Hirata Gouyou wanted to put her face on Miss Tokyo! Chiyo nodded, too astonished to speak.
“Hai. It will be so,” the doll maker exclaimed. “Mrs. Sasaki, when the young ladies have chosen the two dolls to travel with Miss Tokyo, please direct them to the garden, where they may enjoy a cup of tea.”
He beamed at the teachers. “I have been searching for a subtle sweetness of expression for this doll. It is difficult to explain in words, but I knew I would recognize it when I saw it.”
“In Miss Tamura?” Oki-sensei asked, as if unable to believe such a thing.
“Hai. At last, I have found the model I need.” The artist gazed at Chiyo. “The doll must have a glow of inner strength and yet show the gentleness we see in our Japanese girls.”
He studied Chiyo as if memorizing the curve of her cheek and the shape of her eyes. “I see those qualities in Tamura Chiyo. Her face will become Miss Tokyo.”
Watanabe-sensei smiled. “What do you think of a doll that looks like you traveling to America, Miss Tamura?”
She was too stunned to know. Once again, she was being set apart. The other girls looked at her as if she were a stranger. She had tried hard to fit in, to become one of them.
Even Oki-sensei was smiling now. Both teachers looked as proud of her as if they had brought her here for this honor that did not feel like an honor when she looked at her friends.
She didn’t want to disappoint the kind doll maker. “Since I cannot go to America,” she said at last, “I am glad the doll will go for me and ask the American girls to be our friends.”
Hoshi turned to Kimiko and muttered just loudly enough to be heard, “Does she lie awake at night thinking of speeches?”
Chiyo wanted to ask, Isn’t that expected of a leader? She remained quiet. This was not the time to argue with Hoshi.
“Girls,” Oki-sensei warned those still at the doll cabinet, “hands off, please. Admire only with your eyes.”
“No, no,” Hirata-san corrected her. “They may touch the dolls. Pick them up if you like, young ladies. Hold them. Decide among you which should travel to America.”
Chiyo longed to lift and admire the dolls from the cabinet. Instead she climbed onto a high stool the doll maker indicated and turned her face into the strong light of the electric lantern.
He sat nearby with a sketchbook, brush, and ink pot, and worked in swift, sure strokes. She hoped he would finish soon, but after the first few minutes, he flipped the page of his sketchbook, chose another angle, and began again.
“Do not look at your friends,” he suggested gently. “A worried look is not what I want. Think of the girls in America the doll will meet.”
Chiyo chose instead to think of finding Emily Grace and of how the doll had opened her long-lashed blue eyes and looked straight at her. Even so, posing soon became boring. She would much rather be with the other girls.
Kimiko held a boy doll in wide, loose trousers and a tunic. He should go, Chiyo decided, as if she had been asked. But which of the girl dolls? Hana and three others each held a doll and were trying to decide which was best.
Hoshi’s assured voice argued for her choice. Chiyo thought silently, She tries to lead, but she only knows how to be bossy.
It was hard to sit still, away from the others, when she wanted to help decide which doll should make the journey. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Any of those dolls will please the girls in America. They are all perfect.
The doll maker’s brush moved rapidly over the page, his expression intent. He was a master, and it was an honor to be sketched by him. But his brush paused. Had she frowned? She quickly returned her thoughts to Emily Grace. As the doll’s blue eyes and sweet smile rose into her mind, she felt her face relax.
At last, the artist said that she might leave the stool. He removed the first page of his sketchbook and in deft strokes signed the characters that formed his name.
He offered the page to Chiyo. “I will be honored if you will accept this small sketch with my gratitude for your patience, Miss Tamura.” Amusement warmed his eyes as they met hers. “Someday, a sketch bearing my signature may have value.”
Chiyo gazed at the drawing in wonder. The artist had captured her so perfectly, she looked as if she might step off the page.
“Arigatogozaimasu,” she said, bowing. “This picture will have a place of honor in my parents’ home.”
This single sketch meant far more than the posters showing her image throughout the city. She rolled it carefully so it would not become creased and placed it in a deep pocket in her skirt.
Mrs. Sasaki had taken the other girls and their teachers into the garden. Chiyo joined them in an open pavilion overlooking white sand raked in flowing waves around large black stones.
Oki-sensei was explaining that the peaks of raised sand represented the sea surging toward the large stone islands. Chiyo sank onto a cushion nearby and gazed out at the tranquil garden. For a moment, everything seemed right. Then she met a look from Hoshi that made her thankful the sketch was out of sight.
The doll maker joined them, settling comfortably on a cushion and accepting a cup of green tea. “Well, young ladies, have you decided which two dolls should travel to America with Miss Tokyo?”
Tomi and Shizuko said almost together, “Hai! The boy doll! We all agree.”
With a glance at Hoshi, Kimiko said, “We haven’t decided which of the girl dolls to send.”
Hoshi looked at her with patience. “The doll with her lips parted so we see her teeth is the perfect choice.”
Hana surprised Chiyo by objecting, since she rarely spoke back to Hoshi. “Most of us don’t go around with our mouths open and our teeth showing. We should send the doll with closed lips tilted in the hint of a smile.”
“The doll is to represent us,” Tomi agreed.
“No,” Hoshi said. “The doll with a secret smile does not represent me. Chiyo wears that smile at this very moment!”
Chiyo wondered if she did have a secretive smile on her lips. The drawing was like a hidden treasure in her pocket. She kept touching it to be sure it was still there. As much as she longed to show it to the others, she was afraid they would resent her more.
Opening her mouth to show her teeth, she asked Hoshi from behind them, “Is this better?”
The others laughed while Hoshi raised her eyebrows. “Be silly if you like. It changes nothing. The doll with parted lips is a leader. We must send the doll who looks ready to speak.”
The artist said, “We will take a vote. I understand that is the American way. How better for our doll to begin her journey?”
“Hai,” Watanabe-sensei agreed. “A vote is an excellent idea.”
The girls nodded, although Hoshi looked away. She knew how a vote would go. She was right. Everyone, including Chiyo, voted to send the doll with the closed lips and soft smile.
They talked again of accessories to send with Miss Tokyo. Chiyo noticed Mrs. Sasaki hovering in a doorway like a storm cloud ready to end the party. Her expression warned that the artist might have to work late into the night to make up time lost to this visit.
Oki-sensei must have noticed, too. She brought the laughter and talk to an end. Thanking the artist for generously sharing his afternoon, she said, “We must return to the hotel now and pack. Our train will leave early in the morning.”
Chiyo could hardly wait to be back with Emily Grace. She wished they were leaving right this minute. Soon afterward, when rickshaws had returned them to the hotel, she rushed ahead of the others to the doll.
The cushion where she had left Emily Grace was empty.
Chiyo whirled to face the others as they came into the room. “Emily Grace! She’s gone!”
Oki-sensei glanced about. “Where did you leave her?”
“There!” Chiyo pointed to the empty pillow on the couch. A dent still showed where she had pressed the doll against it. “But she’s gone.”
“She has to be here,” Tomi said. “We’re to take her
with us.”
Hoshi looked at Chiyo with pity. “Miss Tamura, how awful for you! People will be shocked to learn our school’s doll disappeared while in the care of a simple farm girl.”
“She has probably slipped behind something,” Kimiko said, moving the pillows around on the couch.
Shizuko suggested, “The maids may have moved her while cleaning.”
As everyone began to search, Hana leaned close to whisper, “Did you notice Hoshi came to breakfast after the rest of us?”
Chiyo nodded. She had to think like Hoshi. Where would she take the doll if she had only a few minutes?
She stepped into the hallway and looked in either direction. There were a few pairs of shoes left before closed doors, but they were only large enough to hide a kokeshi.
An anguished whisper came from the stairs. “Miss!”
The young maid Hoshi had scolded for bringing towels peeked from the stairwell.
“Hello,” Chiyo said softly. “Um . . . Toyama?”
The girl looked around nervously. “Please come.” She hurried to the far end of the hall and pointed to a tall ornamental vase standing below the window. “She is in there. The ningyo.”
“She’s in there?” Chiyo stood on her toes to peer into the vase. She could see the top of Emily Grace’s blond curls. The doll was pushed deep inside. When Chiyo reached in, she felt the doll’s pretty blue bow. If she pulled and it came off, the doll might slip deeper.
Pressing her cheek hard against the vase rim, she stretched even higher on her toes. Her fingers stretched past the curls to the doll’s chin. Carefully, she pulled her out and into her arms.
“Emily Grace! Are you all right?” As she straightened the doll’s dress and bow, Hana came from the room. “You found her!”
Toyama twisted her hands together. “I cannot accuse the other girl. Do you understand?”
“You saw who put her in there?” Hana asked.
Chiyo said quickly, “We understand. Don’t worry, Toyama. We won’t mention your name. You were kind to risk telling me. Hoshi would have accused you of hiding her in the vase.”
“But . . .” Hana began, and fell silent. The maid’s job could be in danger if she reported what she had seen.
Toyama said with more spirit, “You were kind to me. That other was not.” Looking nervous again, she hurried away.
“Arigatogozaimasu,” Chiyo called after her. Cradling Emily Grace as if she were a lost child, she walked back to the room with Hana.
“We have her,” Hana called.
All the girls crowded around, asking questions. Chiyo broke in. “She was inside the big vase at the end of the hall.”
Even Oki-sensei looked at Hoshi.
Hoshi’s eyebrows curved upward. “We should question the maid. She must have put it in there.”
Hana rolled her eyes. “Why would she do that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Hoshi sighed. “The poor girl has probably never owned a pretty doll. She meant to take it home with her once we stopped searching.”
“The maid did not take Emily Grace,” Chiyo said. “And I will not let our doll out of my sight again.”
“That would be best,” Oki-sensei said. “The emperor has welcomed the dolls. For Tsuchiura School to lose one entrusted to us would be deeply shameful.”
Again, everyone looked at Hoshi. Hoshi looked at Chiyo and said gently, “Don’t worry, Sensei. We will all see that Miss Tamura is more careful in the future.”
After boarding the early morning train at the Tokyo station, Chiyo lifted Emily Grace to the window beside her seat. As they traveled, she pointed out passing sights. “See the houses with thatched roofs? My home is like that.”
Hana spoke for the doll in a high-pitched voice. “What are those big animals?”
“Those are oxen,” Chiyo answered, as if Emily Grace had really spoken. “See how patiently they plod along the road. Riding in a wagon pulled by oxen is much slower than the train.”
“And smellier,” Hana said, giggling.
Wheels clacked, the car swayed, and the whistle blew in long, haunting calls. After leaving Tokyo, they crossed the river Edo and later the river Tone, both crowded with flat-bottomed boats, rowing boats, and several steamers.
Small villages lay beside the river crossings. The train stopped at each to let off passengers and take on others. The village of Toride was celebrating a local festival. When the train paused, Chiyo waved the doll’s arm at people in bright costumes and grinned when they waved back.
As they rolled along the tracks again with the wheels clacking a rhythm on the rails, Chiyo began to feel sleepy. Emily Grace lay back in her arms with her eyes closed. She was sleepy, too, Chiyo decided, and lay the doll on the seat.
Beside her, Hana played with her new kokeshi. “I will tell my doll at home this is her little sister. Her name is Miki.” She leaned over to speak to Emily Grace. “That means beautiful princess.”
Chiyo leaned Emily Grace forward and back. The doll said, “Mama.”
Both girls laughed as Hana corrected, “Not ‘Mama,’ say ‘princess.’”
Still smiling, Chiyo realized that even the train no longer seemed strange to her. “Hana, do you think we have changed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okaasan said I must go to school and learn to change because Japan is changing. Have we changed?”
Hana looked as if trying to decide. “Does your Okaasan want you to become bold like a flapper?”
“No!”
“Does she want you to smoke cigarettes?”
Chiyo pressed a forbidding hand over her mouth. Okaasan would not let her leave the house for a month if she even thought of it. “No.”
“Does she want you to stare at people who pass by, even strangers?”
“No, I have not changed.”
“Yet you have become the face of all Japanese girls.”
That thought made Chiyo uneasy. “The newspaper and the doll artist liked me because I look like a traditional Japanese girl.” Relief made her smile. “I have not changed. I am traditional! Has school changed you, Hana?”
Hana considered the question. “Hai.”
“It has?” Chiyo looked at her friend in surprise. “How?”
“I was afraid of Hoshi. Now I’m not.”
“I’m not afraid of her, either. I’m sorry for her a little.” Chiyo held her forefinger and thumb a quarter inch apart. “I’m sorry this much.”
Hana held her thumb and forefinger pressed together so tightly the tips turned white. “I’m sorry for her, too. This much.”
They giggled together, but Chiyo glanced over the back of the seat and was glad to see Hoshi talking with Shizuko across the aisle and not listening to them.
She held Emily Grace to the window again to see small shrines. The ground had begun to rise toward tree-covered hills. When she pressed close to the window, she could see the peak of Mount Tsukuba even farther north than her village home.
She reached into her pocket for her new kokeshi and felt the rolled artist’s sketch. She had scarcely had a chance to look at it. With a glance at Hana, who had her eyes closed, she pulled it out and unrolled it.
“What is that?” Hana asked, awake after all. She leaned across Emily Grace. “Why, it’s you, Chiyo! Sensei, look at this!”
“Hirata-san made a lot of drawings,” Chiyo said. “He gave me this for posing for him.”
“It’s very good.” Hana took the drawing from her and called again to Oki-sensei. “Look, Sensei, the doll maker gave Chiyo one of his sketches.”
Chiyo almost grabbed for the paper, but Hana was already handing it across the aisle to their teacher.
“It is very like you, Miss Tamura,” Sensei said. “He has even signed the bottom.”
The door at the front of the car opened with a whoosh of cooler air. The conductor came through, checking people’s tickets. Everyone bustled a bit, searching through pockets or bags.
“My parents will like
it,” Chiyo told Sensei. “They’ll put it in our alcove with flowers or budding tree branches.”
“Like a spring scroll,” Hana said.
“Hai,” Sensei agreed. “Youth and spring are much alike.”
Watanabe-sensei, sitting behind her, asked to see the picture. Oki-sensei handed it back to him while she reached into her bag for her ticket.
He studied the drawing, looking thoughtful. “Hirata Gouyou is one of Japan’s finest doll makers, as was his father. Treasure this drawing, Miss Tamura.”
“I will.” Chiyo leaned across Hana to reach for it, but Hoshi, sitting behind the music teacher, asked to see the drawing. The conductor came closer, and Watanabe-sensei handed the picture to Hoshi while he located his ticket.
Feeling uneasy, Chiyo asked, “May I have the picture?”
Hoshi leaned forward as if to hand the drawing to Chiyo. The paper left her fingers and floated into the aisle. “Oops.”
“Pick it up at once,” Oki-sensei exclaimed.
Chiyo scrambled across Emily Grace and Hana to get into the aisle. But the conductor moved ahead, taking up most of the space. “Hoshi!” Chiyo exclaimed around him. “Grab it!”
Hoshi didn’t move. The conductor, paying no attention to them, started toward the next row of seats. Chiyo felt her heart leap into her throat. “Stop! Please, stop!”
Around her, the world seemed to slow down. The conductor was laughing with someone over a comment they’d made. Chiyo watched in horror as his foot hovered over her picture.
“Don’t step down. Please!”
For a moment, the car seemed frozen, with Watanabe-sensei starting to his feet. The conductor’s foot hovered . . . then drew away. He bent down and picked up the picture, looking from the drawing to Chiyo. “Why, this is you, young lady. Anyone would see that right away. Who is the artist?”
“He’s a doll maker,” Chiyo said, hardly able to get words past a thickening in her throat.
“Yes,” the conductor said. “Hirata Gouyou. I see his name here. And he has drawn you! Are you someone important?”
“No.” Chiyo wished he would stop calling attention to her and give her the picture.
Dolls of Hope Page 11
