Scraps of colorful fabric littered the oriental rug in a false spring bloom. Fog feathered the corners of the window panes, the breath of a chill waiting to enter the cottage. Keeping it at bay was a small blaze in the fireplace. Comfortably heating the parlor, the flames cast a warm glow over the space, mimicking a summer sunset. Winter was fast approaching, although it was out of sight and mind inside the home.

“Which colors do you think would suit Schuler?” asked Patience. She held up two folded squares. The sea blue pinstripes grasped in her right hand were partially obscured by the glowing, white orb hanging over her eye.

“He’s more suited to greens, wouldn’t you say?” Anax mused as he touched a tendril to the left piece shining a bright emerald.

“Hm … I wonder if there’s a more subdued green here somewhere …” Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Patience leaned over to scan the array of fabric before her. “Ah! Over there is a nice rosemary shade. It looks like linen.”

Wafting like an ethereal blanket, a mist unfurled from the back of the skull. It shifted and extended to pick up the scrap.

“I still don’t know why you insist on making dolls of me and Schuler as your first project.”

“Your father stuffed animals to preserve them. I can’t stuff you two—well, not with cotton.”

Patience snorted.

“I want to have my own effigies of you … something to hold if one is away.”

The young woman’s face softened. It was a bit endearing. She glanced at the doll bases, their blank bodies laying on the cushion beside her, waiting to be dressed and wigged to form their identities. Patience had made one the week before, and Anax astoundingly mirrored her every move to create the second in tandem with hers. This was his first intensive practice sewing dolls. After she watched Anax play the guitar with borrowed knowledge from Schuler, she had the idea to employ Anax’s skills to double her production of toys this winter.

Patience unfolded and laid the scrap over her lap, evaluating its size. It would be enough to make a miniature shirt. She began sketching a pattern on the butcher paper at her side. The larger of the blank bodies, made of ecru linen, moved on the paper to check against the pencil line. Patience had gotten quite used to seeing out of Anax’s sockets by now, and she only tipped the skull up out of her vision for finely detailed tasks.

While she sketched, Anax took the liberty of finding a scrap for the doll’s pants. He settled on a muddy moss corduroy. 

“Oh, I was thinking of making a lizard out of that,” Patience said.

“Well, I’d rather Schuler have pants.”

Patience snickered. “You seem to like him just fine without.”

“And I’d rather you bare as well, but these dolls need to be decent.” Anax gingerly picked up the smaller doll base, a warm khaki in color. “I want yours to wear what you wore on your wedding day.”

“Mrs. Laurence did gift me some of the scrap from my dress …” Patience leaned over to search through the pile. Her fingers alighted on a folded muslin square of silvery taupe wrapped with a band of lace. She smoothed her hand over the fabric. 

“I believe there’s enough to make a small replica,” she mused. The full dress currently hung on her side of the wardrobe. And while it waited for the next occasion, its debut at their wedding was still fresh in Patience’s mind. 

It had been a simple ceremony at the courthouse in Haverston on a warm September day. Schuler stood with the judge and Whit Claiborne by his side. Patience, with Anax upon her head, walked into the room, arms linked with Mrs. Laurence. Her dress swished gently along the way, the ruffled muslin accentuating her figure, the scoop neck revealing her collarbone, the lace fringe decorating her with a sheen of softness and femininity. Vows were read, rings were exchanged, and as Patience ceremoniously passed Anax to Schuler, they kissed. Then with Anax on Schuler’s crown, they signed their names and were officially dubbed husband and wife.