Bridge of Scarlet Leaves (26 page)

Authors: Kristina McMorris

BOOK: Bridge of Scarlet Leaves

4.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

He offered his arms, and she folded against his chest. Aware they’d soon have to let go, she stored this moment away. She’d hold the vividness in her mind, like a talisman to keep her strong. In times of fear she would rely upon these: The comfort of Lane’s body, the melody of a creek. The chill of coming snow. The fading scent of ashes.

T
J threw back another gulp of beer, avoiding the thief who’d just plopped down on the next stool.

“You can’t seriously still be steamed,” Ranieri said in a snickering tone. Liquor wafted from his breath and cigarette smoke from his khakis. “If you got a look at those dames, you wouldn’t blame me a bit.”

TJ gripped his bottle on the bar. Ignore the guy and he just might go away.

A pack of sailors chucked laughter across the open-aired tavern, rising above the static of waves pounding the beach. Flirtatious girls added their giggles to the gratingly happy clamor.

TJ took another drink, the one and only reason he’d gone out tonight. He certainly hadn’t come to Kanoa’s for company. Or to listen to anyone’s excuses.

“Ah, don’t be such a sorehead, Kern. Said I was sorry. Let bygones be bygones, whaddya say?”

In a mirror behind the racked liquor, TJ could see Ranieri’s trademark grin, slick and smooth as ever. He should have trusted his instincts from when they first met at gunnery school.

“Here, let me buy you a shot. Make it up to you.” Ranieri turned to the bartender. “Hey, Kanoa! Need some whiskey over here.”

The Hawaiian covered in tribal tattoos poured two shots. If not for his husky build, he could have been any one of General Tojo’s soldiers. A third of the population, after all, was Japanese. The fact that few had been detained could give anyone with common sense a headache.

Following Ranieri’s request, the bartender left them the bottle.
“Salute,”
Ranieri toasted, raising his glass to TJ. No doubt, the guy believed a couple shared drinks could solve the world’s problems.

TJ snubbed the offer. He’d even lost his desire for the beer. He threw a crinkled dollar onto the bar.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me. All this over a lousy chute?”

It was more than that.

Ranieri didn’t make for a real friend. And not just because he’d given TJ’s parachute to some broads, so they could sew slips and pajamas from the coveted fabric. Not for the hassle TJ had endured with the supply sergeant upon discovering it missing. Truthfully, the swindle was pretty impressive; he would have otherwise thought it damn near impossible to smuggle a pack from the personal equipment shack. But the jerk should have come clean on his own, rather than bragging to others about his deed.

Better to cut him off before any real damage could be done.

“Lighten up, will ya?” Ranieri set down his shot glass. “If they’d charged you for a replacement, you know I would’ve covered it.”

TJ stood up to leave.

“Kern.”

When he didn’t stop, Ranieri clamped a grip on TJ’s arm—and that finally did it. An ancient anger burst free.

“Get your paws off!” he roared.

Ranieri backed up, showing his palms. Disgust creased his face. “Fine by me,” he muttered as TJ turned away from him. “Besides, who needs a pal who only gives a shit about himself. No wonder your sister ran for the hills.”

On reflex, TJ spun around and grabbed Ranieri by the shirt, shoving him against the bar. Stools tipped, a bottle crashed. TJ raised his fist, about to clean the guy’s clock, when a memory returned. The night he’d gripped Lane the same way. The night TJ lost a brother.

No other betrayal could compete.

He sharply released his hold while Ranieri pushed himself free. A table of sailors looked eager to join in.

“Take it outside,” the bartender growled, holding a wooden club.

TJ shook his head and replied through clenched teeth. “He ain’t worth the trouble.” Then, tossing out a couple more bucks, he snagged the whiskey bottle and left their friendship behind.

Sunlight pierced TJ’s brain like an ice pick. Eyes slowly adjusting, he assembled pieces of reality. Air Corps. Hawaii. War. Booze.

Thankfully he’d woken up on his own cot. He tried to recover moisture on his tongue. His mouth tasted like a bin of dirty cotton.

“Rise and shine!” A guy entered the barrack. Short. Yellow hair. Through groggy vision, he looked like Tack. “You missed chow, buddy. Too bad. Powdered eggs and Spam actually tasted good today.”

The mention of food curled TJ’s stomach. “Not hungry.”

“Yeah, you’re lookin’ a little green.” Tack blew out a breath, amused, and rustled through his footlocker. Every noise blared in the halls of TJ’s mind. “Gotta say, though, serves you right for waking me up last night. I was smack in the middle of making it with Rita Hayworth.”

TJ rolled over onto his side and smothered his ear with the pillow. He had only a vague recollection of returning from the beach. That’s right ... it was a beach where he’d emptied the bottle. What had it been—half full? Ah, Christ. He could still feel the liquor swishing around like the waves he’d watched roll in. Couples had strolled by in the moonlight, shoes dangling from their fingers. TJ had kept to himself. Invisible in the shadows, he’d stared into the sky, searching for Jo’s stars.

“Better get up soon,” Tack warned. “Cabbie’s gonna chew you out if you’re late for the practice run. Oh, and I handed off those letters to him. Don’t know what was so urgent, but they’re gone like you asked.”

TJ’s mind spun with nauseating visions of aerial maneuvers. “What’re you talking about?” he rasped. “What letters?”

“To your girl. Jo Allie-whatever.” Tack hitched his hands on his hips. “What, you don’t remember that either? Sheesh. How much you drink anyway?”

Letters ... to Jo ...

Letters to Jo?

Panic propelled TJ’s body to sit upright, the alcohol sloshing. His dog tags clanked together as he reached into his footlocker. He lifted stuff up, shoved it around. They weren’t there. Each page he’d written—never intended for her eyes—was missing.

Then he realized: “They didn’t have her address.”

“Not till you rattled it off,” Tack said. “Some hardware store in California. And don’t forget you owe me two weeks of cigarettes.”

The soul-baring confessions TJ had poured onto those pages came rushing back. Strung together, the words did a loop-the-loop and skid landed in his gut. “Holy crap.”

TJ worked to throw on his uniform.

“Where in the Sam Hill you goin’?”

Cabbie, as first lieutenant, censored all the crew’s outgoing mail. TJ had to stop him from sending out those posts. Jo couldn’t read those posts!

He was still buttoning his shirt as he raced outside. Finally he located Cabbie on the hardstand. In the midst of a preflight inspection, the pilot stopped to give TJ an earful over his appearance. Only then did TJ get an answer to his pressing question.

The letters to Jo Allister were already en route.

There was no way to get them back.

A
t the main gate, surrounded by MPs, Maddie and Emma waved good-bye to Lane. To avoid conflict with those opposed to enlistment—the Black Dragons, in particular—the Army smuggled out Nisei soldiers in the frosty black of night.

“Kiotsukete”
was Kumiko’s single bid to Lane before he turned for the bus. Even Maddie understood the phrase:
Take care.
His mother’s face had remained stoic all the while, but the slight quiver in her voice had betrayed her.

As Lane boarded the steps, Maddie pondered the keepsakes he’d claimed would bring him home. Packed in his travel bag was a photo of Maddie, a paper crane Emma had once given him—a symbol of a thousand cranes for luck—and a
senninbari
from his mother. Kumiko had recruited a thousand residents to each sew a red stitch into the white waistband that would, in wartime, protect her son.

A thousand stitches, a thousand cranes. A thousand years, it seemed, until Maddie would see him again.

Four days later, the eruption began.

Fred Tayama, rumored to be an FBI “stool pigeon,” had just returned from the national JACL convention in Salt Lake City. Representing Manzanar, he’d reportedly spoken there in favor of a Nisei draft. Not all camp residents shared his stance. Six masked men beat him severely. An investigation led to the arrest of the kitchen union leader, a popular Kibei who’d recently charged two administrators with stealing food supplies to sell on the black market.

Maddie knew none of this until today. She had gone to the Administration Building, in anticipation of her release papers, when she discovered a protesting mob. Obscenities in Japanese and English flew at a barricade of soldiers armed with mounted machine guns. Eventually, negotiators reached a compromise and the crowd dispersed.

Rumors about the incident, however, were only getting started. Even Emma had plenty to share. Seated on a cot, beside Maddie’s half-packed suitcase, she continued her rambling.

“Hana says they moved the guy back to camp—the one they arrested. His name’s Harry something. But they’re still keeping him in jail. And some other guys are gonna try and break him out.”

“So your friend knows all this for a fact?” Maddie challenged, trying to shut down the topic.

“She says there’s a lot more of
us
than them. So really, what could the guards do? If we took over the camp, they’d have to let us go. Right?”

In that “us” versus “them” equation, Maddie herself resided on a vague border between both. She folded a skirt, added it to the pile. “Em, that’s not really how it works.”

Emma shrugged. “Either way, there’s bound to be a whole lot more fights and stuff.” She fingered a sachet Maddie had set out for packing.

All afternoon, the girl had been carrying on about potential disasters, a thinly veiled attempt to keep Maddie from leaving. Kumiko, in contrast, had exuded a silent triumph; yet not even this was boosting Maddie’s confidence over her decision.

“Did you hear about the fella getting beat up?” Emma asked.

Maddie didn’t respond, not wanting to know.

“They say he was sleeping in his bed when it happened. And now the police can arrest anyone they want.”

Anxiety climbed, hastening Maddie’s folding.

“According to Hana’s brother, the guys who did it are even madder now. So when Tayama-
san
gets out of the hospital, they’re gonna hurt him again. Maybe even
kill
him.”

“That’s enough,” Maddie snapped.

Emma’s face clouded and her gaze dropped. On the floor, Yuki rested his head on her Mary Janes and peered up. A show of defense for a girl who wasn’t to blame.

Maddie took a leveling breath, then sat down next to Emma. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But gossip like that is dangerous. Besides,” she said, “everything’s going to be fine.”

“Everything’s
not
gonna be fine.” Emma’s finality squashed any debate.

Oh, why wasn’t Lane here? He would know what to say; with charm in effect, he could coax a mama bear from its cub. Now, the role had fallen to Maddie. For so long, she’d taken for granted the luxury of being the sibling cared for, and not the reverse.

Emma turned to her with those eyes—those big brown, heartrending eyes. “Why can’t I go with you?”

Summoning her strength, Maddie answered cheerfully. “Because you have to take care of Yuki. Where else would he have this much space to run around?”

Emma pursed her lips as if to prevent a surge of tears.

“You know, we’ll only be apart for a little while. The war will be over before long.” By saying that enough times, maybe they could all make it true. “Until then, I won’t have a clue what’s happening here. So I’ll need a letter from you at least once a week, to keep me in the loop. Just like you do for your dad. Will you do that for me?”

After a beat, Emma issued a small nod.

“Thanks, pretty girl. I knew I could count on you.” Maddie smiled, smoothing Emma’s hair. Goodness, it nearly reached her collar. The length was more noticeable since a wide ribbon had replaced her pigtails. How much older would she appear when they saw each other next?

To cast off the thought, Maddie concentrated on her packing. She would leave out her travel clothes, plus an extra outfit and toiletries.

Emma started to put the sachet into the suitcase—the girl had always admired its crocheted covering and rosy scent—but Maddie stopped her. “Nope. You keep it.” Anything to battle the smell of alkaline dust should stay in this room. “On one condition. You have to return it when your whole family moves back to Boyle Heights.”

A gradual smile found Emma’s lips. She nodded again, with more perk. Her eyes shone with hope of reclaiming an old life. It was a hope they shared, though Maddie tried not to dwell. With both TJ and Lane away, and her own father showing no progress, she feared nothing about home would feel right.

“Say, I have an idea,” Maddie said. If one thing kept a mood light, it was a sugary treat—a decadence Kumiko discouraged. Luckily the woman was off meeting about New Year’s festivities. “How about a soda and some penny candy at the canteen? Maybe some of that
mushi
you like to eat.”

Emma giggled. “You mean
mochi,
” she corrected. “
Mushi
are mosquitoes.”

Maddie waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, tomato, tomahto.” When it dawned on her that
tomahto
was in fact the Japanese pronunciation, she too couldn’t help but laugh.

The camp roads were disturbingly empty.

Maddie glanced around. The last dinner shift wasn’t over yet. People should have been milling about the mess halls, either coming or going.

“Where is everybody?” Emma asked.

“Maybe the cold’s keeping them in.” Maddie tightened her scarf around her neck and discarded an impulse to turn back. The glee club could be putting on another performance. “Let’s get to the store before we freeze.”

Around the next barrack, three teenage boys marched past with purpose. Hana’s brother led the group. Since his family seemed to be in the know, Maddie called out to him.

“Excuse me! Is there a special event going on tonight?”

He spoke over his shoulder, not stopping. “A big meeting in Block Twenty-two. About freeing Harry Ueno.”

Emma tugged at Maddie’s sleeve. “Can we go see?” Before Maddie could refuse, she added, “Please,
On

san?
Just for a minute?”

The respectful address of
Older Sister
snagged a thread around Maddie’s heart, and a reason for agreement slipped in. Dispelling morbid rumors would mean she could depart from Manzanar with fewer concerns.

“All right,” she said. “But not for long. Your mother will be home soon.”

In a zealous motion, Emma grabbed Maddie’s hand to charge at a rapid clip.

More and more evacuees came into view as they neared the mess hall of the twenty-second block. A male voice projected over a speaker, his words indiscernible from afar. Drawn by his speech, Maddie and Emma entered the dusty firebreak. The sheer number of people was astounding. Three, maybe four thousand. The man screamed in Japanese. His face burned with anger. His eyes were as menacing as the crossbones flag beside him. He appeared to be the Black Dragons’ leader. As he rattled on, a slew of listeners shouted their support. He was speaking so fast, Maddie couldn’t understand a single thing.

Then she heard a word she recognized. “Moritomo.”

Another phrase came and went before he said it again—
Moritomo—
this time with more disgust. As if the very combination of syllables deserved to be spat on.

Maddie forced a breath. No need to panic. For all she knew, the surname could be as common as Jones or Smith. Rationale told her that nobody in Lane’s family had been involved in the scandals. Not with the sugar theft, or the FBI or JACL. Then again, who could say when it came to his father? She’d heard so little about him, and even Lane, in passing frustration, had questioned the grounds behind his detainment.

She turned to Emma. “What are they talking about?”

The girl stared at the gang leader in a frightful trance. Maddie crouched before her, shook her arms. “Emma, tell me what they’re saying.”

Emma barely moved her mouth as she answered. “They’re giving the names of
inu.
They’re saying Lane is one of the traitors. That anyone who joined the American Army is an enemy.”

Maddie grappled with the translation. The Dragons were in fact talking about her husband. Oh, thank God he’d left Manzanar when he did.

She hugged Emma tight. “They can’t do anything to your brother. He’s at a base far away, in Minnesota, where he’s going to be safe.”

“But, there’s more... .”Her voice cracked and Maddie couldn’t tell if it was Emma’s body shaking or her own. Leaning back to listen, Maddie encouraged her to finish.

“That man,” Emma said, pointing a finger, “he says there’s a death list. If they can’t get those traitors, then they’ll kill their families instead.”

No ... no, that couldn’t be. Emma must have misunderstood. In search of reassurance, Maddie focused on the ranting leader. A few feet beside him stood another Black Dragon.
Orochi.
When his eyes connected with hers, he blew a kiss and a sneer curled his mouth.

Maddie urged in an undertone, “Emma, let’s go.
Now
.” She snatched the girl’s hand and strode from the crowd in a restrained sprint. Weapons glinted in the hands of those she passed. Hammers, hatchets, screwdrivers, knives. Maddie lowered her face into her scarf, hiding her white skin. Gaining attention could be a fatal mistake.

Once in the next block, they broke into a run. She didn’t release Emma until they were safely in their apartment. Maddie bolted the locks and scanned the room, needing to create a barrier.

A sound came from the door. The knob jiggled. Someone was trying to get in. Maddie’s heart thrashed about, then Yuki whimpered.

“Shh,” Maddie commanded. Emma quieted the dog, and they all waited in silence.

Until the person knocked. A hard, impatient pound.

She imagined Orochi smiling crudely as he prepared to break the door in.

That’s when the caller spoke. “Emma-
chan! Naka ni iru no?
” Kumiko’s voice. Never had Maddie thought she would welcome that sound.

Emma raced to open the door.
“Ok