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Chapter One
I felt slightly giddy when I dug my key out to unlock the back door of my White House Dollhouse store. The First Ladies were my passion and my shop’s specialty. Emails arrived inquiring about various First Ladies, their personal quirks and characters—even questions asking how many affairs their husbands had while in office. I loved answering the questions. It’s bittersweet. What if a time comes that I can’t answer the question?
After stepping inside of the workroom, I flipped on the light and proceeded to remove my coat and cap and place my bag filled with store stuff upon an open spot on the counter. I clicked on the coffee machine, turned up the thermostat, and headed out into the store.
The store was located on a city block in downtown Minneapolis. It was across from the main shopping area on the other side of the Mississippi River near St. Anthony Falls. There were plenty of old eating establishments that dated to the early part of the twentieth century. The old Pillsbury Flour Mill was nearby as well as the Stone Arch Bridge. The street that ran down the front of the store was cobblestone—thus the rumbling of cars and trucks messing with my wall hangings and sometimes screwing up the electrical wiring. On the corner was Inga’s Antiques. She has known me since I was a little girl and was friends with my grandma. The other side of Inga’s was an old eating and drinking establishment, Dumpy Grumpy, dating back to 1930. The Dumpy Grumpy used to be a speakeasy and from its basement, the buildings on the block were all adjoined. The basement was where Al Capone and John Dillinger plus the rest of the gangsters used to hangout when in Minneapolis. Between Inga and The Dumpy Grumpy was Mikal who read handwriting and on the other side of me was a small coffee shop, Swizzle Stick. Each business presided in an individual brick building, a brownstone, but were connected underground in a city block.
With plenty of time before the store opened, I checked the window display of our newest addition, the infamous rose garden. First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy had had it restored and updated to the beautiful flowers we all see from time to time on the news or in person. The brisk November wind blew outside, rattling the windows. I shivered and thought of a good hot cup of coffee.
I circled to the wall where the shelf of my Penny dolls was. Every so often, a heavy truck rumbled past and one of the dolls would move slightly. Next in line, was the First Ladies pictures that are hung. Sometimes they shifted because of heavy traffic.
“Why are you crooked, Barbara?” I stopped to straighten the first Mrs. Bush. “Don’t worry, ladies, I’ll return shortly to properly coif your hair. Mrs. Carter, I hope last night was worth it. All that Billy Beer.”
Something isn’t right. Mrs. Carter has never been this tipsy. “Don’t worry, ladies, you’re back to looking good.”
Grandma embroidered a replica of the sampler she has displayed at home, so it can be hung on the wall near the First Ladies pictures. We believe the sampler was originally embroidered by Dolley Madison. It has a border of strawberries but in one corner there is a flag, which I thought was odd since it was the only flag. The embroidered center had birthdates and the marriage date of Dolley and President Madison. Grandma was a direct descendant of Dolley, which means so am I.
I winked while moving on toward the dollhouses. I glanced over at the clock above the cash register and computer and saw there was plenty of time before a dollhouse buyer from New York City, Jackie from New York, planned to stop and view the houses. I always started my morning rounds with the Madison White House and the two miniature dolls, Dolley and James.
“Good morning, Dolley! Did you sleep well? You’re still my favorite,” I said, certain she loved the attention. I fell in love with Dolley early on, before learning we were kin. My mother loved her too. I’d crawl into bed, and Mommy would tell me the story about how Dolley had saved the White House. The best was for my birthday when Mommy offered Dolley Madison cakes to all the guests along with my cake and ice cream.“Ladies, listen up!” With my hands on my hips, I glanced around the room. “You have to all be good today because we have a special visitor. Be on your best behavior. That goes for the men, too. Mr. Clinton? Mr. Kennedy? No chasing the female staff around the Oval Office. Got that? Good.” I waited a beat. “Then we’re set for the day. This person is going to propel the store into the national spotlight so be good.” I gave them the evil eye.
I made sure I dressed up in a new pink dress to match Dolley’s inaugural gown. After two months showing interest in several White House dollhouses for her store’s toy department, Jackie Newell was coming to get a firsthand look. When I searched for her, I found her store located near Central Park. When combing through the store’s website, I realized she had stores around the world—England, Scotland, Ireland, and Canada. For me, it meant the possibility of international recognition and sales. She was scheduled to arrive within the hour, which left me with just enough time to spruce up the showroom and ensure that my 1814 White House dollhouse arrangement was in perfect shape. This was my chance to make the big time.
“There, there, now Dolley,” I said. I straightened her up because she’d tipped slightly. “Mr. Prez? You need to be on your best behavior today. No chasing Dolley around the house with my perspective buyer coming soon! No pinching her bum.” I wagged my finger at him.
“Mrs. Lincoln? You’re looking marvelous today, per usual. How’s the headache after that awful carriage ride? It was an attempt on your life, wasn’t it?” I’d had an awful headache after the car accident that killed my parents when I was eleven. I thought the pounding inside of my head would never quit. Now it was an ache in my heart, still—twenty years later.
After making a circle around the final few dollhouses, I went to the workroom once again to retrieve a hot cup of coffee. I poured my cup full before having a seat near the workbench. My employee Max usually sat at this spot and carved the dolls’ heads. Now was my chance to take a closer look at the heads. He’d labeled each one by number on a notepad with a sticky note beside each head. The Madison heads were slightly askew on the stand, which didn’t seem right since Max always left the doll heads upright so he could get a hard look at them as he entered the room. It helped him notice distinctive flaws in the carving.
I wanted to recount the number of dolls in the cabinet, to make sure my inventory book was in order. It showed six of each Madison dolls. The clothes for each was the same count. When I counted the dolls, there were six of each Madison dolls, six Dolley inaugural dresses but only five of James Madison’s outfits. What’s going on? I must’ve miscounted the last time. I recounted the number of historical dollhouses sold and dolls from the inventory, which added up correctly. I definitely was short Mr. Madison’s outfit.
How could that be? Who would want that little outfit, especially without the doll?
I texted Max, Do you recall how many James Madison outfits we should have? I thought six. Me.
I wasn’t sure when he’d respond because he worked other places besides for me. He could be sound asleep, also.
Max texted, Should be six.Max’s response perplexed me even more. Something was not right.