A new day
Aunt Jans cannot sleep well. It is very noisy outside in the garden. In the middle of the garden is a large beech tree and on one of the branches, a nightingale is singing her song loudly. Aunt Jans usually enjoys the singing of the birds in her environment, but this nightingale produces a noise that is not nice. Even Bromknor, the dog is tired of the singing. He’s never heard a bird that sings so ugly. To make it clear to the nightingale that he doesn’t like her singing, he starts crying loudly. Then several neighbours throw all kinds of things to Bromknor’s loft. That’s why he decides to lie down safely in his loft and puts his legs over his ears. He doesn’t understand it. Would people not hear how false that nightingale is singing, he wonders. But Bromknor is not the only one who suffers from the bird. Koos the cat also starts to scream like a hot hangover and when Teun, the Pitbull from the neighbour also starts barking, the party is complete. Many neighbours open the window to see what is going on, but then suddenly it is silent. Dead silent….
When Aunt Jans wakes up the next morning, she looks at the alarm clock. She is relieved to see that it has not yet gone off. Because she was unable to sleep well, she still feels very tired. She gets up with difficulty and gets dressed. Carefully she takes the stairs down. Walks to the window of the backroom and looks outside. In the sky, there is a clear blue sky in which some small clouds are visible. “This is going to be a beautiful summer day,” she whispers.
Aunt Jans sees Bromknor in front of his loft and knows that he is already enjoying the early rays of the sun. As usual, she opens her shop and goes around each doll or cuddly toy and neatly puts it back in its place.
“Sometimes it seems like an earthquake has happened,” she says with a smile as she puts the last cuddly toy in place.
Aunt Jans takes place on her rocking chair and picks up her crochet. After a few stitches, she puts the work on her lap. She looks doubtfully ahead of her. Her thoughts go back to the previous night and she remembers that there was a light behind one of the attic windows and that went out at the same moment that the noise suddenly stopped.
That’s strange? I notice it before and always when it is so noisy in the garden. I don’t understand this, she thinks. Strange things are happening here, I’m sure. Sometimes I hear my hugs and dolls sigh and talk softly and then that nightingale, who sings so out of tune that it is too terrible to hear. Who is that person in the attic three high behind? Would it have anything to do with it?
Aunt Jans’ gaze falls on where Annabel once stood. For a moment she thinks or hopes that Annabel has something to do with it. No, that’s nonsense. No, Annabel would never run away from home, but it still is strange. She picks up her crochet again and goes to work diligently.
Piet the rat carefully opens the door of the sink cabinet. Aunt Jans sees him but pretends she doesn’t notice anything. Piet runs fast as the wind and then he comes back because he has forgotten his backpack. Aunt Jans smiles after him.
Over her glasses, she sees the gentleman standing in front of the shop window and as every morning he says, “That this shop still exists.”
A little later she also sees the girl with her golden curls who waves to her as usual. Aunt Jans wonders how long it would take before she has the money to buy the doll she wants so badly. There have been customers who wanted to buy the doll, but she didn’t sell her. No, he was ordered for the little girl. Aunt Jans knows quite well that she should be more business-like, but she doesn’t need so much money to be happy. Children are important to Aunt Jans and she shall never break that little girl’s heart because she wants to earn a lot of money. No, she would never do that. Now the girl learns that she had to save to buy something and how proud she will be if she succeeds.
Aunt Jans looks at the doll and knows that this is one of the most beautiful dolls she has ever made and proudly she feels a chill running down her back.