The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

24

AND SO EDWARD TULANE WAS mended, put together again, cleaned and polished, dressed in an elegant suit and placed on a high shelf for display. From this shelf, Edward could see the whole shop: Lucius Clarke’s workbench and the windows to the outside world and the door that the customers used to enter and leave. From this shelf, Edward saw Bryce open the door one day and stand in the threshold, the silver harmonica in his left hand flashing brilliantly in the sunlight flooding in through the windows.

“Young sir,” said Lucius, “I am afraid that we made a deal.”

“Can’t I see him?” asked Bryce. He wiped his hand across his nose and the gesture filled Edward with a terrible feeling of love and loss. “I just want to look at him.”

Lucius Clarke sighed. “You may look,” he said. “You may look and then you must go and not come back. I cannot have you in my shop every day mooning over what you have lost.”

“Yes sir,” said Bryce.

Lucius sighed again. He got up from his workbench and went to Edward’s shelf and picked him up and held him so that Bryce could see him.

“Hey, Jangles,” said Bryce. “You look good. The last time I seen you, you looked terrible, your head was busted in and —”

“He is put together again,” said Lucius, “as I promised you he would be.”

Bryce nodded. He wiped his hand across his nose.

“Can I hold him?” he asked.

“No,” said Lucius.

Bryce nodded again.

“Tell him goodbye,” said Lucius Clarke. “He is repaired. He has been saved. Now you must tell him goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” said Bryce.

Don’t go, thought Edward. I won’t be able to bear it if you go.

“And now you must leave,” said Lucius Clarke.

“Yes, sir,” said Bryce. But he stood without moving, looking at Edward.

“Go,” said Lucius Clarke, “go.”

Please, thought Edward, don’t.

Bryce turned. He walked through the door of the doll mender’s shop. The door closed. The bell tinkled.

And Edward was alone.