«Doesn’t look dented,» he said. «Couldn’t have fallen out of a very high window. Was it tied up like that?»
«Just like that. I put the ribbon back on after I opened it and looked in. Oh, I don’t mean I opened it then or there. I just stopped and looked up to see who’d dropped it—thinking I’d see somebody looking out of a window. But nobody was, and I picked up the box. It had something in it, not very heavy, and the box and the ribbon looked like—well, not like something somebody’d throw away on purpose. So I stood looking up, and nothing happened, so I shook the box a little and—»
«All right, all right,» said Sam Walters. «Spare us the blow-by-blow. You didn’t find out who dropped it?»
«Right. And I went up as high as the fourth floor, asking the people whose windows were over the place where I picked it up. They were all home, as it happened, and none of them had ever seen it. I thought it might have fallen off a window ledge. But—»
«What’s in it, Dick?» Edith asked.
«Dolls. Four of them. I brought them over this evening for Aubrey. If she wants them.»
He untied the package, and Aubrey said, «Oooo, Uncle Richard, They’re—they’re lovely.»
Sam said, «Hm, those look almost more like manikins than dolls, Dick. The way they’re dressed, I mean. Must have cost several dollars apiece. Are you sure the owner won’t turn up?»
Richard shrugged. «Don’t see how he can. As I told you, I went up four floors, asking. Thought from the look of the box and the sound of the thud, it couldn’t have come from even that high. And after I opened it, well—look—» He picked up one of the dolls and held it out for Sam Walters’ inspection.
«Wax. The heads and hands, I mean. And not one of them cracked. It couldn’t have fallen from higher than the second story. Even then, I don’t see how—» He shrugged again.
«They’re the Geezenstacks,» said Aubrey.
«Huh?» Sam asked.
«I’m going to call them the Geezenstacks,» Aubrey said. «Look, this one is Papa Geezenstack and this one is Mama Geezenstack, and the little girl one—that’s—that’s Aubrey Geezenstack. And the other man one, we’ll call him Uncle Geezenstack. The little girl’s uncle.»
Sam chuckled. «Like us, eh? But if Uncle—uh—Geezenstack is Mama Geezenstack’s brother, like Uncle Richard is Mama’s brother, then his name wouldn’t be Geezenstack.»
«Just the same, it is,» Aubrey said. «They’re all Geezenstacks. Papa, will you buy me a house for them?»
«A doll house? Why—» He’d started to say, «Why, sure,» but caught his wife’s eye and remembered. Aubrey’s birthday was only a week off and they’d been wondering what to get her. He changed it hastily to «Why, I don’t know. I’ll think about it.»
It was a beautiful doll house. Only one-story high, but quite elaborate, and with a roof that lifted off so one could rearrange the furniture and move the dolls from room to room. It scaled well with the manikins Uncle Richard had brought.
Aubrey was rapturous. All her other playthings went into eclipse and the doings of the Geezenstacks occupied most of her waking thoughts.
It wasn’t for quite a while that Sam Walters began to notice, and to think about, the strange aspect of the doings of the Geezenstacks. At first, with a quiet chuckle at the coincidences that followed one another.
And then, with a puzzled look in his eyes.
It wasn’t until quite a while later that he got Richard off into a corner. The four of them had just returned from a play. He said, «Uh—Dick.»
«Yeah, Sam?»
«These dolls, Dick. Where did you get them?»
Richard’s eyes stared at him blankly. «What do you mean, Sam? I told you where I got them.»
«Yes, but—you weren’t kidding, or anything? I mean, maybe you bought them for Aubrey, and thought we’d object if you gave her such an expensive present, so you—uh—»
«No, honest, I didn’t.»
«But dammit, Dick, they couldn’t have fallen out of a window, or dropped out, and not broken. They’re wax. Couldn’t someone walking behind you—or going by in an auto or something—?»
«There wasn’t anyone around, Sam. Nobody at all. I’ve wondered about it myself. But if I was lying, I wouldn’t make up a screwy story like that, would I? I’d just say I found them on a park bench or a seat in a movie. But why are you curious?»
«I—uh—I just got to wondering.»
Sam Walters kept on wondering, too.
They were little things, most of them. Like the time Aubrey had said, «Papa Geezenstack didn’t go to work this morning. He’s in bed, sick.»
«So?» Sam had asked. «And what is wrong with the gentleman?»
«Something he ate, I guess.»
And the next morning, at breakfast, «And how is Mr. Geezenstack, Aubrey?»
«A little better, but he isn’t going to work today yet, the doctor said. Tomorrow, maybe.»
And the next day, Mr. Geezenstack went back to work. That, as it happened, was the day Sam Walters came home feeling quite ill, as a result of something he’d eaten for lunch. Yes, he’d missed two days from work. The first time he’d missed work on account of illness in several years.
And some things were quicker than that, and some slower. You couldn’t put your finger on it and say, «Well, if this happens to the Geezenstacks, it will happen to us in twenty-four hours.» Sometimes it was less than an hour. Sometimes as long as a week.
«Mama and Papa Geezenstack had a quarrel today.»
And Sam had tried to avoid that quarrel with Edith, but it seemed he just couldn’t. He’d been quite late getting home, through no fault of his own. It had happened often, but this time Edith took exception. Soft answers failed to turn away wrath, and at last he’d lost his own temper.
«Uncle Geezenstack is going away for a visit.» Richard hadn’t been out of town for years, but the next week he took a sudden notion to run down to New York. «Pete and Amy, you know. Got a letter from them asking me—»
«When?» Sam asked, almost sharply. «When did you get the letter?»
«Yesterday.»
«Then last week you weren’t— This sounds like a silly question, Dick, but last week were you thinking about going anywhere? Did you say anything to—to anyone about the possibility of your visiting someone?»
«Lord, no. Hadn’t even thought about Pete and Amy for months, till I got their letter yesterday. Want me to stay a week.»
«You’ll be back in three days—maybe,» Sam had said. He wouldn’t explain, even when Richard did come back in three days. It sounded just too damn’ silly to say that he’d known how long Richard was going to be gone, because that was how long Uncle Geezenstack had been away.
Sam Walters began to watch his daughter, and to wonder. She, of course, was the one who made the Geezenstacks do whatever they did. Was it possible that Aubrey had some strange preternatural insight which caused her, unconsciously, to predict things that were going to happen to the Walters and to Richard?
He didn’t, of course, believe in clairvoyance. But was Aubrey clairvoyant?
«Mrs. Geezenstack’s going shopping today. She’s going to buy a new coat.»
That one almost sounded like a put-up job. Edith had smiled at Aubrey and then looked at Sam. «That reminds me, Sam. Tomorrow I’ll be downtown, and there’s a sale at—»
«But, Edith, these are war times. And you don’t need a coat.»
He’d argued so earnestly that he made himself late for work. Arguing uphill, because he really could afford the coat and she really hadn’t bought one for two years. But he couldn’t explain that the real reason he didn’t want her to buy one was that Mrs. Geezen— Why, it was too silly to say, even to himself.