Missouri Life June 2023

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

A Doll with No Name

HER FATHER GAVE HER THE DOLL when she could no longer hear him call her name. Not long after that, her daddy suddenly died, leaving behind his young wife and four children. After that, my aunt placed the doll in her box and slid it underneath her bed. To Betty, that doll represented everything that had been taken from her. She had to keep her safe. As a young girl, Aunt Betty fell down the stairs and hit her head so hard that she lost her hearing. The doll was to help compensate for the silence that lay ahead. Aunt Betty loved her fiercely, even though the doll had no spoken name. Growing up, I remember the doll was rarely out of the box; rarely did she stand on her own. Life was too fragile for that. When Aunt Betty died, my grandmother gave the porcelain doll to a family friend, Wilma, who owned an extensive doll collection of her own. My aunt’s doll was displayed in Wilma’s shop, standing proud in her jaunty beret and blue dress, eyes bright from her long sleep under the bed. Unexpectedly, Wilma passed away, so her doll col lection would go up for auction. When I heard, I called to ask about the doll in the beret and blue dress, but no one cared about a deaf girl with a dead father. The doll would go to the highest bidder. Please let that be me. At the auction, dolls filled glass cases and lined the tables in the hollow auditorium. I finally found that familiar blue dress and hopeful smile, the original box displayed beside her. The doll’s brown curls were mussed in the moving, and I smoothed them as best I could. I thought she looked relieved to see me, her eyes saying everything. She wanted to go home. When the auction began, I soon realized that I was way out of my league. Even the tiniest dolls were selling for more than I had in my budget. Collectors from everywhere were spending everything to get whatever they wanted. Me, I had three kids and an old mom van that needed four new tires. With the weight of that, I knew. Aunt Betty’s doll was lost to me. When the bidding quickly exceeded more than I had, I couldn’t bear to watch her sell to someone else,

so I left the auction and tried to forget about a little girl who had lived most of her life in silence. I tried not to think about a daddy who loved his daughter and then left her behind in the quiet. That’s when I realized: I should have begged or borrowed, paid or pawned whatever it took to bring that keepsake home. I decided to find who bought her, but when I called the auction company, I was told that information was confidential. I simply wanted to tell the buyer a story of a sudden fall and a sudden death. I wanted to explain about a doll that had no spoken name and a child that couldn’t hear it anyway. No one wanted to listen. Today, I am still searching. Flea markets, antique shops, on-line sales—surely that doll will turn up. I am certain I will know her, and she will recognize me, her little face relieved that I finally found her. Until then, if your path crosses hers before it crosses mine, tell that sweet girl that I am looking for her. When I find her, I will pay whatever it costs to bring her home where she belongs—safe underneath my bed. auditorium. I finally found that familiar blue dress and hopeful smile, the original box displayed beside her. At the auction, dolls filled glass cases and lined the tables in the hollow

BY LORRY MYERS PLAYING FOR KEEPS Lorry@MissouriLife.com

MERIT MYERS

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