Dolls and Daughters: Jeanette and Gwendoline

[Marley]

OOC: Jeannette and One of Let's_Eat_Paste's Characters:

BIC:

Jeannette blinked and rubbed her eyes. The strange lights--she never could remember what they were called--glowing in the ceiling burned her eyes. Why couldn't these people use candles, like sensible folk? Or open their windows? There was certainly enough sunlight to see by, without using...whatever it was that made the lights work. She'd heard it was because of something called electricity. Snorting at the thought, Jeannette shook her head. Of course it wasn't that. Unless electricity was another word for magic. How else could the lights stay up in the ceiling without falling down? How else could they glow like t that?

Tipping her head back, Jeannette gazed up at one of the lights. This one was round, and had a fainter, more natural looking way about it. The light it gave off was soft, and yellow. Almost like the candles back home. But no flame that she'd ever seen was as round as this light. A frown creased her forehead. Perhaps there were fireflies trapped up there, a million of them, maybe, and that was why the light looked as it did. That explanation made as much sense as anything else she'd heard.

Tearing her gaze from the odd contraption, Jeannette walked up to the first row of clothes. Bending her head, to study them, she paced up and down the aisles, idly running her fingers over everything she saw. Most of it seemed rather poorly made. The stitches weren't nearly as strong as the ones she and the other women used. Their clothes were sturdy. Meant to last a long time. These looked as if they couldn't stand being worn more than once or twice before they weren't good for anything but rags. Still, Jeannette continued to hunt. Some of the people she'd met on the street had told her she could get cheap clothes here. After getting lost nearly four times, she had finally met a man who had directed her into the building. Now that she was here, she couldn't figure out what--if anything--she actually wanted.

Shaking her head, she wandered away from the clothes into another part of the store. All at once, she stopped, her mouth hanging open. Before her, lining an entire wall of the building, sat an entire collection of dolls. A quiet gasp escaped her before she could stop herself. Since coming to Paris, she'd seen a lot of dolls in the different shops she' flitted in and out of, but never this many all in one place. Glancing around--and finding herself unobserved--Jeannette stepped closer.

It was silly, she knew it. A grown woman looking at children's toys. Yet her hand reached out, almost of its own accord, and she shyly stroked the hair of the doll nearest her--a brunette, wearing a brown and white checkered dress and matching hat. Footsteps met her ears and Jeannette snatched her hand away. Whirling about, she looked this way and that, searching for the owner of the feet, while her heart tried to l claw its way out of her chest.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Last week was hell. Gwen’s fertility specialist had started her on Clomid, and faithful to the dosage, she took it every day. And every day, she felt sicker and sicker, sadder and sadder, until any hope and ambition she had for life was drained from her. Her bed was her sole haven, and Leopold was the only light left in her days. Torben and Gabriel worked in shifts taking care of her and she refused to go into work. Every day she took the Clomid, and every day she felt less like Gwen, and more like a faint imprint in sand that slowly being washed with each new wave.

That was, until Torben called her doctor as Gwen hid under blankets, sobbing over Torben’s lack of interest in sex. “Is this a normal reaction?” she heard her boyfriend ask. The next day, she found her Clomid bottle empty. Angry, she threw it against the wall and cried until Torben came into the bathroom where she stood and held her tightly to him. “Shhh,” he said in a voice so soothing, it could calm volcanoes and quell storms. “You’re done. You’re not taking that stuff anymore.” He took her to the hospital to get the remaining medication flushed from her bloodstream. She could still smell the antiseptic latex gloves and feel the burning of the saline wash as she squeezed Gabriel’s hand and fell asleep. That was that. What had been such a harrowing week died a quiet death, slipped away into nothing but a memory with less pomp and circumstance than any of the Fontaine’s expected. Except maybe Leopold who was just happy to have his Daddy back, returned from the hollow monster she was.

At last, she was up and moving, out of bed for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. And even Torben, who spent the majority of his time indoors under dim lights, encouraged her to go outside into the fresh air. He said it didn’t matter where she went as long as she got there and had fun.

Gwendoline walked the city with no aim in mind. She missed this city. She had missed it enough to leave Torben in Vienna that she had vowed never to leave it long term again. She missed it when she picked up Leopold from Holland. And she missed it when she locked herself away in her room. She missed the sights, the smells, the lovers arm in arm, the barking dogs, the traffic. She wanted to take it all in, rediscover every inch of it. And that was how she ended up on this side of town. Torben refused to come here because it “reminded him too much of a Hitchcock film”, but Gwen didn’t mind. And it made her feel more alive than she had felt all week.

She entered Le Utilisee and smiled at the ominous-looking staff and at the plethora of clothes of ambiguous make and cleanliness. She ran her hands along the fabric, following it’s threaded trail until she found herself face to face with a wall of dolls.

And all over again, her heart broke.

At the rate she was going, she would never have a daughter to buy a doll for, and the only dolls Leopold had were of voodoo kind (courtesy Tristan and Torben), stitched together with a no skill and a prayer. She was never going to have someone to buy these for now that her niece was grown. She felt her eyes well-up again and she wiped them on her sleeve. “Ah, f*ck She said, sniffling. “Not now.”

Maybe she wasn’t as okay as she thought she was.

[Marley]

Jeannette turned at the woman's voice, her sharp frown at the other's oath disappearing when she saw the woman's tears. Stepping forward, Jeannette rested a hand on the woman's arm. "Madame? Are you alright?" Worry pinched the younger girl's brow as she studied the woman before her. The newcomer didn't appear much older than she was, though Jeannette couldn't tell for sure. She'd never been very good at guessing people's ages. Back home, it hadn't mattered so much. But here, it seemed almost everyone was concerned with it. Another strange thing about this city. Would she ever get used to it? Who could say?

Shaking her head, she gazed around the store, searching for something that might help the woman. Dropping her hand, Jeannette grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it over. "Would you like to sit down? You're not ill, are you?" Her stomach twisted at the thought. Marie would have been nearly the same age as this woman, had she lived. For an instant, homesickness gnawed at her stomach and she blinked tears from her eyes. Now wasn't the time to think of her family. She could not, after all, burst into tears in front of someone she didn't even know. True, that hadn't stopped the other woman but...everyone in Paris was odd. Little wonder the stranger should be as peculiar as the rest of them.

Perhaps she was with child. Carrying a baby inside often did strange things to a woman. It certainly had to poor Marie. Jeannette's stomach twisted again. Casting a swift sidelong look at the woman's stomach, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Good. The stranger wasn't with child. At least not that Jeannette could see. After a pause, she glanced back at the dolls. Perhaps talking about something would take the woman's mind off her troubles. "They're very pretty, non?" Pointing to the one she'd been admiring earlier, Jeannette added, "That one is my favorite. Perhaps I shall make myself a dress like hat one day."

First, she would have to find the material, and a needle and thread. To say nothing of finding money with which to buy everything...but she kept those thoughts to herself. The less people w who knew she lived on the streets and earned her keep by begging, the better. Word would get around quick, and she couldn't have that. She was here on a mission, after all, and what sort of soldier would she be if she let herself be compromised? A lousy one, that's what. So she kept her comments to herself and instead offered the woman her friendliest smile.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

The people surrounding her dissipated into nothing as Gwen sucked in the suffocating tears. Only one person remained and they spoke in a voice that reminded Gwen of old English paintings of saints and cherubs. It was a soothing voice like a harp, that put her mind to ease. "Madame? Are you alright?"

Gwen nodded and hiccoughed a sob, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face. But she quickly changed her mind. She wasn’t alright and telling Torben she was had been a terrible mistake. She shook her head, her chin quivering. She didn’t cry at home. Not with their wafer-thin walls and a three year old within ear shot. She would much rather cry in a second-hand store in the presence of passerby than worry her sensitive son with her sobbing.

"Would you like to sit down? You're not ill, are you?"

“I don’t…” Gwen let the woman take her gently by the arms and guide her. “I don’t know…” How ill was she, really?
As if lead by an angel, Gwen sat out of obligation and surrender as the woman pulled a stool to her. Gwen looked up at last and met the woman with her eyes. She looked soft, as if her face had been made from needlepoint embroidery or had been quilted together. Gwen felt for an evanescent moment, a fleeting peace.

There a lulling moment between the two women before the one with the cooing, gentle voice spoke again, pointing a slender finger to the dolls. ”They're very pretty, non? That one is my favorite. Perhaps I shall make myself a dress like hat one day."

Gwen smiled at the dolls and at the woman, whose eyes lit up at sight of the effigies in the purest way Gwen had ever witnessed. She reminded her of Leopold, who got excited at rocks and caressed them, listening to their spirit. Gwen had been that way once, before she got consumed with the idea of having a baby. And Torben, too, come to think of it. They used to walk around Vienna, hand in hand, talking to the wind and making friends with the trees before their obsession took over and life set in.

“The dolls are beautiful,” Gwen said. “I’d like to give one to my daughter someday. Well, I would if I had one. Perhaps my son would like one…” she wondered, thinking about Leopold’s princess outfit he donned at Torben’s last gallery. A fresh wave of tears hit Gwen. “I’m sorry.” She looked away, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually like this. Really, I’m not. I just… Have you ever wanted something so badly for so long, that you’ve forgotten why you want it, just that you do?”


Maybe that was her problem all along. Six years ago, she wanted a baby because she loved Torben, because she wanted to create life with him and she wanted to be a mother. But it seemed, increasingly, that she wanted a baby because she had one for over half a decade. When did that change? Why did that change?

She sniffled, her make up running and her face red. “No, sorry. It’s stupid. I just… I need Torben. Sorry to put this on you. I don’t even know you!”

[Marley]

Jeannette frowned, concerned, as she watched the woman. She clearly was upset. As she listened to her speak, Jeannette patted her shoulder and took her hand. The poor woman seemed to want a child---a daughter--very badly, though she spoke of a son, but perhaps he wasn't hers. Maybe she'd taken him in. People back home did that all the time, with the few orphans of the village. A slight, puzzled frown flitted across Jeannette's face for a moment. What on earth would a little boy want with a doll? None of the boys she'd known would have dreamed of going near something that was clearly a girl's possession.

With a shake of her head, Jeannette dismissed it as yet another peculiar thing about this city that was full of oddities. She took the woman's hand in hers. "I shall pray for you, madame, that you will have a little girl. And that you both will be healthy." She looked away quickly to hide the sudden tears that sprang into her eyes. Though it had been many years now, she still missed her sister. Dear, quiet Marie, who hardly ever made trouble, and always did as she was told. Jeannette was forever surprised that her Blessed Saints had come to her, and not her sister, who seemed a far better candidate for receiving heavenly visitors. Still, who was she to question God?

With a firm, quick shake of her head Jeannette turned her attention back to the woman. Her memories could wait. Besides, if she started crying, how could she possibly be of any use to the woman? To say nothing of the questions it might raise. Dropping to her knees beside the woman, Jeannette said, "Oh, please don't cry. I understand. It must be very hard for you. It's alright, really." Hugging the stranger, Jeannette stroked the other's hair, murmuring to her, as her own mother would do, when she was ill or in pain. Perhaps it would help her, as it had always helped Jeannette.

Tipping her head to the side, Jeannette asked, "Is Torbin your husband? If you tell me where you live, I can fetch him for you." He must be a gentle man, if he wasn't bothered by his wife's tears. On the few occasions Jeannette could remember her mother crying over something, her father had taken to the fields until Isabelle was herself again. "I'm Jeannette, by the way. It's nice to meet you, though I'm sorry you're so sad."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

The stranger took her hand. ”I shall pray for you, madame, that you will have a little girl, and you both will be healthy.” Gwen gave her an empty smile. Did she think she hadn’t tried that? Gwen, religiously ambivalent, used to spend nights in silent prayer while Torben slept, snoring sounding. She sniffled tears of numb despair while her house was dormant and the city was still. She remembered her first conversation with God. She was 29 and covered in dirt after burying her daughter in her flowerbox, her hands bruised from IVs, her groin sore from stiches intended to put an end to the hemorrhaging. She looked at the asphodels and prayed they stayed alive until she was ready to move on. She looked to Torben and prayed that he didn’t leave her for her infertility and prayed that he understood why she would tell him at sunrise that she was done trying for a baby. At 29, she felt like she had aged a decade, and at midnight she was bowed in deep prayer that she was certain God was not listening to.

But maybe this woman would have better luck with whatever deity looked down at them with all-knowing control. The woman fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around Gwen as she shook with unbridled sadness. “Oh, please don’t cry. I understand. It must be very hard for you. It’s alright, really.”

It wasn’t alright. It hadn’t been alright since her first miscarriage at 28. Gabriel had called her that same day and they talked about how precious six year old Sophie was. Half way through, she fabricated some appointment with the landlord and had to pass the phone to Torben before she exploded at her brother. It wasn’t his fault and she loved him more than life, more than Torben, more than herself. But she couldn’t bear to talk about children when hers has just slipped from her life in the form of little more than blood.

”Is Torben your husband? If you tell me where you live, I can fetch him for you.”

Gwen shook her head. “Close enough. He’s my boyfriend. But it’s the same thing, really.” She wiped her face on her sleeve, bringing a trail of mascara with her. “I don’t want to worry him. Thank you, though…”

”I’m Jeannette, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, though I’m sorry you’re so sad.”

“Gwendoline. It’s nice to meet you, too. You’re awfully sweet. Thank you.”
Gwen scooped up the doll at her feet once more and cradled it in her arms. Absently, “yes… I think Leopold will like this just fine...”

[Marley]

Jeannette frowned at the stranger's words. The man Torben wasn't her husband? Did they only live together then, and weren't properly married? And what of the boy she'd spoken of? Had they taken him in, without being properly wed first? Jeannette shook her head. She knew Paris was an odd place, but she'd never imagined that it could be quite so wicked. Little wonder the boy was so confused! Boyfriend. Jeannette turned the unfamiliar word over and over in her head, trying to make sense of it.

She'd learned a lot of strange words since coming to Paris--most not fit to say--but never anything as unusual as this! She chewed her lip, trying to decide whether to speak or no. Surely someone had told the woman the error of her ways. And yet suppose they had not? Perhaps she had no idea that she and this Torben fellow were living in sin. It wasn't proper at all, to live with a man as if you were married, and yet not be! "But you will marry him, yes?" Jeannette asked at last.

Her frown only deepened as she watched the woman, who'd introduced herself as Gwendoline--bend and retrieve one of the dolls. "Your...son likes dolls?" How utterly peculiar. Gwendoline didn't seem quite as upset now, so she must have meant what she had said. Yet that was so strange! What could a little boy possibly want with a doll? He wouldn't play with one the way a girl would, would he? Surely not! Did her boyfriend know of it? Surely he must, and yet if he didn't perhaps she ought to tell him. He could help the boy figure things out. "Are you certain you're alright? It's no trouble at all. I really don't mind getting your...boyfriend." She stumbled over the odd word.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gingerly, Gwen placed a finger on the doll’s shiny, porcelain face and traced the curves of it with a soft smile. She was lovely with cheeks big and cheerful, an almost non-existent nose, and a painted on smile. Gwen had once entertained the idea of buying a doll and treating it like her child. That had been before Leopold was in their life. But she knew in the back of her mind that it would be an in accurate representation of life. Maybe her infertility was a blessing. Jane Austen’s sister had died from having too many children (fourteen, if her memory served her right) and that would have been a likely fate for Gwen had her uterus been in tip-top shape. She was so grateful for Leopold. Loving a child, being a parent, without risking her life in a delivery room. Being Leopold’s daddy was the most challenging a rewarding jobs of her life. She put in long, never ending hours, and the job of being a parent had no dental plan, no health insurance, but these benefits were much more powerful. Nothing but her love for him could repay Leopold for what he gave her and Torben with his presence in their lives. But maybe a doll could physically show him what he meant to them.

"Your...son likes dolls?" the woman asked and Gwen looked up with a nod.

“Oh yes. Very much. His favourite is named Magdalene and he likes to put her in the refrigerator.” Leopold claimed that Magdalene’s favourite food was apples, but wanted to live where it was always winter because she couldn’t abide the heat. This was a problem because apples didn’t grow in winter. So his solution was place her home in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator where it was always winter and there were more than enough apples for her to enjoy.

The woman looked unconvinced.

"Are you certain you're alright? It's no trouble at all. I really don't mind getting your...boyfriend."

Gwen froze. If Torben came here, he might haul her back to the hospital where they would sedate and decide she never try for a baby again. “No.” She said sternly. “That’s not necessary, Jeanette. Thank you.”

She looked to the doll she younger woman had pointed to earlier. “Do you like her? Would you like me to buy her for you? As you say, ‘it’s no trouble at all’.” Gwen chuckled. The girl had a funny way of speaking, a normal vernacular sprayed with an odd sort of syntax. “Consider it repayment for comforting me.”


OoC: Sorry it's so late. BiC:

[Marley]

Jeannette tipped her head to the side, frowning in confusion. Why on earth would a little boy put a doll into such an odd contraption? And what was a refrigerator? She had yet to learn that new word. Perhaps Yvette would tell her, the next time they met. Sometimes, Jeannette asked Yvette her questions, rather than going to Father Maurice. It was easier, and besides, Yvette didn't look at her funny---usually--for asking. She didn't seem to notice that Jeannette had no idea what all the strange things in Paris were, or how they worked.

Of course, that could be because Yvette was a bit mad, and thought that Jeannette was some refugee from a children's story. All the corrections in the world hadn't tugged the idea from the woman's mind. It remained there, still, and finally Jeannette had given up trying to explain. She could tell Yvette the truth--at least some of it---without any fear. Who would the old woman tell? Not the police, certainly. She avoided them as much as Jeannette herself did. And besides, she hadn't told Yvette everything, so surely everyone was still safe.

Her head snapped up and she flinched at the change in the other woman's tone. "As you will," Jeannette said quickly. She hadn't meant to be difficult. Only to help. Yet somehow, she had managed to be too pushy. Again. It was something she continually worked on, yet never seemed to get any better at. Why couldn't she simply leave well enough alone? Her life would certainly be easier if she would!

A smile flitted across her face at the woman's question. Her own words sounded odd coming from the stranger, and Jeannette giggled. "Oh...if you really would like to, but you needn't. I don't need anything for helping you, truly. I was glad to do it." Heat filled her face. Presents were a rarity back home, and usually only exchanged among family members for some special occasion. Jeannette's mother had made her a doll, once, for her birthday, and a new dress for Christmas. Last year, Jeannette had received her silver cross pendant, which she hadn't taken off since. But never had she received anything from a stranger before. How was she to respond? Hopefully, her words were right.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

The red on the woman's face deepened as she shyly shook her head, claiming that Gwen didn't need to repay her. It was nonsense buried beneath modesty.

"Of course I do!" Gwen insisted. "You did something nice for me, I do something nice for you. It's kind of like how Karma works. ... I think. Besides, I don't have a daughter," something in Gwen snapped with the worst sound and reverberations that shook her body. "And I probably never will at this rate." She was still sick and she knew it. Unpredictable, sad, angry, hormones imbalanced and trying to find their footing once more. Helping the helpful woman helped her.

She offered the girl a watery smile. "It would be an honour to buy you a doll."

Gwen was in no financial predicament and could likely afford every cheaply made, second hand heirloom doll on this thrift store wall. She took out a pen and clicked it, scribbling her number onto a piece of her dress. She ripped it off and passed it to Jeanette. "Here. Take this. If you need anything, call me."

She didn't need that part if her hem anyway.