The Dollmaker

Twenty-Two

Mist settled over the bayou as Matthew guided his pirogue through the cattails and lily pads that grew thick against the bank. Night had fallen and the half-submerged cypress trees were black against the starlit sky. A bullfrog croaked nearby, and he could see the gleam of beady eyes in the darkness, the twinkle of lightning bugs through the bushes. His oars dipped rhythmically in the water as he moved deeper into the swamp.

Rounding a sharp bend, he saw a light on the water up ahead. His pulse quickened as his gaze dropped to the bundle at his feet, and he saw that the blanket had shifted, exposing a tiny, pale hand in the moonlight.

Careful.

His very presence in the swamp at this hour could arouse suspicions, and if anyone saw what he had in his boat, let alone if they followed him to his destination…

Don’t worry, no one will see us. No one will ever know.

He pulled the blanket over the hand and straightened. The light was getting closer and the sound of laughter drifted over the dark water. Turning the boat, he paddled back toward the bank, carefully maneuvering the bow through a maze of cypress knees and rotting logs. Spanish moss hung like layers of silk from the trees, the lacy tendrils skimming the water’s surface, undulating gently in the current.

He drifted under one of the curtains and used his oar to steady the pirogue as he waited. The other boat was so near now he could hear the individual voices, even make out snatches of conversation. He held his breath as a light flashed over the area where he was hidden.

“There!” one of the voices said excitedly. “Did you see it?”

“Got it! Big ole fat one, too.”

He let out a quick breath. Nothing to worry about. It was just some kids out frog-gigging. Not his forte, but to each his own, he always said.

Still, he didn’t want them to see him, so he remained hidden until the voices faded in the mist. When he was sure they were gone, he paddled back out into deeper water. A sinewy ribbon skimmed across the surface in the moonlight and he shivered, all too aware of the dangers in the swamp.

Another turn and he was there. The dilapidated shack was perched at the water’s edge, the porch sagging and the roof caved in from rot and decades of Gulf Coast storms.

Drifting up to the bank, he looped a rope over a cypress knee, then jumped over the side of the boat into ankle-deep water. He reached for the bundle and cradled it carefully in his arms as he entered the shack.

Once inside, he turned on his flashlight and skimmed the beam over the dusty walls and corners. Cobwebs glimmered in the light and something small scurried across the floor at his feet.

The cabin was haunted by his past. The memories were so overwhelming that he started to tremble. If he listened closely, he could hear the beat of all those silenced hearts, feel the accusing stare of all those sightless eyes. He didn’t like coming here, but there was no other way.

Setting the flashlight aside, he pried up a loose board and then removed the blanket from the silent bundle beside him. Long dark hair splayed across the filthy floorboards. Eyes shimmered in the moonlight spilling in through a broken window.

He touched her cold cheek and shuddered.

The doll was nearly perfect. He had outdone himself this time. Each step of the process had been inspired. Sculpting the clay, making the plaster mold, firing the porcelain and painting the delicate features—the end result, a work of art.

He had tested the limits of his talent…but still he’d fallen short.

He wanted to weep in frustration. No matter how many times he tried, no matter how hard he worked, he could not capture the essence of the child with only his hands and a block of clay. There was only one way to truly do her justice. His special way.

Quickly, he placed the doll—another failure—inside the hole with the others, turning his head so that he wouldn’t have to see all those gleaming eyes and taunting smiles. Settling the board back in place, he stood for a moment, letting out a long shaky breath as he waited for his nerves to steady.

Then he returned to the pirogue, unfastened the rope and paddled away from the cabin without looking back.

He never looked back when he came here. He was too afraid of what he might see.