The Doll in the Garden by Mary Downing Hahn

Author:Mary Downing Hahn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Chapter 11

Miss Cooper’s Demand

MOM LOOKED AT ME. “Ashley, what have you done now?”

“Nothing,” I whispered as I listened to Miss Cooper’s feet thump slowly up our stairs.

Mom went to the door and opened it just as Miss Cooper stepped onto the porch.

“That girl,” the old woman said to Mom, “took something of mine and I want it back!” She was out of breath from the climb to our apartment, but her eyes bored into me with such anger I drew back frightened.

Mom turned to me. “Ashley?”

“I didn’t take anything of hers,” I said.

Miss Cooper shoved the empty box under my nose. “Where’s my doll?”

“I don’t know.” I wasn’t used to lying, and my voice sounded like someone else’s, weak and trembly, almost a whisper.

“You’re lying, missy! You stole her and hid her away somewhere, and I want her back.” Again Miss Cooper was eye to eye with me, and I felt like a bird facing a snake.

“Miss Cooper,” Mom said, “please tell me what you’re accusing Ashley of.”

The old woman swung her head toward Mom. “There was a doll in this box, a valuable antique doll, and your girl stole it.”

“A doll?” Mom sounded confused.

“In the garden,” Miss Cooper said. “My garden where I told them they had no right to play. But she and that Smith child, they went in there and tore things up, flowers and all, just destroyed everything, and this one stole the doll.”

“Ashley, is this true?” Mom’s face was pale, and her eyes probed mine.

“We were fixing the garden up,” I told Mom, “making a place to play. We didn’t pull up anything but weeds.” I started crying then, I couldn’t help it. If Miss Cooper got her hands on Anna Maria, I’d never be able to return her to Louisa.

Mom put her arm around me, and I pressed my face against her side, ashamed of my tears. I hadn’t cried for a long time, not since Daddy first got sick.

“Don’t you hide behind your mother!” Miss Cooper’s voice rose angrily.

Just then the telephone rang in the living room. “Excuse me,” Mom said as she went to answer it.

“Give me what’s mine!” Miss Cooper hissed at me.

“She’s not yours,” I sobbed, “she’s Louisa’s!”

Miss Cooper stepped backward so fast she almost stumbled over Oscar. “What did you say?” she gasped.

“I said she’s Louisa’s doll.” I stared at the old woman, puzzled. What did she want with a doll anyway? And how did she even know about her? Unless she’d buried her there herself. My hand flew to the old scrap of paper in the pocket of my shorts, but I didn’t need to look at it. I knew who had signed the letter.

In the silence, I stared at Miss Cooper. “You’re Carrie,” I whispered, sure I was right. “You’re the one who stole the doll, not me!”

Miss Cooper grabbed for the edge of the table. Her face was white and her mouth sagged open. Trembling, she sank down on a kitchen chair.

At that moment Mom came back into the room.

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