The Mannequin
The residents of Green Meadows, Massachusetts, eagerly awaited the city's centennial celebration. There was to be a parade down Main Street, a picnic on the common and a music concert at the bandstand. Emmett Morse, the mayor and most affluent citizen, was busy writing his speech when his fourteen-year-old daughter returned from a week-long visit to her grandparents' home in Boston.
"There's my princess!" the mayor exclaimed, holding his arms wide to embrace his only child. "How was your trip?"
"The city is so hot. I'm glad to be home."
"Not just because of the weather, I hope."
"You know I missed you terribly," Daphne said and kissed her father on the cheek. "I hope you haven't been working too hard while I was gone."
Mayor Morse, a widower, had two great passions in his life: the first was his daughter; the second was his duty to the people of Green Meadows. Whenever Daphne was away from home, he plunged himself into his work, to the exclusion of all else.
"There's a lot to be done," the mayor replied.
"What could be more important than eating and sleeping?"
"I know, but the centennial celebration is only a week away."
"A week! What am I to do? I have nothing to wear!"
"Now, dear. It's not the end of the world. Just go down to McIlroy's Department Store and buy yourself a new frock."
"But I've never shopped for my own clothing. Grandmother always picks out my dresses. I wouldn't even know what would be appropriate to wear for a town picnic."
"Just ask Mr. McIlroy. He's an old friend of mine. I'm sure he can assist you."
Daphne kissed her father on the cheek again and reached for her parasol, hat and gloves.
"Where are you going? You just got home."
"I'm going down to McIlroy's. If the centennial celebration is only a week away, I have no time to waste."
"Make sure you bring Mrs. McDorf with you."
"I will," the girl promised.
Although Daphne had lived in Green Meadows all her life, she had never been to McIlroy's. The overprotective Mayor Morse never allowed his little girl to shop in a store that was located in a neighborhood overrun with immigrants and factory workers. However, now that she was no longer a child, he would permit her to go downtown, as long as the housekeeper and her husband, the mayor's driver, accompanied the girl.
To get to McIlroy's, the threesome had to briefly travel through the heart of the city's poorest section. Daphne was horrified by the filth and stench of the garbage and animal waste that littered the streets and by the dilapidated tenement homes that ought to have been condemned for health and safety reasons.
"People actually live in those houses?" she asked the housekeeper.
"Sometimes two and three families crowd into one building."
Despite being appalled by the unsanitary and overcrowded conditions, Daphne was fascinated by the downtown area. It was a hub of activity. All sorts of carriages and wagons created traffic jams in the streets, and everywhere there were people and animals. It all seemed so alive to the impressionable teenager. By comparison, her own neighborhood was far too quiet, like Rip Van Winkle sound asleep and oblivious to all around him.
McIlroy's Department Store towered above the other buildings on the street. With seven stories, it was the highest structure in the city.
"Pull up and let us off at the front door," Mrs. McDorf told her husband.
When the carriage stopped at McIlroy's entrance, Daphne stared in wonder at the large display window in the front of the store.
"What's that?" she asked.
"What's what, dear?"
"It looks like a life-size porcelain doll. Surely, no child could play with a doll that big!"
"It's a mannequin," the housekeeper informed her with a laugh. "Haven't you ever seen one before? They must have them in Boston."
"If they do, I've never seen one, but then my grandmother doesn't go to the shops. The seamstress and tradesmen come to her."
"Well, for those of us who can't afford such personal service, there are stores like McIlroy's that show a selection of their goods in a display window."
"And they sell these mannequins? What purpose do they serve?"
"No, they're not for sale. They're used to display the clothes, hats, shoes and related merchandise."
Daphne stood in front of the window and carefully examined the mannequin from head to toe, or more precisely, from hat to high-buttoned shoes."
"She's beautiful!" the girl exclaimed, staring up at the mannequin's painted features.
"Come along, child," Mrs. McDorf called. "Let's see what dresses they have in your size."
After one last look at the mannequin, Daphne went inside the department store and told the first salesclerk she encountered that she wanted to speak to Mr. McIlroy.
"Miss Morse," the storeowner said, immediately recognizing the mayor's daughter, "it's good to see you. How may I help you?"
"I need to buy a dress for the city's centennial celebration."
"We have some lovely frocks for a girl your age. If you'll follow me, I'll show you the selection."
"That won't be necessary. I want the dress that's in your display window. In fact, I want the entire outfit, hat, gloves and shoes included."
"But that particular dress is meant for a more mature woman."
As a pampered child of a rich family, Daphne was used to getting her way, both from her father and her grandparents. She was not about to let Mr. McIlroy prevent her from getting the dress she wanted.
"Nevertheless," she declared haughtily, "that's the one I want. If you don't sell it to me, I shall take my business elsewhere."
"As you wish, Miss Morse," McIlroy relented. "Come with me to the women's department, and I'll have someone help you try it on."
Little did Mr. McIlroy know it at the time, but he had just acquired the best customer his store would ever have.
* * *
During the next four years, Daphne Morse made frequent trips to the department store. Although her grandmother still had many of her clothes made in Boston, the girl always purchased the latest styles modeled by McIlroy's mannequin. The shopkeeper knew this, so the outfits in his front window were changed on a monthly basis. Not only did Daphne buy the dress, hat, gloves and shoes, but she also bought the jewelry, parasols and purses on display. In an effort to capture the complete look, she even went so far as to have her hair styled like the wigs the mannequin wore.
Two days after her eighteenth birthday Daphne walked into the seven-story department store. As usual, Mrs. McDorf was at her side.
"Good afternoon, Miss Morse," the salesclerk greeted her deferentially.
Because of the large amount of money the mayor's daughter spent when she shopped, the employees of McIlroy's treated her like visiting royalty whenever she came into the store.
Daphne headed directly toward the ladies department where she ordered every item that was currently on display in the front window.
"Just charge everything to my father's account," she instructed the salesclerk. "And have the packages delivered to my house."
"Yes, Miss Morse," the young woman replied, having heard the same instructions every time the mayor's daughter shopped.
Before heading home, Daphne and her chaperone stopped at McIlroy's seventh-floor tea shop for a quick lunch. As they sat at a table reading the menu, a young man came to take their order. The girl looked up into his handsome and felt her heart flutter. Mrs. McDorf noticed that her employer's daughter was unable to take her eyes off the waiter as he headed toward the kitchen.
"Do you know that man?" the housekeeper asked.
Daphne blushed and replied, "No. Why do you ask?"
"No particular reason."
When the waiter returned with their food, Daphne blushed again.
"Excuse me," he said. "I don't mean to be forward, but aren't you Mayor Morse's daughter?"
"Yes, I am. Do you know my father?"
"Everyone knows your father," Mrs. McDorf rudely interrupted. "He is the mayor, after all."
Daphne had never known the housekeeper to be so discourteous.
"Is there anything else, young man?" Mrs. McDorf asked the waiter.
"No. No, nothing. Mrs. Morse."
"Then you best get back to work," she said, not bothering to correct the man's erroneous assumption that she was the mayor's wife.
"That was impolite of you," Daphne said when the waiter was out of earshot.
"Your father expects me to chaperone you when we go out, and I take my duty seriously."
"He's an employee of McIlroy's Department Store. What harm is there in my talking to him?"
"Your father would hardly approve. You weren't properly introduced."
"That's absurd!" Daphne said angrily. "We weren't planning an assignation; we were only talking."
"You can get in a tiff, if you want," Mrs. McDorf firmly declared, "but there'll be no talking to strange men when you're with me."
The girl's lips tightened in a pout, and she refused to speak to the housekeeper for the remainder of the day.
* * *
"Where are you going, all dressed up?" Mayor Morse asked his daughter the following morning at breakfast.
"I thought I'd visit Patricia."
"Did you inform Mrs. McDorf of your plans? I believe she said something about doing the marketing today."
"Father, I'm eighteen years old. Do I really have to take a babysitter with me every time I leave the house? It's not as though I were going downtown. Patricia's house is in one of the nicest parts of Green Meadows."
The mayor sighed. As much as he would like to, he could not hold back the march of time. His daughter was a woman, not a little girl. He supposed she ought to have some freedom.
"McDorf will drive you to Patricia's house," the father declared, "and he'll pick you up at an agreed-upon time."
"Oh, thank you!" the girl exclaimed as she ran to her father and hugged him tightly.
"Yes, well, you're still going to take Mrs. McDorf with you whenever you go to McIlroy's. I'll not have you in that part of town by yourself."
Daphne smiled and kissed her father's cheek, all the while feeling a twinge of guilt because she was about to disobey him.
Not long after the mayor left for his office, his daughter was driving in the family carriage with her collar pulled up against the cold air. When Mr. McDorf pulled into Patricia's driveway, Daphne made quite a show of getting out and walking to the front door.
"You can come back for me at four," she instructed the driver.
The man nodded but did not leave. He remained by the carriage until the girl was safely inside the house. Only when the front door closed behind her did he climb up to the driver's seat and head down the driveway.
"Daphne!" Patricia's mother exclaimed when she saw the young woman standing in the foyer. "What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?"
"I wanted to see Patricia."
It was a shameless lie since Daphne knew her friend was not home.
"Patricia went to Ipswich to visit her sister. I'm terribly sorry you missed her."
"That's quite all right. It wasn't important. I'll come back another time."
"Let me have Thomas drive you back to your house," the older woman offered.
"There's no need to inconvenience Thomas. I wasn't expecting to stay here long, so I told McDorf to return my books to the library and then come back and pick me up. It's only a short walk to the library from here. I'll probably meet McDorf on his way back."
"Why don't you wait here for McDorf to return?"
"I enjoy walking. It's great exercise, and the fresh air is good for the lungs."
Daphne bid her friend's mother farewell and quickly left the house. She nearly ran down the driveway, fearful that Thomas would appear and demand she get into his carriage. However, she made it to Main Street without interference. Once there, she hired a public conveyance to take her downtown.
With only a brief glance at the mannequin in the display window, Daphne boldly entered the front door of McIlroy's Department Store. The sales personnel, although surprised to see her so soon after her previous shopping trip, welcomed her as usual.
"Miss Morse, I hope you found everything to your satisfaction," one salesclerk said.
"Everything is fine. I was in the neighborhood and decided to come inside for a cup of tea."
If the clerk wondered what the mayor's daughter was doing downtown without a chaperone, he kept his thoughts to himself.
As Daphne was being seated at a table, she surreptitiously looked about to see if the handsome waiter was working. When she saw another server carrying a tray of food, her heart plummeted. All her sneaking around and lying had been for nothing. Disappointed, she stood up with the intention of leaving.
"Miss Morse?"
She turned to see the handsome waiter. He was dressed not in his McIlroy's uniform but in his street clothes.
"I know you don't remember me, but I waited on you and your mother yesterday."
"She's not my mother; she's the housekeeper."
It was all Daphne could manage to say.
"Are you leaving or arriving?"
"Arriving. I was just about to have a cup of tea. Are you working?"
"No. I'm off today. I only came in to pick up my wages."
Daphne's joy at encountering the young man quickly turned to disappointment at his leaving. In a moment of desperation, she acted completely out of character.
"Won't you join me?" she asked.
No doubt Mrs. McDorf would be mortified by her brash behavior, and her father would be furious. But for once in her life, Daphne did not care.
"I'd love to. My name is Julian Sayer, by the way."
After leaving McIlroy's, the two hired a carriage to take them to the park. They spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon together. At half past three, Daphne returned to the street where Patricia resided. Julian waited with her on the corner until she spied her father's carriage coming down the street.
"You'd better go now," she warned.
"I work the early shift tomorrow," the waiter told her. "I'll be done at two."
"I'm afraid I won't be able to go to the store tomorrow," Daphne announced with disappointment. "Mrs. McDorf usually keeps a close eye on me whenever I leave the house."
"What if I meet you at your home? Surely, there are places on your property where we won't be seen."
A smile transformed Daphne's face.
"Yes! Meet me in back of the carriage house after work."
* * *
Mayor Morse was infuriated to learn that for the past few months his daughter had been secretly seeing an employee of McIlroy's Department Store.
"The man's a waiter!" he shouted. "A common immigrant with no family, no education, no money and no prospects."
"I don't care!" Daphne stubbornly countered. "I love him regardless of his poor circumstances."
"What do you know of love? You're a child!"
"I'm eighteen. My mother was married by the time she was my age."
"That's different. Both she and I came from good families."
By good, the mayor meant wealthy.
"I'm old enough to make up my own mind, and if I want to see Julian, then I shall."
"I won't allow it," said Emmett, who was being as inflexible as his daughter.
"There's nothing you can do about it."
"Oh, no? First, I'll go see McIlroy and tell him that his employee has been trying to seduce his customers."
"You can't do that! Julian will lose his job."
"That's the idea. And once he has no means of support, I'll see that's sent back to England, where he belongs."
Emmett had expected his daughter to break down in tears or at least to argue. When Daphne meekly gave in to his demands, the mayor was taken aback.
"You win, Father. I won't see him anymore. Only please don't get him fired. He's really a very nice young man, and I don't want to cause him any trouble."
"I'm glad you're being so sensible about this. It shows signs of maturity."
True to her word, Daphne made no more secret trips to McIlroy's, nor did Julian approach the mayor's house. Although Mrs. McDorf kept close watch on the mayor's daughter, there were no more secret rendezvous between the two.
* * *
Spring arrived and the Morse garden was alive with daffodils, tulips, hyacinths and crocuses. The mayor remarked on the beauty of the flowers as he climbed up into his carriage one morning.
"You know, Father," Daphne said once he was sitting down beside her, "this trip isn't necessary. I've told you I wouldn't see Julian again."
"This trip to Boston is not about him. Your grandparents are getting up there in age, and they want you to come for a visit."
McDorf drove to the train station. As the father and daughter said their goodbyes, he took Daphne's luggage to the baggage car. He then stood at a respectful distance as Mayor Morse waved to his daughter and watched the train leave the station.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked once the train was out of sight.
"To my office. I've got quite a bit of work to do."
Later that afternoon, just as Emmett was finishing up his daily correspondence, there was a knock on his door.
"Yes?" he called.
"Mayor Morse," his secretary said, as he opened the door, "there's a telegram for you. It's from your father-in-law in Boston."
Since telephones were not nearly as common as they are today, receiving a telegram was no cause for alarm. Many businessmen, government officials and ordinary citizens routinely sent messages over the wire. After reading the brief missive, however, Emmett's heart froze with fear.
Train arrived. Stop. Daphne not on it. Stop. Please reply.
The distraught father dropped the telegram, hunched over his desk and put his face in his hands.
* * *
When Mayor Morse looked at the small, ramshackle house on the overcrowded street, his heart sank at the thought of his daughter living there. Why had she been so headstrong, so foolish? He steeled himself before knocking on the door.
"Father?" Daphne cried in surprise when she saw him on the stoop. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
"It wasn't difficult. When you failed to show up in Boston, I had a pretty good idea where you had gone."
"I'm married. There's nothing you can do now."
"May I come in?"
Daphne lowered her head and allowed her father to enter.
"Does he still work at McIlroy's?" Emmett asked, refusing to speak the young man's name.
"Yes."
"And you two get by on a waiter's salary?"
"I sold some of my jewelry. Don't worry. Julian will find something better."
"And when will that be, when you've run out of jewelry?"
The mayor saw the tears in his daughter's eyes, and he was instantly contrite.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I never wanted anything but your happiness."
"I am happy," Daphne insisted. "I love Julian with all my heart. I'd rather die than lose him."
"Then come home," Emmett said. "The both of you. I'll see what I can do about getting your husband a job down at city hall."
The look of pure joy on his daughter's face softened the pride that the mayor had to swallow over accepting a poor immigrant as a son-in-law.
* * *
"Not dressed yet?" Daphne asked her husband when she came down to breakfast and saw Julian sitting at the dining room table in his dressing gown. "You're going to be late for work."
"What are they going to do, fire me? I'm the mayor's son-in-law."
Julian frowned at the irony of the situation. Since Daphne's grandparents passed away, she was one of the richest women in the state, and she stood to inherit even more money when her father died. They ought to be living in New York and spending their summers in Newport, but instead they were living in Green Meadows, and Julian was forced to work as a clerk in the records department.
A clerk! he thought bitterly. I might as well still be a waiter down at McIlroy's.
Julian stubbornly remained at the table drinking coffee, making no effort to dress for work.
"Why don't we go out to eat tonight, before we go shopping?" Daphne suggested.
"You're not going down to the department store again, are you?"
"Yes, I am. Mr. McIlroy gets a new shipment of dresses today."
"That's not true," Julian said. "He gets shipments four times a year, one each season, but he changes the clothes on the mannequin every month because he knows you'll buy anything he puts in the display window."
"Even if the dresses do all come in at once, they're still the latest fashions."
"If it's the latest fashions you want, we ought to go to Paris. Think of the clothes you can buy there."
"I've told you before. Green Meadows is my home. I'm not going to leave it."
The unhappy husband got up from the table and headed up the stairs to his bedroom.
I'd do anything to get out of this rut, he thought with frustration. The cage may be gilded, but it's still a cage.
It was a sentiment he continued to feel in the years ahead.
* * *
Julian parked his Ford Model T in the municipal parking lot and hurried across the street to city hall. Since his father-in-law passed away, he had been forced to be on his best behavior at work or risk losing his job. He looked at the clock on the wall as he ran through the front door. It was two minutes to nine.
I made it, he thought with relief.
He headed for the office of public records and immediately began working.
Midday he stopped for lunch. Rather than eat, he walked across the street to the pharmacy. The following week would mark his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and he needed to buy a card for his wife.
"Julian Sayer, is that you?"
Julian turned and saw a man with a vaguely familiar face.
"Barney Osley," the man said when he realized Julian did not recognize him. "We used to work together at McIlroy's. I worked in the men's shoe department."
A memory clicked of a much younger Barney who occasionally brought his wife to the tea shop.
"Oh, sure. I remember you. Are you still at McIlroy's?"
"No, I left there a few years ago. I own my own business now. It's a good thing, too, what with McIlroy's closing."
Julian was stunned.
"What did you say?"
"I said I have my own business."
"No. About McIlroy's."
"It's closing. Didn't you hear?"
"No. When?"
"Any day now. Old Man McIlroy isn't well, and neither of his sons wants to give up medicine to become a shopkeeper. I can't say that I blame them."
"Couldn't they sell the store?"
"Who would want a department store in Green Meadows? It's not exactly Boston. Now that most people own cars, they'd rather drive to Jordan Marsh or Filene's."
"My wife will be devastated," Julian said more to himself than to the former shoe salesman.
"That's right! You married Mayor Morse's daughter, didn't you?" Barney asked with a laugh. "I remember how everyone at McIlroy's used to fawn over her when she came into the store. She used to buy every outfit the old man put in the display window."
"She still does."
Not wanting to be late returning from lunch, Julian said goodbye to Barney, paid for his card and walked across the street to city hall.
Does Daphne know? he wondered. Surely she would have mentioned it if she did. Well, I'm not going to be the one to tell her. Let her find out for herself.
Three days later, Julian drove his wife to McIlroy's, as he did faithfully at the beginning of every month. He was surprised to see that nothing at the department store had changed. It was apparently business as usual.
I don't know where Barney got his information, but he was obviously wrong, he thought with disappointment. I knew it was too good to be true.
"Aren't you coming?" Daphne asked when her husband made no attempt to get out of his car.
"Yes," he said and dutifully followed his wife to the display window.
"Isn't that a lovely outfit?" she asked.
"Yes," he agreed automatically, as he had replied to the same question that was asked twelve times a year for the past twenty-five years.
"She never changes," Daphne observed. "She's as beautiful as she was when I first saw her."
"You've changed, though. You were how old when you bought your first dress here? Fourteen? You're over forty now. Back then you were a little girl dressing like an adult, but now you're a middle-aged woman trying to look like a girl half your age."
Julian's thoughtless observation injured his wife's pride. Daphne did not know what she had done wrong, but she knew her husband no longer loved her. He had become increasingly distant since her father passed away, to the point where they rarely spoke anymore. Other than an occasional family dinner, the only time they spent together was during the monthly shopping trips to McIlroy's.
* * *
When Julian woke up, he stared out his bedroom window and watched the sunrise.
Somewhere someone is waking up with a smile on his face, eager to experience what the new day will bring. Perhaps he's looked forward to this day for some time and is excited now that it has finally arrived. But not me. I'm just looking for a good reason to get out of bed.
He heard his wife's bedroom door close and her footsteps on the staircase.
Damn it! I'll have to endure her company at breakfast.
If someone asked him why he was so miserable in his marriage, he would not be able to come up with a definitive reason. Daphne had always been a devoted wife. She tried to please him in every way except one: she steadfastly refused to leave Green Meadows, and Julian hated living in a community where he would always be known as the immigrant waiter who married the mayor's daughter.
Hoping to avoid his wife as long as possible, he washed, shaved and dressed before going downstairs to the kitchen.
"I thought I was going to have to send you a telegram to invite you to breakfast," Daphne joked. "Look, I made your favorite: buckwheat pancakes."
"Thank you," he said grudgingly.
"You haven't forgotten what today is, have you?"
"Friday?" Julian said sarcastically. "Yesterday was Thursday. Yes, today is Friday."
"It's the day we go to McIlroy's. I thought we would have something to eat at the tea shop while we were there. Don't you think that would be romantic?"
"What could be romantic about eating in a place where I used to work as a waiter?"
"It's where we met."
"Well, that's definitely worth marking on my calendar."
Daphne turned her head so that her husband would not see the tears brimming in her eyes. Julian finished his pancakes in silence and then got up from the table, mumbled a farewell and left for work.
The day was like every other day: long and monotonous. Finally, the clock in the church tower chimed five, and the employees headed out the door to enjoy their weekend.
When Julian pulled into the driveway, his wife came out the door and got into the car. With few words exchanged during the drive, he headed downtown. His spirits lifted when he saw McIlroy's parking lot was empty.
"Where is everyone?" Daphne asked. "It's not a holiday .... Oh, no!"
Julian smiled when he saw the empty display window and the CLOSED sign on the front doors. It was the best day he had had in many years.
* * *
The following week when Julian came home from work, he momentarily stood on the stoop, key in hand. As he unlocked the front door, he overheard voices coming from inside the house. When he stepped over the threshold, he saw Daphne sitting alone in the living room.
"Who were you talking to?" he asked his wife.
"We have a visitor in the dining room."
Since visitors to the house were as rare as honest politicians, Julian walked into the dining room to see who it was.
"Is this your idea of a joke?" he asked when he saw McIlroy's mannequin standing beside the dining room table.
"No. Mr. McIlroy was nice enough to give his mannequin to me."
"What the hell are you going to do with it?"
"I'm going to keep it, of course. I couldn't bear to see it sent to the junkyard. With my father and grandparents gone, she's the closest thing I have to family."
"It's a worthless dummy."
"To me, she's an old friend," Daphne argued, taking the mannequin's rigid hand in her own.
The thought that his wife was losing her mind horrified Julian—at first. After all, he had no desire to be tied down to a lunatic. But when he realized the full implications of the situation, he was delighted. Insanity was grounds for divorce. Not only that, if his wife were declared incompetent, he would be expected to manage her finances. Once he got his hands on her fortune, he would be free to get out of Green Meadows and finally enjoy his life.
First, however, he would need to prove to a doctor that Daphne was not of sound mind. That would be easy enough if he could show how his wife behaved toward the mannequin. He glanced at the three places set for dinner, and an idea came to him.
"You know, darling, if you're lonely, we ought to socialize more." he suggested. "Why don't we have a dinner party?"
"That's an excellent idea! I could show off the mannequin."
"Yes! She can be your guest of honor."
"Oh, but who would I invite? I don't know many people."
"You can invite the people who moved in next door. It's a good way to get to know them. And your lawyer, and you mustn't forget Dr. Raffin."
"What a wonderful idea! I'm going to start planning the party right after dinner."
* * *
"How do I look?" Daphne asked, turning around so that her husband could view her outfit from all sides.
"Very nice," he lied.
"I thought it would be suitable for a dinner party."
An hour later the guests arrived. Julian and Daphne entertained them in the parlor with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres while the cook saw to the final preparations for dinner. At seven o'clock the dining room doors were flung open, and the guests followed the host and hostess inside.
"What's this?" the doctor asked.
"It's the mannequin from McIlroy's Department Store," his wife answered.
"What's it doing here?" the next-door neighbor inquired.
"This is my friend. She lives here now," Daphne said. "I hope you don't mind if she joins us."
The guests looked uneasily at each other, and Julian pretended to be a worried husband.
The dinner was quickly over since the guests—with the exception of the doctor and his wife—made excuses to leave before dessert was served. As the dishes were being cleared away, Julian and Dr. Raffin went to the den for a glass of brandy.
"I'm concerned about your wife," the physician announced.
"So am I," Julian said, trying not to smile.
"Psychiatry isn't my area of expertise, but I don't believe it's healthy for a woman to form such a close attachment to a mannequin."
"I agree, but I don't know what to do about it. She refuses to see a psychiatrist. She insists there's nothing wrong with her. To be honest, Doctor, I'm afraid to leave her alone."
"Do you think she might hurt herself?" the doctor asked with surprise.
"She hasn't been the same since her father died. And then when McIlroy's closed, well ...."
"If you're worried about her, you might consider having her committed to a hospital for observation."
"I suppose you're right. I just feel so guilty about doing it."
"No need to," the doctor assured him. "It's often necessary to take drastic steps when it's best for our loved ones."
* * *
Naturally, Daphne cried and pleaded not to be left in the hospital.
"It will only be for a little while," Julian told her. "Dr. Raffin wants you to get some rest."
"But I'm fine."
"Then you'll no doubt be coming home in no time at all."
When she saw that there was no talking her husband out of his decision to commit her, she finally accepted the inevitable.
"Promise me one thing," she implored.
"What is it?"
"Don't do anything to my mannequin."
"I won't. It'll be waiting for you when you get home."
When Julian left the hospital, he headed directly to a lawyer's office. He instructed the attorney to begin procedures that would put control of Daphne's money into her husband's hands. Next, he consulted a real estate agent to see how much the house was worth.
Julian was the happiest he had ever been in his life when he opened the front door that evening. His marriage to Daphne was practically over, and he was about to gain control of a large fortune.
I'll travel, he decided. It'll be wine, women and song from here on in. I can afford them now.
As he walked up the stairs to the second floor, he was so deep in his pleasant reverie, that he didn't see the movement in the shadows. Suddenly, someone—no, something—blocked his path.
"What the hell?"
One moment the mannequin was on top of the stairs, and the next it was tumbling down directly at him, as though it had thrown itself at him. Julian put up his hands to ward it off, but the impact sent him falling backward. Before he hit the ground with a force that would prove fatal, the former waiter saw his dream of a golden future vanish before his eyes.
* * *
Dr. Raffin drove Daphne home after the funeral. He opened the door of his car and helped her out.
"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asked.
"There's no need," she replied.
"Remember, if there's anything you need, you have only to call."
The widow thanked the kind family physician. He had been a strong arm for her to lean on through her tragic ordeal.
"I'll be fine. I'm going to go inside, have a cup of tea and then take a hot, relaxing bath."
Daphne bid the doctor farewell and went inside. The dining room light was on, and the mannequin stood beside the table where a cup of tea was waiting for Daphne.
"Thank you, my dearest friend. You always know what I want."
The mannequin smiled and began slowly moving toward the bathroom where she would run a bath for the human who had saved her from destruction when McIlroy's Department Store closed.
The owner of our local department store will never forget (or forgive) Salem for turning himself into a mannequin and posing in the display window one Halloween.
