"You remind me of me, when I was your age," Jackie told Barbara. "By the way, how old are you, anyway?"
Barbara did not want her idol to know she was not yet eighteen. It might make her sound precocious or something.
"A little under twenty," she admitted.
"Well, then we are a lot alike. I lived a lot before I was twenty, too."
Something Barbara had seen in the ranch house puzzled her.
She thought it would be an appropriate time to ask about it.
"Now I've something to ask you, if you don't mind."
"Ask away!" Jackie encouraged.
"I've seen a lot of dolls in the house, in your room and the guest rooms. It just surprises me, to see so many dolls here."
"I've collected dolls for years, and there is an explanation for it. I rarely had a doll when I was a little girl. When I was in my early teens I lived with foster parents in Millville, a sawmill town in Florida. As Christmas approached, I earned about six dollars washing diapers for mothers who didn't relish the chore, and taking care of their children. But they were too broke to pay me, so I had no money to buy myself a Christmas present.
"I saw a beautiful doll in a store window and wanted it badly. She had curly blonde hair, brown eyes, painted cheeks, and wore real doll clothes. I just loved her, but even if I had enough money, she wasn't for sale. She was a prize in a contest. You got a ticket for every twenty-five cents worth of toys you bought there. So for three weeks before Christmas I drew water from wells for women in Millville until my hands were almost bleeding. I earned fifty cents and bought two tickets on the doll.
"The drawing was held on Christmas Eve. I could hardly believe it, but I won the doll!"
Barbara was just as thrilled, listening to the story.
"But when I brought the doll home, my foster mother and father made me give it to my married foster sister Mamie's little girl Willie Mae as a Christmas present. I protested, but they won out. I had to give up the doll I adored. Ever since then, I've collected dolls. But my prize doll is that one I won in the contest."
"You got it back, then!" Barbara said happily.
"Yes, but not until years later," Jackie explained. "I have a memory like an elephant, and a wrong is something to be righted. I was working in Antoine's beauty salon at Saks Fifth Avenue in New York City. Who should come see me there but Willie Mae. She was grown up by then, but broke, and had a child of her own. She asked if I could help her with some money. I said I would, on one condition. She had to give me my doll back."