokes his head out of the shop when I return home from school. “Anna, can I talk to you for a minute?” I join him at his desk at the far end of the workspace where he goes over all the bills, figures, and money.

“It's about that doll you made,” he begins, picking up a pencil and twirling it between his fingers. “The one Tania won't let go of.”

“That's Shannon,” I say. “She's a schoolgirl.”

“What gave you the idea?” Papa asks.

“Well, at first I thought I would make a Russian princess. Because Tania is Russian.” Papa nods in an interested way, so I go on. “I also thought about a Spanish dancer, because I liked the costume—the black lace shawl and the fan.” Papa smiles at that. “But in the end, I wanted to make a doll that was more real. A doll that was a friend. Not a fantasy.”

“Yes, yes I see your point,” Papa says, looking more excited by the minute. “The simple costume, the book bag. Now
that's
a really original touch. Here's a doll that will reflect a little girl's own life.” The next time I see Mr. Greenfield at F.A.O. Schwarz, I want to show her to him. How do you feel about that?”

How do I feel about that? I am thrilled. Just thrilled. But then I think about Tania. Will she let her doll go long enough for Mr. Greenfield to see it? Maybe Papa can explain it to her. I hope so.

Although we have not discussed it, Tania has taken over the job of leaving food out for Ginger Cat, who seems to grow tamer by the day. Esther helped me tell Tania about Plucky, and she's eager to see him, too. That evening, I bring Tania up to the roof, so we can look for Plucky from there. He's about a month old, and his fur, now fuller and a creamy apricot, will be visible from up above. We have to wait, but soon we spot him, hopping along on three legs. The useless hind paw that dangled from his leg is no longer there. It must have fallen off, just like Papa said.

As soon as she sees him, Tania grabs my hand and starts jabbering away in Yiddish. Her whole face is different, her eyes brighter, her smile wide. I wish I could understand what she is saying, but whatever it is, I can see that she has fallen in love with him already. Well, who
wouldn't
love Plucky?

Despite his having only three legs, he seems very spry. He's just a little thin, that's all. But his fur, even from this distance, seems dull. A bit matted, too. Is he getting enough to eat? I don't think so. It's already October. Today there is a slight chill in the air, and the afternoon sunlight is fading quickly. Soon it will be winter. What will happen to Plucky then?

I look at Tania again. She is still gazing at Plucky. Does she know that he may be in danger? I have to talk to Papa, I decide. Right away. I take Tania's hand to lead her down with me. It is clear that she does not want to follow me. She plants herself on the roof and points to Plucky.

“I know you want to watch him some more,” I tell her. “But he's looking too
thin. Underfed
. Maybe he has a
disease.
We have to tell Papa.” I point to Plucky and close my eyes, moaning, like I am sick. That seems to get through, because she willingly follows me downstairs.

I expect to find Papa in the shop, but he is in the apartment. In our room, in fact. He looks upset about something. Quite upset.

“Where was it?” he asks Trudie and Sophie, who are both sitting on their beds with their feet drawn up tightly under them. “Show me exactly where you saw it.”

“It was right there, Papa,” Trudie says, pointing. “It was just a little bitty thing. Gray, with a long tail. I don't think it would hurt anyone. But it did scare me. It was so fast!”

“What was so fast?” I say, looking from my sister to my father. Though I think I already know.

“A mouse!” says Trudie. “In our room!”

“First downstairs, now up here . . .” mutters Papa.

My heart starts beating very fast. If there are mice in our room, I have a good idea why. It must be because of the food that Tania has been hiding.

“It's because of her!” Sophie cries, pointing at our cousin. “She's been hiding food in her bed! She does it at school, too. All the kids know.”

I look at Sophie, horrified. Surely Tania does not understand the words. But the tone, the look, the accusing finger—those are the same in any language.

“What's all the yelling about?” Mama comes into the room.

“Trudie and Sophie saw a mouse,” Papa explains. “And Sophie says it's because Tania has been hiding food under her pillow.”

Mama looks from Sophie's angry face to Tania's frightened one. She begins talking to Tania in Yiddish, and her gentle tone makes Tania's expression relax just a little. Then Mama takes Tania's hand and leads her to the bed. She motions for Tania to move the pillow aside, and with great reluctance, Tania does as she is asked. Silently, we all stare at the three hard-boiled eggs, raw potato, and two ginger snaps that Mama baked the other day, one with a bite taken out of it.

“So what if she is hiding food?” I burst out, unable to keep still a second longer. “Is that such a crime?”

“No,” Papa says. “But we can't let it continue.”

Mama starts talking to Tania in Yiddish again. Tania looks down at the floor, fists clenched, nodding and blinking. Shannon is jammed under her arm. When Mama is finished, Tania places Shannon on her bed, cups her hands over Mama's ear and starts whispering. Finally she stops.

Mama turns to the rest of us. “Things are very bad in Russia, even worse than when Papa and I lived there. The war is still going on. Jobs are scarce, and so is food. Aunt Rivka has been selling off furniture and the few pieces of Bubbe's jewelry that she has left. Some days she and Tania ate just one meal. Other days, they didn't eat at all.” We all turn to Tania. But Tania grabs Shannon and bolts from the room. I hear her footsteps clattering down the stairs. Mama hurries after her.

“Mama will calm her down,” Papa says, looking at us. “You girls have to understand how hard it is for her.” He gives Sophie a pointed look, but Sophie doesn't seem bothered at all.

“We still have mice,” is all she says. “What are we going to do about that?”

“What about using Ginger Cat and Plucky to help with the mice?” I ask.

“You mean the cats living outside?” Papa asks. I nod my head eagerly. “I told you: no cats indoors.”

“What if she can help solve our mouse problem?” I say.

He seems to be thinking it over. “The mother cat might be a possibility. She seems tamer lately.”

“She
is
tamer! And it's because of Tania, Papa. She just has a way with Ginger Cat. With all animals, I guess.”

And at just that moment, Mama comes back into the room with her arm around Tania. I look over at my cousin. The awful blinking has slowed a little. I guess Mama knew what to say.

“Well, we can give it a try. But she'll have to earn her keep,” says Papa.

“Hurray!” cries Trudie, jumping off of the bed to do what she calls her “happy dance,” which consists of prancing in place, shaking her head from side to side, and making a circling motion with her hands. Even Sophie looks pleased, in her big-girl sort of way.

“What about Plucky?” I ask. “He could help with the mice, too.”

“Not with that bad back leg,” Papa says. “He won't be fast enough.”

“Couldn't we keep him anyway, Papa? Please?” I beg. “He's gotten thin and his fur is all matted. What will happen when winter comes?” My eyes fill with tears.

“I know you care about him,
tochter
,” says Papa. “It shows what a kind heart you have. But two cats are too many.” He puts an arm around me. “You and Tania can toss scraps over the fence,” he adds. “Plucky's a sturdy kitten. He'll be all right.”

“What if he's not?” But Papa is gone. I turn to Mama. “Can you talk to him?” I ask. “Get him to change his mind?”

“Two cats are too many,” Mama repeats. She gathers all the food that was under the pillow and leaves the room.

I look around to see my sisters still sitting on their beds, but Tania is no longer there. I didn't even see her go.

“Did you have to be so mean?” I ask Sophie

“I wasn't mean,” Sophie says. “We have mice. Someone had to do something about it. And I could see it wasn't going to be you.”

“But she went hungry, Sophie! When have we ever had to go hungry?”

“I told you before,” Sophie says. “I feel very sorry for her. She's had a hard time. But things are not so hard now.” Since Sophie is wearing her hair down today, with only a thin maroon headband securing it, she does that hair-tossing thing she likes to do. “Besides,” she adds, “it's not like I got her in trouble. Mama and Papa weren't even angry.”

“I know,” I say. “But you made her think you don't like her.”

“I don't,” Sophie says calmly.

“How can you say that?” I cry. “Especially after what we just heard?”

“When you're as old as I am, you'll understand.” She tosses her hair—again.

If getting older means being as cold and unfeeling as Sophie is right now, then I hope I stay eleven forever and ever.

Over the next months, it is clear that while my sisters and my cousin are not exactly enemies, they are not friends either. Sophie avoids Tania. It's as if she is not there. And Trudie seems to follow Sophie's lead. They seem to have given up on Tania. But I haven't. And neither should they. Do they know that she is an excellent seamstress? Mama gives her some mending to help with, and her work is
perfect.
And when I look at her notebooks, I see the most wonderful doodles. She draws trees and houses and faces. But she mostly fills the margins of her notebook with horses, cows, rabbits, dogs, wolves, and of course cats, which seem to be her favorite. There is so much to like about Tania. I wish my sisters could see it.

But even Sophie has to grudgingly admit that Tania has a special way with animals. Thanks to Tania, Ginger Cat has become tame enough in these last few weeks to be considered our pet. While we have not actually seen her catch a mouse, we have no more little gray visitors, either upstairs or down, so we can assume that she is doing her job. She sleeps in the kitchen, on a cushion Tania has sewn for her, and every morning and evening, Tania faithfully sets out her dish of table scraps and her bowl of fresh water. Ginger Cat, now sleek and satisfied, allows herself to be stroked and scratched by all of us, though Tania is her clear favorite.

But if Ginger Cat is thriving, Plucky is not. From my rooftop perch, I can see that he looks even thinner and more matted. The days are short now, and the weather is cold. If Plucky is not well, he won't make it through the winter.

One early December day I notice something else even more troubling. There are trails of what look like white powder all along the edges of the yard on the other side of the fence, the yard where I have seen Plucky roaming. At first I think it is snow. But snow would not fall in such a neat, boxlike pattern. It has to be something else.

I look up at the fire escape where Plucky was born. The window is shut tightly, and a curtain hides whatever is going on inside. I think of the man with the mustache and his cruel broom. Does he have something to do with the white powder?