GARTH’S AUCTIONS
“Biography of an Object” Writing Contest
The Bedpost Doll
By Raven M. of Keene, Virginia
My name is Dolly, and my story begins in the small town of Linesville, Pennsylvania, in 1873. My first
memories are of a cold, drafty workshop, and a large, kindly man looking down at me and murmuring, “She’s
going to love you, she is!” The man carved my head and lower body from the wood of an old bedpost. My
arms and torso were fashioned of leather. My head was adorned with a bright yellow head cloth. When placed
upright, I stood sixteen inches high. Back in those days, my eyes were black and I had lips as red as a cherry
tart. I was given as a Christmas present to the man’s three‐year‐old daughter, Sarah.
Sarah was motherless and an only child. I was her very first doll. I could tell from the look in her eyes
when presented to her that we were going to be the best of friends. Indeed, the five years that followed were
blissful. Sarah took me everywhere with her. We watched her father carve furniture in his workshop. We had tea parties in the garden and adventures around town. I took meals with her at the dining room table and
slept in her arms at night. Sarah treasured me, and I watched over her and protected her, just as any mother
would. And as she was always calling me “dolly,” I took it to be my name.
Fortune changed for our little family in 1878. Sarah’s father’s exquisite woodwork was recognized by a
contractor from the city of Philadelphia. A few months later, I moved with Sarah and her father to the big city, where he became wealthy making chairs and tables. Sarah soon began making friends with the neighborhood children. One day, we were invited over to a girl’s house to play. Sarah happily took me along. The other little girls’ dolls were made of porcelain, and I stood out among them like a plow horse among dainty lambs. When the girls made fun of my appearance, Sarah cried, “Dolly’s special! My papa carved her for me from a bedpost when I was three!” The other girls only made more fun of her. It wasn’t long before Sarah asked her father for a “proper” doll to bring to her friends’ tea parties.
On her eighth birthday, Sarah received her new doll. It had ebony tresses and a dress made of pink silk.
I was promptly forgotten as the new doll took my place. For months I lay at the bottom of Sarah’s bedroom
chest along with a wooden toy horse and an old blanket. I missed Sarah’s small, cozy bedroom back in
Linesville. I missed the fun we used to have. But the new doll didn’t last long. One day it took a great fall and
broke beyond repair. I became a comforting presence for the heartbroken child during that time. True, I
wasn’t a very fancy doll, but I didn’t break easily either. I’d always be there for Sarah, no matter what, because
that was my purpose. Sarah appeared to realize this too; she never asked her father for another doll.
In 1883, Sarah’s father sent her off to Linden Hall, a girl’s boarding school in Lititz Pennsylvania. Sarah
wasn’t able to take me along, so she tied her favorite yellow ribbon around my left arm and said, “This is so
that we’ll never be apart.”
The following four years without Sarah were lonely for me. I was glad when she came home during the
holidays. Sometimes she invited friends up to her room, and when they inquired about me, Sarah told them
the story of how her father carved me out of a bedpost when she was three.
Sarah soon finished school and returned home to care for her aging father. It wasn’t long before she
met Mr. Walter Miller, a young antiques collector from Delaware, Ohio. He was fascinated by me and my
story, and began courting Sarah. A year later, Sarah married Walter in the spring of 1890, and the two of them began making plans to move to Ohio. I worried. What would become of me? But my worries proved
unnecessary. I moved with Sarah and her husband to their new home, where I was prominently placed on the living room mantelpiece. From there I was able to watch daily household activities. The Millers never had any children, but they had plenty of friends, also antique collectors, that came by the house to discuss rare and wonderful objects. Many a time they took notice of me, sitting quietly on the mantelpiece. When they asked about me, Sarah would smile and say, “My father carved me that doll from a bedpost when I was just three‐years‐old!”
The years went by, slow and peaceful. Sarah grew to an old, content woman in her nineties, and I grew
more worn, albeit dust‐free, thanks to Sarah. Walter died, and Sarah found comfort in talking to me in the
evenings beside the fire, or taking me out into the garden while she weeded. When she passed on, Sarah and
Walter’s good friends came to pack up the house. The Millers had left their small antique collection to their
closest friends, and the next thing I knew, I was on my way to Garth’s Auctioneers & Appraisers. Still tied to my left arm was the timeworn yellow ribbon, which reminded me that no matter where I ended up, I’d always be with my Sarah. Also attached to me was a note that read: This doll belonged to Mrs. Walter Miller. It was carved for her by her father in Linesville, Pennsylvania, when she was three‐years‐old. Now people will always know our tale, Sarah and I.
My life and my purpose were simple: to give comfort and companionship to an otherwise lonely child.
In that sense, I believe I, the bedpost doll, lived a very good life indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment