Jacqueline Hopper Official Author Website

In Orchids for Roses Ysonde tells Michel about a doll she'd once had: "I can picture you playing games with the other children," Michel said, stirring Ysonde's ponytail with his fingers. Her eyes slid closed at the touch. No one touched her, aside from accidental brushes in crowded hallways or on the narrow stairs. Real human contact with him was like nothing she'd ever known.

"No, I never played games."

"Did you have a doll?"

"Once." Ysonde smiled at the sudden memory. "She was beautiful. Porcelain skin and large, blue eyes."

"What happened to her?"

Ysonde hesitated. "She disappeared."

So, with Bouquets and Motorbikes to be released in the not-too-distant future, these next few blogs will be about eight-year-old Ysonde and the adventures she had with her doll; stories not found in her books.

"Joyeux Noël, Ysie," Grandfather said, holding out the large, red-wrapped present to her. It was Christmas morning; an hour before the sun would burst onto the horizon. That was her fault: she'd struggled to fall asleep the night before and when she could no longer bear the suspense, she'd crept to her grandparents' door and asked if they might get up and start the day. 

The homemade decorations, the delectable turkey dinner they'd have that afternoon and the presence of her grandparents and Cousin Bernie were all Ysonde needed to make the day special. However, the presents accumulating at her side -- including the dresser set complete with an ivory-backed brush, comb and mirror from Cousin Bernie, and the red, velvet dress from her grandmother -- were bonuses she knew she didn't deserve. As tears of gratitude welled up in her eyes, she eagerly accepted her grandfather's offering.

With care, she untied the gold-colored ribbon and peeled back the heavy, red paper. 

"I don't remember this, Etienne," Grandmother said. 

"I saw it last week." Grandfather grinned. "It was in a store window when I passed by. The little girl, I knew she would like it."

Ysonde smiled to herself. Grandfather always called her 'the little girl'; his term of endearment for her. Her smile immediately fled when she caught her first glance of the doll: it was longer than her arm, with golden-hair, porcelain skin and large, blue eyes that blinked when she moved forward and back. 

"Grandfather -- " Ysonde's breath broke as her gaze feasted on the treasured gift.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Grandmother said, her voice rife with approval. 

"And look, Grandmother!" Ysonde held up the doll, taking extreme caution not to drop the box. "She is wearing a dress almost exactly like the one you made for me."

"Why, Etienne," Grandmother gave a tender laugh, "you were paying attention, after all."

"Eh, a man can only be stabbed so many times with a needle and thread," he shrugged, "before he notices why it's around."

"What will you name her, Ysie?" Cousin Bernie asked, glancing up from the fancy calculator he'd been wanting for a long time.

"Um ..." Ysonde scrunched up her nose and gave it a great deal of thought. "I'm not sure."

"Well, you take your time," Grandfather said. "It will come to you."