The Dollmaker

II.

Everybody was in tears except for Vinny. People cried and wailed into the night, but the young man was silent. He gazed with thoughtful admiration at the open casket before him.

The little girl lay on her back, holding a bouquet of white roses in her hands. Her red hair flowed by her side, and her lips were parted ever so softly in the gossamer whisper of death. The peaceful look on her face called him, and he could hardly believe she was dead. There was a flushed look in her cheek that made her look rather much alive.

Vinny sat  down by the casket and opened his sketchbook. Choosing a darker pencil, he began to draw the girl's hair. With gentle strokes, he hummed as he drew the hair down to her shoulders. Her hair was much longer than that, but he couldn't tell how much longer with her laying down. Reaching into the casket, he pulled on a piece of her hair until it was stretched out at it greatest length.

Someone behind him cleared their throat loudly. Swiveling his head, Vinny turned to look at the man who was standing there. 

"What are you doing?" the man asked. "Who are you? How do you know my Elizabet?"

Vinny turned to look back at the girl and smiled softly. Elizabet? That was her name? It suited her well, he thought as he jotted it down.

"Are you even listening to me?" the man called again, but his voice didn't seem angry, it sounded desperate.

His voice sounded like he was trying to hold on to every single piece of memory he had of his daughter, and hopefully gain more of the puzzle from other people who had known her. All parents were like that when their children passed. It was a pointless, painful game.

"I don't know her nor you. I've seen her before and spoken to her once, but that was all," Vinny said softly.

"What did she say?!" the man cried, pulling on Vinny's vest.

"I was sitting in the store, waiting for Mr. Watson to tie up the flour I had purchased, and she had asked me if I wanted a peppermint while waiting. It was rather kind of her..."

"She was a sweet girl," her father sighed, plunking down next to the man. He noticed the sketchbook for the first time. "What are you doing? Why were you touching my daughter?"

Vinny glanced down at his sketch book and frowned when he realized he had forgotten how long the hair had been. He reached into the casket again and pulled a strand of her hair to see how long it was.

"I'm drawing her as you can see,"

"But why?"

"I like to draw the dead,"

"Do you work for the newspaper?"

"No," Vinny replied blankly.

"And you don't know her?"

"I have already told you, aside from her offering me candy once, I do not,"

Her father got quiet suddenly and Vinny finished the hair. Next he would work on the eyes. Leaning into the casket again, he slowly and gently pried open her right eye. Vinny fell to the floor, though, when a rough hand smacked his head.

"What do you think you're doing, you blasted pervert?!"

Vinny frowned and rubbed his cheekbone. The cry had turned the heads of several other mourners and suddenly a small crowd started to gather.

"What's going on?" someone from the back asked. "Who is that man?"

"This... man,"  the girl's father began hysterically, " doesn't even know us or Elizabet and he's touching up her body! First, he was pulling her hair, and then he's prying open her eyes like a madman! "

Vinny frowned, still on the floor, and shrugged.

"I mean no disrespect, sir, I just want an accurate drawing of her," he frowned.

"For what?!" the father cried in exasperation.

Vinny shook his head sadly and stood up. He tried to make his way towards the door, but a burly man stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Vinny's heart began to race a little, but he tried to keep his head calm. Everyone was staring at him angrily and closing in. Ducking under the man's arm, he ran out the door. The sound of footsteps were close behind, but he could run rather fast and soon lost them.

When he was sure he was safe, he ducked behind a tree and took a little rest. He looked down at the sketchbook. Only the head shape and hair had been completed. He hadn't been able to finish it... Feeling agitated and annoyed at himself, he snapped the book shut and closed his eyes. Breathing never felt like such a blessing.