The snow tumbled to the earth in huge flakes all that December day. It was 1959 and we girls played in the fresh white snow all that day until our cloths were wringing wet. When every pair of woolen mittens and socks were soaked, we hung them by the wood stove to dry and began to wait for Daddy to return from town. Daddy had gone to Kaslo early that morning to ship his furs to the Hudson Bay company and he would likely bring a treat for us on his return. Sometimes at this time of year he would bring a box of Japanese oranges. Each would be wrapped individually in crisp green paper and nestled inside a wooden crate that was tied securely with twine. Sometimes he would bring Ice cream and we could all eat as much as we wanted. What was left in the carton would be placed outside in the snow because we did not have a freezer. This day though, he would bring a surprise that none of us could have imagined.
As Daddy unloaded the car that evening, we all scrambled around peeking in bags and boxes. He had a twinkle in his eye as he placed a long narrow box onto the table. "Come girls" he said, and we all hurried to the table. Daddy opened the box.....and there within, lay a beautiful doll almost three feet tall. She was dressed all in white from her head to her slippered toes. Satin and lace spilled from the box as we pulled away the tissue paper. A veil covered her sleeping face and her head was covered in soft silky curls the color of butter. She held a bouquet of white flowers in her hand. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my five years of life and I new instantly that she was not mine. There was never a question of who she belonged to...when there are 7 sisters in a family we knew she belonged to all of us, which was the same as none of us. Daddy told Mom he had won her in a draw. That he had bought a last minute ticket in the Overwaitea grocery store When his ticket number was called, he scooped her up and hurried home.
The bride doll was never named. She was not cuddled or dressed and undressed like most dolls are. She was carefully set on a shelf or a chair to be admired and softly touched. Occasionally we were allowed to take her hands and help her "walk" across the floor. When she got dusty she was put away in the cedar chest only to reappear months or even years later. Always looking as lovely as the day she was laid before us on the kitchen table. But little girls have a way of growing up and when sister number eight joined the family, there didn't seem to be any good reason to not allow her to play with the bride doll. Soon one shoe was lost.....and then the other... her tiny silky socks disappeared next. The veil that covered her lovely face became torn and tattered and someone scrawled on her face with ink. When her leg fell off Mom intervened. With wire and glue and an elastic band Mom repaired her broken leg. She dressed her in her dress and returned her to the cedar chest. Years later when my parents moved the bride doll was taken from its resting place and handed to me because "you like old junk" I stared glumly at her and was about to say "no thanks" when I found my arms reaching for her....A thousand memories swirling in my head and my mind already racing in search of ways to remove the ink from her face and put the curl back in her hair.
Now the bride doll sits nameless in my house Her dress has yellowed and hangs limp from her waist and though her hair has lost its shine her face is still lovely and serene. When children ask to play with her I tell them she is too old to be played with, that she is just to look at and admire. I say of course, that she does not belong to me and I tell them the story of how she came to be the family doll.
Sharon Neil
