Garden of Her Heart (Hearts of the War Book 1)

by Shanna Hatfield

  Then again, she wouldn’t have been there to help Rock. The depth of his illness lingered in her mind, convincing her he had been only an hour or two away from perishing when she found him.

  Even though his presence had thrown her plans to reunite with her family off-kilter, she didn’t regret staying to care for him. He was a wounded soldier who needed a hand. Gladly, she would give him whatever she could.

  Although in light of recent events, it might be precious little.

  The country at large declared that Japanese Americans conspired with the Japanese, plotting ways to bring about the nation’s fall. Regardless of what anyone thought, Miko and her family were patriots through and through. They all purchased war bonds, contributed clothing and blankets for the Bundles for Britain campaign, and wore V for Victory pins on their lapels.

  Yet, because her family and friends shared the same ancestral blood as the enemy, the government had rounded them up like cattle and shipped them off to a livestock pavilion. Miko herself was sansei, of the generation born to nonimmigrant Japanese Americans. Compared to the young people she knew, Miko and her family were as patriotic as most, more so than many.

  The injustice of it all made her stomach ache, especially when she considered her status as a fugitive.

  Miko glanced around, wondering what her father had done with his car. Most likely, he sold it when he’d sold the house and business. Had he put the money in the bank or hidden it somewhere on the farm? Had he taken it with him to the assembly center?

  For a moment, she fretted about what would become of the farm. Without her grandparents there, what was to keep someone from walking in and taking it over? She hadn’t found the deed in the hidden box with the other important papers; she would have to search for it later.

  Sheets covered neatly stacked pieces of furniture in one corner, surrounded by towers of boxes.

  Miko hoped a few of the boxes contained her belongings. All she had were the clothes she’d carried in her suitcase from Sally’s home and the few she kept at the farm for random visits when she helped her grandparents.

  Thoughts of Sally made her wish she could call her friend, but she was afraid of who might overhear the conversation on the party line. With her luck, five minutes after she placed the call, the police would show up and haul her off to jail.

  She’d written a letter to Sally, but had no idea how to mail it. A trip into town to purchase stamps was out of the question. Perhaps when Captain Laroux was well enough to leave, he’d mail it for her.

  Miko squeezed around the end of the farm truck and sighed in relief when she found several boxes with her name written on the outside.

  The first one she opened was full of her clothes, and the second box held shoes. Four more boxes of clothes, one of handbags, and two of hats sat around her by the time she decided she wouldn’t unpack everything. It seemed silly to do so if she would soon join her family at the assembly center. From what she surmised, the number of belongings they were allowed to take with them was severely limited.

  Closing the tops of the boxes, she stacked them, ran her hand with longing over the hood of her car, and shut the door. She locked the padlock and returned to the house to prepare dinner.

  The sound of the Andrews Sisters singing “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” greeted her as she stepped inside.

  Rock sat at the kitchen table, eating another slice of crumb cake with a glass of milk. “Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself.”

  The boyish grin he shot her made her heart pick up tempo as she washed her hands and tied on an apron. “Not at all. You’re welcome to anything I have.”

  His smile broadened and he pointed to the counter near the refrigerator. “Even that Snickers candy bar?”

  Miko shot him a mock scowl and shook her head. “Captain Laroux, you should know better than to ask a woman to share her chocolate. It is sacred.”

  Rock stared at her a long moment, attempting to gauge if she was serious or joking. The corners of her mouth twitched and he laughed. “You had me going for a minute.”

  “Who said I was teasing?” She peeled potatoes and added them along with carrots and peas to the simmering pot of chicken. “The last fellow that tried to steal my chocolate met a bad end.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Miko widened her almond-shaped eyes and used her index finger to make a slicing motion across her throat.

  He shook his head. “You are serious about your candy, aren’t you?”

  “Just chocolate.”

  “Did you really send someone to his death for stealing your candy bar?”

  “I certainly did. You’ll be eating him for dinner.” Miko clanged the lid back on the pot and offered Rock a playful smile.

  Her face transformed from stoic to beautiful.

  “A chicken?” Rock gave her a disbelieving glance. “Surely you can come up with a better story than that.”

  “It’s true. Granddad kept a bothersome little rooster that constantly pecked my ankles and tried to pilfer anything I had in my pockets.” Miko shrugged. “After he attempted to flog me while I was feeding the chickens this morning, I decided we’d eat chicken for dinner.”

  Amused, Rock studied her. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Miss Nishimura. I’d hate to see what you’d do to a poor ol’ soldier down on his luck.”

  “Indeed, Captain. You appear much more hale and hearty than you did yesterday.” Miko sobered. “Are you truly feeling better?”

  Rock leaned back in the chair. “Truth to tell, I feel pretty swell. I’ve been sick for months and no one seems to know the cause. Maybe it was something at the hospital in the air or medication that made me ill, because this is the best I’ve felt for a long time. It’s nice to have an appetite again, although you might soon grow weary of feeding me.”

  “I doubt that, Captain Laroux.”

  His eyes twinkled as he smiled at her. “I thought you agreed to call me Rock.”

  “I suppose I did,” Miko said, uncomfortable calling him by his first name. It seemed too… intimate. Thoughts of him, of those broad shoulders and blue eyes, unsettled her.

  The music on the radio ended and an engaging male voice offered a news report.

  Rock listened to the report. While he’d been sick, he’d had no interest in hearing the news and even less in reading about the war in the newspaper. It had galled him that his friends were fighting overseas while he was dying in a hospital bed.

  Perhaps tomorrow he’d wake up as weak and ill as he had been the last few months. What if the symptoms returned a few weeks down the road and he ended up dead?

  Today, though, he felt more alive and like himself than he had since his plane crashed.

  The news touched on the recent declaration by the president that sugar would be rationed and the implementation of a national speed limit of thirty-five miles per hour to conserve both gasoline and tire rubber.

  “Remember, folks, to check in with your local ration board if you have not yet received your ration book,” the broadcaster said. “And don’t forget to purchase war bonds. Each bond you buy helps our boys march on toward victory.”

  The sound of Bing Crosby crooning “Only Forever” filled the kitchen as Miko mixed a batch of dumplings and dropped them into the pot with the chicken and vegetables.

  “I knew the government had started rationing tires and automobiles, but I didn’t realize ration books had been distributed. Do you mind if I look at one?” Rock asked, observing Miko as she rolled out piecrust and lined a pan with it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a slice of homemade pie. His mouth watered at the thought of it.

  “If I had one, I’d be more than happy to show it to you,” Miko said, draining the juice from the canned peaches. She mixed cinnamon, a bit of flour, and a generous measure of honey into the fruit. Afternoon sunlight turned the jar of sticky sweetener into liquid gold. “They began issuing them last week.”

  “I see.” Rock realized he was the
reason she’d missed the opportunity to receive a ration book. “If you need to go to town, I’m perfectly capable of staying on my own for a while.”

  “No!” Trepidation mixed with dread in her response. Forcibly calming, she shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “But, Miss Nishimura, if you…” He snapped his mouth shut at her warning glare.

  “Would you like to read while I finish dinner preparations?” she asked, stirring the filling for the pie as it bubbled on the stove. “You’re welcome to read any books from Granddad’s library.”

  “I noticed he has a fine collection.” Rock stood, delighted he did so without a dizzy spell. “If you’re sure he wouldn’t mind, I’ll take a look.”

  “Go on. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

  Surreptitiously, she watched him leave the kitchen. When he disappeared from sight, she released a tight breath. She didn’t want him to know about the assembly center or her failure to report there. Although she assumed she could trust him, a niggling fear that he might turn her in kept her from telling the truth.

  Annoyed by the love song playing on the radio and the unwelcome feelings it generated in her for Captain Laroux, she switched off the radio.

  After setting the table, pouring Rock a glass of juice, and dishing up the chicken and dumplings, she wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron and sauntered into the living room.

  Rock sat in the rocking chair by the window, reading a Depression-era novel written by John Steinbeck. Miko hadn’t liked the story, but both her grandparents enjoyed the tale of a family from Oklahoma making their way to California.

  The rustle of her skirt drew his attention. He lifted his head and smiled at her, setting the book aside. “It must be time for dinner,” he said, rising to his feet.

  Miko merely nodded, finding it hard to speak when her tongue felt thick and dry. Something about Rock Laroux — about his handsome face, easy smile, and beautiful blue eyes — left her utterly addled.

  She led the way back to the kitchen and took a seat, waiting for him to sit before bowing her head and offering a prayer for their meal.

  When she finished, she draped a napkin across her lap and dipped a spoon into the bowl of savory chicken topped with soft, doughy dumplings.

  Rock stared at his bowl for the length of several heartbeats before leaning down and inhaling the fragrant steam wafting upward. Bliss settled over his face as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Mmm. That is one of the best smells in the world.” He picked up his spoon and took a bite, again closing his eyes and tipping his head to one side. “I haven’t had chicken and dumplings that good since I went away to school. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Miko said, keeping her eyes down to hide the delight she found in his words of praise. “There’s plenty. Eat all you want.”

  “I plan to, Miss Nishimura,” Rock said, sipping the cold grape juice. He swallowed and held out the glass, studying the dark purple color. “That grape juice is every bit as pretty as it is good. Did your grandmother make it?”

  “She did. If it can be canned or dried, she had at least one batch of it put away.”

  Rock laughed. “She’s a smart woman, your grandmother. When do you expect them home? I’d sure like to see your grandparents again.”

  Miko didn’t want to lie, so she kept her response vague. “I’m not sure how long they’ll be gone.” That much was true. She had no idea how long the government would keep her family detained.

  Afraid Rock would continue to question her about her family and their absence, she kept him distracted by asking about the farm where he grew up and sharing silly antics from her youth.

  Eventually, Rock would either discover the truth, or be well enough to leave so she could get on with her life.

  Chapter Five

  Miko leaned her head against the warm side of the cow, stripping the last of the milk from the pink teats. As she worked, her mind wandered to the soldier in the house.

  Each day, Rock improved physically, sleeping less and gaining strength. The man’s appetite returned. It kept her busy planning nutritious meals for him.

  He’d been out of bed for more than a week. The first few days he had eaten, read, and napped. Numerous times, she’d caught him exercising his weak arm and hand. The day before yesterday, he’d assigned himself the chores of helping to water and weed the garden.

  Although she appreciated his assistance, being near him left her so ill at ease, she’d accidentally pulled up two tomato plants and stepped on a poor little sprouting bean plant. At that rate, there wouldn’t be anything left to harvest.

  The news on the radio encouraged all Americans to grow as much of their own food as they could to support the war effort.

  Her grandparents had certainly planned to do their part. In addition to what they ate fresh and preserved for the winter months, they’d planted acres of vegetables to sell at the produce stand, along with the bounty picked from the fruit and nut trees.

  The two milk cows produced gallons of fresh milk that Miko’s grandmother had turned into delicious butter to sell at the produce stand. Between the eggs and abundance of cream, Miko didn’t know what to do with the excess. It was too bad they didn’t have any pigs, because it would have made excellent feed for them.

  Rock did his best to consume his share of the milk. He’d mentioned more than once how good the fresh whole milk tasted. During his service overseas, he said he’d often had to make do with canned or bottled milk.

  Miko couldn’t imagine going without fresh milk or eggs. Or the nutrient-rich food produced right there on her grandparents’ farm.

  Finished with the milking, she stood and lifted the heavy bucket in her hand. A resonant rumble from a deep voice in the early-morning shadows made her jump and nearly drop the bucket.

  “Let me get that,” Rock said, brushing his fingers over hers as he took the bucket in his right hand.

  A jolt of electricity shot up her hand and threatened to short-circuit her brain. Unnerved by his presence and his handsome appearance in the muted light, she glared at him.

  The smooth line of his jaw indicated he’d recently shaved. The smell of soap mingled with his unique masculine scent, befuddling her already-overwrought senses.

  She picked up the second bucket of milk, turned the cows into their pasture, and shut the gate.

  “I hoped to beat you out here today, but I guess I’ll have to rise before the chickens to make that happen,” Rock teased. They stepped into the barn, where Miko strained the milk and rinsed the buckets. An old refrigerator there kept the milk cool until she could skim the cream and work it into butter.

  Ignoring her silence, Rock leaned against a wooden counter and pointed with his good hand toward the cows. “What are their names?”

  Humor twinkled in her eyes when she lifted her gaze to his. “Amos and Andy.”

  Rock chuckled. “Are they named after the characters in the radio show?”

  Miko nodded. “Yes. It’s one of Granddad’s favorite programs. He never misses listening to it or Fibber McGee and Molly, but Grandma said he couldn’t name a cow Fibber McGee.”

  His grin broadened. “No, I suppose not. My favorite show is The Lone Ranger.”

  She gave him a long, observant glance as they walked to the house. “And you no doubt fancy yourself as The Lone Ranger.”

  With a feigned indignant expression, he slapped his hand against his chest. “I’m wounded you think I wouldn’t choose Tonto.”

  Miko’s laugh, a light, playful sound, did strange things to his heart. “You know I’m right Kemosabe.”

  His shoulder bumped hers and he looked down at her with mirth in his eyes. “If you’re going to call me Kemosabe, that means you’re my trusty sidekick, right?”

  “Wrong. Everyone knows Tonto is secretly in charge.” Miko marched ahead of him and stepped into the kitchen.

  Their easy banter continued through breakfast and as they returned outside to wo
rk. Rock accompanied her to the garden, helping her water the long rows of tender shoots and sprouts.

  Midmorning, they returned to the house for Rock to rest while Miko washed a load of laundry. In the midst of hanging towels on the line to dry, the crunch of gravel out front alerted her to the arrival of someone at the produce stand. Her grandparents had left the closed sign across the front of it, so she hoped whoever it was would read the sign and leave.

  The engine quieted, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps in the gravel moving toward the house.

  Panicked, she took the back steps in one leap and skidded into the kitchen, startling Rock as he filled a glass with water. He dropped the glass and it shattered in the sink.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, starting to pick up the shards.

  Frightened, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Someone is here and I need you to go to the door, Rock. Under no circumstance can they know I’m here. Please? Will you please go to the door?”

  The terror in her eyes was enough to force his agreement. He released her hand and pointed to the back hall. “Go down to the basement,” he ordered as a knock sounded on the front door.

  Rock hurried to answer it, pulling back the heavy wooden portal, but not pushing open the screen door.

  A nervous man with a head too big for his flaccid body stood on the other side, glowering at Rock with beady close-set eyes. From the man’s sallow skin to the shifty way he tried to glimpse inside the house, Rock didn’t trust the visitor. Not one bit.

  “May I help you?” He moved so his body blocked the interior view of the house, leaning his left arm against the door frame. Pain shot from his wrist all the way up his shoulder, but he hid it beneath a fake grin.

  The man smiled, revealing teeth discolored from a lack of brushing, and a large gap between the two in front. He set down the two cases he carried and blew out a breath that stank worse than rotten fish left in the summer sun. “Norman Ness is my name, selling is my game. What are you doing here?” the man asked, as though he had any right to question Rock’s presence at the farm.