Page List


Font:  

If she noticed none of us was really excited by

that grand dollhouse, she didn't comment. With

laughter, and gay charm, she knelt on the floor and sat

back on her heels, and told us of how very much she

used to love this dollhouse.

"It is very valuable, too," she gushed. "On the

right market, a dollhouse like this would bring a

fabulous fortune. Just the miniature porcelain dolls

with the moveable joints alone are priceless, their

faces all hand-painted. The dolls are made in scale to

the house, as is the furniture, the paintings--

everything, in fact. The house was handcrafted by an

artist who lived in England. Each chair, table, bed,

lamp, chandelier--all are genuine reproductions of

antiques. I understand it took the craftsman twelve

years to complete this.

"Look at how the little doors open and close, perfectly hung--which is more than you can say for the house you're living in," she went on. "And all the drawers slide in and out. There's a tiny little key to lock the desk, and look how some of the doors slide into the walls--pocket doors, they are called. I wish this house had doors like that; I don't know why they went out of fashion. And see the hand-carved moldings near the ceiling, and the wainscoting in the dining room and library--and the teensy books on the shelves. Believe it or not, if you have a microscope,

you can read the text!"

She demonstrated with knowing, careful fingers

all the fascinations of a dollhouse only children of the

extremely wealthy could ever hope to own.

Chris, of course, had to pull out a tiny book and

hold it close to his squinting eyes, to see for himself

print so small you needed a microscope. (There was a

very special type of micro- scope he hoped to own

someday. . . and I hoped to be the one to give it to

him.)

I couldn't help but admire the skill and patience it

would take to make such small furniture. There was a

grand piano in the front parlor of the Elizabethan


Tags: V.C. Andrews Dollanganger Horror