Frank's Toys

Toby felt nothing but gratitude for the old man.

After all, Frank had worked for years -- probably his whole life -- just to make this moment possible. To make it perfect.

Perfect for Toby.

In the early days, even Toby doubted that there was any hope for him. He was too crude, too coarse to ever be worth a damn.

But Frank kept showing up, week after week, through all the ups and downs of life. New babies and family deaths and financial woes might have separated them temporarily, but Frank always came back.

It was as if he had no choice, driven by some unseen hand.

Toby didn’t think he would have done the same for his old buddy.

And so it was with just a twinge of guilt that Toby gazed into Frank’s watery brown eyes for the last time. The old man straightened Toby’s tie and nodded in satisfaction -- and then went rigid, wide-eyed confusion painting his wrinkled face.

Toby squeezed Frank about the shoulders and helped him settle into place before walking to the front of the shop and sliding into the night.

He pulled the door closed behind him and took a stiff step sideways to stand in front of the big display window.

Mabel would miss Frank, of course, and Toby felt terrible for that. But the old man doll was so astounding, so life-like that she could sell it for a king’s ransom and live out the rest of her days in luxury.

A tear ran down Toby’s wooden face as he gazed, one last time, on his creator, standing frantic but frozen under his own sign: “Frank’s Toys.”

Toby turned into the darkness, where a single star shone to the north, beckoning him onward … to where he didn’t know.