The Kidnapped Doll

He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy. - Proverbs 28:13

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It was Christmas Eve and the family was gathered at my grandparents' house in San Francisco. I was six that year and my cousin Tom, eight. We'd waited for months, and now that the time for gift giving was almost near, every moment seemed a lifetime. Would I get the baby doll I longed for---the one in the window of Mrs. O'Connor's variety store? For months I'd spent part of every day staring at her with my nose pressed against the pane. I was certain that baby doll looked sad every time I left.

"Why don't they give out the presents right now?" I asked. "Why do we have to wit until after dinner?"

"I can't wait," said Tom. "Let's sneak into the living room. Maybe we can find out what we're getting."

"Grandpa and the uncles are out in the garden," I said. And our cousins Dorothy, Mildred, and Mabel were in the attic playing dress-up.

We peeked into the kitchen. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and roasting turkey with sage dressing filled the air. Grandma smiled as she chopped onions. Aunt Agnes and Aunt Susan bumped happily against each other as they stirred the gravy. But Aunt Margaret scowled as she basted the turkey.

"You can't come in here," she said, shaking her spoon at us.

So far so good. Everyone was accounted for. We hurried down the hall to the front of the house and cautiously turned the knob on the living room door. My heart beat fast. This was forbidden territory until after dinner. We both took a deep breath and Tom pushed the door open.

What a sight! The magnificent pine tree, aglow with lights of every color, was covered with tinsel and bright ornaments. On the top an angel rested serenely, his sparkling wings brushing the ceiling.

"Wow!" whispered Tom. "Look at the presents." The rug was covered with gifts. He fell to the floor and started to shake the boxes that bore his name. "This one's just clothes, I think, but doesn't this one sound like an Erector set?"

I was too busy to answer. One of my packages smelled like perfume, another like chocolate. But where was a box that might hold a baby doll? I glanced around the room and spied something covered with a quilt behind a couch. I rushed to it and lifted the cover. Underneath was a buggy---with a doll inside. "My baby!" I cried, picking her up and hugging her.

"Put her back," hissed Tom, yanking my arm. "That doll's not yours. See, the tag says 'To Dorothy.'" I refused to look. "She's mine," I insisted, jerking away. "I've wanted her forever. Santa just made a mistake putting Dorothy's name on her."

Clutching the doll, I ran down the hall and out the back door to Grandpa's workshop. Quickly I thrust the baby onto a pile of wood shavings behind a stack of lumber.
Tom came storming in after me. "You're a kidnapper and a thief," he cried. Then, losing interest, he announced he was going inside. I ran behind him. Tom's last remark worried me: "Do you think you're the only one who wanted a doll? Dorothy asked Santa for a baby too."

I hadn't thought of that. What if it really was hers? Her parents would be upset that the doll was missing. Tom would tell on me. Mama would be ashamed. Aunt Margaret would stare down her nose at me, just like her stuck-up daughter Dorothy.

If the doll was Dorothy's, I'd never hear the end of it. Why had I taken her? I had to put her back. My heart beating wildly, I ran as fast as I could to Grandpa's workshop and was about to open the door when I heard voices. Grandpa was in there showing Uncle Edward the cabinet he was building. I couldn't go in now.

Just then Grandma called us to dinner. Shakily I climbed the steps to the house. In the dining room we bowed our heads as Grandpa said grace. "We thank You, Lord," he began, "for letting us all be together on the day of Jesus' birth." I almost choked. It was bad enough to be a thief and a kidnapper, but to think I'd done it on baby Jesus' birthday!
After that I had no appetite. When our mothers finally cleared the table and started to do the dishes, I hurried back to the workshop, hoping I could get the doll. But Grandpa was in there again, this time with Uncle Archie.

When we finally gathered in the living room, my face felt hot. The party dress Mama had made me seemed too tight around the neck. Grandpa began calling names and handing out presents. He waited for each person to open the gift before he called another name. I stole a look at Tom, he was totally involved in unwrapping his own packages. After an hour, Dorothy's buggy was still behind the couch. Though I'd received several presents, Mama could see I wasn't happy. She left the room and came back wheeling a doll buggy. "Santa left this for Myrtle," she said.

I gasped. Inside was a doll better than the one I'd taken. She had a different dress, a pretty bonnet, and a coverlet of pink and blue satin. She wore a ruffled petticoat, lace panties, and booties. I knew Mama had made them; the blanket was of the same satin she used to make Grandma a robe. My baby was so special that I hugged her tight and vowed never to let her go.

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. For a moment I'd forgotten Dorothy's doll. It was still missing. "What's the matter, Myrtle?" said Mama. "Don't you like her?" "Oh, Mama, I love her." But of course, I couldn't enjoy my present until I put Dorothy's doll back. How could I possibly do it? Jesus! It was His birthday. Maybe He could help me. 'Jesus,' I prayed silently, 'I'm sorry I was so bad. Please help me make things right.'

Grandpa called for attention. "We've got a lot more presents to give out. But we're going to take a recess. Pumpkin pie with whipped cream is waiting in the dining room."

This was my chance! As everyone headed for dessert, I stole out the back door and down the steps. This time no one would be in the workshop. Behind the lumber, with her dress askew and wood shavings in her hair, lay Dorothy's doll. I grabbed her and got her back to the living room without being seen. I picked the shavings out of her hair, smoothed her clothes, and started to put her in the buggy behind the couch.

But my heart sank when I saw a pink smear on her cheek. Grandpa painted landscapes and there must have been a drop of paint on the wood shavings. Rub as I might, I couldn't get it off. Dorothy and Aunt Margaret would be sure to notice it.

I knew what I had to do. With trembling fingers I undressed both dolls. I put Dorothy's doll clothes on my perfect doll, and the clothes Mama had made on the doll with the smudged cheek. I put the perfect doll in Dorothy's buggy and the one I'd kidnapped in my buggy with her smeared check against the pillow.

When everyone returned to the living room, Grandpa finished giving out the presents. Dorothy received her doll and was just as happy with hers as I had been with mine.
"Our dolls look like twins," I said. "Let's have a tea party for them."

"That'll be fun," said Dorothy. "I'll bring cookies." She's not stuck-up, I told myself. I'm sure we can be friends.

"Mama," I said that night as I was getting into bed, "I'm naming my doll Mary, after Jesus' mother." "That's lovely," said Mama. "You know, your doll has a little pink mark on her cheek. Mrs. O'Connor has a lot of other dolls in her store. I'm sure we can exchange her."

"No!" I cried. "I like her just the way she is."

I snuggled in my blanket, holding Mary close, filled with an overwhelming joy that had nothing to do with dolls or buggies. I was only six years old, but already I'd sensed it. When you do something bad, it's possible, with God's help, to make things right.

Myrtle "Cookie" Potter - from "Christmas Memories From Our Heart to Yours"

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And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for he shall save his people from their sins. - Matthew 1:21