She felt too excited to sleep. Her parents had talked about the dolls she’d found for what seemed like forever and then finally decided that she could keep five of them. “It’s like an answer to a prayer, Silas. We can probably get enough to pay ourselves up to date with the bank if we’re shrewd about it.” Her mother had spoken in whispers, as if afraid that speaking any louder would frighten away their sudden fortune. Her father had nodded his head and lit his pipe, something he only did when he felt like celebrating. Christmas and Thanksgiving were pipe days. The rest of the time he went without. They'd spoken about the antique stores until the sun was down, carefully assessing each of the figures and settling them on the sofa as if they were guests come to visit. Most of them were only visiting, but five would be hers. Which ones? She wondered with all the solemn joy she could manage, as she closed her eyes and drifted into a restful slumber. There were so many to choose from, and each seemed more beautiful than the last.
