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

by Shanna Hatfield

  His mischievous grin let her know he was teasing, something he did with growing frequency. “I know exactly what you are, Miko, and that’s a wonderful woman with a big heart.”

  Embarrassed by his praise, she dropped her gaze to her plate and remained silent as she finished her sandwich.

  While she washed the dishes, he returned the truck to the storage building and headed out to work in the vegetable garden.

  After she put away the dishes and whipped up a batch of cookies, she sat down at the table to write a letter to her family.

  When Rock returned midafternoon for a break, half a dozen sheets of crumpled paper gave testimony to her struggle to find the right words.

  He poured a glass of cold grape juice and snatched three of the fresh-baked cookies before taking a seat at the table across from her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, motioning toward the two lines she’d written on the paper in front of her.

  “I’m concerned about saying too much without telling them what they need to know. If the letter is read by someone before they see it, I don’t want to get you, me, or them in trouble.” Miko sighed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t write at all.”

  “No, your family needs to receive word from you.” Rock took a bite of cookie and washed it down with a gulp of juice. “What if you wrote the letter as a friend of the family who came to check on the farm? No one would think anything of that, would they?”

  Miko considered his suggestion, warming to the idea. “That might work.” She tapped the pen in her fingers against the tip of her nose. “I could write it as though I was a mutual friend of the family and Pastor Clark. His daughter, Sally, is my best friend and has been since I can remember.”

  She began writing the letter while Rock finished his cookies and juice, then went to sit in the living room, listening to a radio program while he rested. Although he grew stronger each day, he still needed to rest often or he became so weary he could hardly function.

  Thoughts of exactly how strong and fit the soldier in her house appeared caused Miko to lose her focus on the letter. Instead, she recalled how handsome Rock looked when he walked into the kitchen wearing his old jeans and work shirt.

  Something about Rock Laroux, something she couldn’t explain or define, spoke to her heart in a way nothing else ever had. Prudence and wisdom dictated she join her family at the assembly center sooner rather than later. She had to leave before Rock realized how much she was coming to love him.

  With great effort, she finished the letter and tucked it inside a plain envelope. Rock slept in the rocking chair while she milked the cows and made dinner.

  That evening, he helped her churn what seemed like gallons of cream into butter to sell the following day, along with all the spare eggs, at a grocery store in town.

  As they labored over the four-quart Dazey butter churns, he asked her about her family and friends.

  “Earlier today, you mentioned Pastor Clark and his daughter,” Rock said, glancing at her as he cranked the handle that turned the butter paddle with his good hand. “Tell me about them.”

  “Sally has been my best friend forever. Her father is the pastor of our church and that’s how we met. Sally is now Mrs. Snyder. She lives in Tillamook and has the most beautiful baby boy named Drew. Her husband is stationed in Ireland.” Miko’s eyes held a faraway look as she churned the butter. “Sally used to get these ‘feelings,’ that’s what she calls them, which always got us into trouble. One time she got a ‘feeling’ we should hide in the church basement and scare whoever opened the door. It didn’t take long for someone to come downstairs to set out cookies to enjoy following the service. We didn’t plan on it being old Mrs. Whipple. After we yelled ‘Boo!’ and jumped out from behind the door, the poor woman clutched her chest, gasping for breath. Papa and Mother took her to the hospital while Pastor Clark gave Sally and me another lecture about proper behavior.”

  Entertained by her story, he cast an inquisitive glance her direction. “Another lecture? Were you often in trouble?”

  Miko smiled. “Always.”

  Rock studied Miko several moments. The sound of cream swishing in the churns filled the silence. “What about your sister? Did you two get into trouble together?”

  A laugh escaped before she could stop it. “Ellen? No, she never got into trouble. Ellen is the perfect daughter every parent dreams of having.”

  He studied her, sensing a hint of resentment in the tension that settled along her shoulders. “I take it you aren’t like your sister?”

  “Our similarities are few, unless you think night and day are alike. Ellen is small and lovely. She was always the obedient child who never did anything wrong. While Sally and I climbed trees, scraped our knees, and waded in streams, Ellen embroidered pillowcases and attentively listened to Mother’s advice on how to be a good wife and a true lady. According to my mother, Ellen never did anything wrong and I would have benefitted by following her fine example. Ellen graduated from high school and married the fellow Mother selected for her two months later. Paul Watanabe is a good man and he treats Ellen well, but they didn’t marry for love. I refuse to follow in her footsteps.”

  The churn’s handle stilled in his hand as he eyed her. “I don’t suppose a girl as independent as you had much luck meekly obeying orders.”

  Miko laughed again. “I certainly didn’t live up to Mother’s expectations for me. Frequently, she reminds me of how I’m not getting any younger and life is going to pass me by if I don’t settle down and raise a family. She chose to marry Papa out of love, not because of an arranged marriage. It’s beyond my ability to comprehend why she expects me to do any less than follow my heart. Just because Ellen blindly did her will doesn’t mean Tommy or I have to.”

  At Rock’s veiled expression, Miko shrugged. “I dearly love my sister and I’m happy she has a good husband and two beautiful daughters, but Ellen and I never were nor will we ever be alike.”

  Mindful of the direction the conversation turned, he shifted to a happier subject. “How old are your nieces?” Rock had noticed a photograph of two adorable little girls in the living room. In the days he’d been at the house, Miko unpacked her grandparents’ personal belongings, returning photographs to the walls and knickknacks around the rooms.

  She relaxed and her eyes softened at the mention of the girls. “Winnie is five and full of sass. Ellen says she is just like me, so I can’t help but feel a little sorry for my sister.”

  Rock chuckled and lifted the paddle from the rich, pale yellow butter. Miko drained the buttermilk, pouring it into a jar. She pressed the butter in cheesecloth to remove any excess liquid, then rinsed it in cool water before packing it into a press. While she worked, he added more cream to the jar and started the process over again. “What about your other niece? Is she like you?”

  “Amy is two. I’ve only seen her twice, but she appears to take after her mother. She’ll be Ellen’s perfect little lady.” Miko grinned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “That’s why I’m glad she has Winnie. She’ll keep Ellen on her toes.” As though a thought had just struck her, Miko stared at him. “Do you suppose they had to go to an assembly center, too?”

  “I’ll ask your parents. If they don’t know, I’ll see what I can find out,” Rock said, wanting to reassure her. From what he’d heard on the radio, most of the Japanese population along the entire Pacific Coast had been ordered to report at various assembly centers. “Where does your sister’s family live?”

  “Sacramento. Paul works for an insurance company there.”

  Rock tucked away the information and grinned at Miko again. “You better tell me more about the rest of your family if I’m going to see them tomorrow. I know your grandparents, but I don’t recall meeting your parents or brother when my dad used to bring me to the produce stand.”

  The rest of the evening, she filled him in on what he needed to know about Jack and Margaret Nishimura, as well as her brother, Tommy.

  Chapter Eight


  Life failed to do right by Norman Ness.

  At twenty-four, he had a hairline that marched in a steady retreat away from his sloping forehead, a flabby belly that oozed over the belt of his pants, and feet that ached from the cheaply made oxfords he favored. A mouth full of crooked, half-rotten teeth, a tendency to wallow in self-pity, and a malicious gleam in his shifty dark eyes didn’t do him any favors, either.

  Sallow-skinned and slight-framed, he’d always been the odd man out, even as a child. He wasn’t bright enough to be among the top scholars, didn’t possess a single athletic bone, and struggled to fit in with the other students.

  The boy who bullied him all the way through high school had finally gotten what was coming to him, though. Norman worked after school at the soda fountain. He’d heard Alan, the bully, tell one of his friends he couldn’t eat eggs because they made him sick. Norman added three raw eggs to the malt he made for Alan, then stood back and watched as the boy gulped it down. The glass fell from his hand and shattered on the tile floor as Alan clutched his throat, eyes nearly bugging from his head. Before anyone could help him, his throat swelled shut, his heart stopped, and he died.

  Norman had congratulated himself on a job well done and celebrated with a strawberry milkshake.

  Home wasn’t an improvement over the misery Norman suffered at school. His parents had never lavished him with attention or affection, but the arrival of a baby brother made it seem as though he ceased to exist. Norman was seven when he held a pillow over his brother’s face until he ceased breathing one winter night. No one ever questioned if he’d been the one to stop the toddler’s crying. Everyone assumed the baby had died in his crib of natural causes.

  Occasionally, the haunting sound of his mother’s screams when she’d discovered the limp body of the baby the following morning drifted through his thoughts.

  After his brother’s funeral, his mother changed into an entirely different person, one nobody particularly liked. If she wasn’t whining or complaining about something, she stayed in bed, too sick to see to the housework, insisting Norman do his share to help around the house.

  The spring Norman turned ten, his father had the gall to get himself killed. The man worked on the Portland docks and died when a crate fell on him, crushing him beneath its heavy weight.

  Often, Norman wondered if his father had jumped beneath the crate to escape the nonstop nagging of his mother. Thelma Ness just didn’t know when to shut up. Nope, she never did.

  In fact, she spent the last evening of her miserable life yammering at Norman to get a real job instead of continuing as a door-to-door salesman.

  Norman reflected on how easy it had been to add enough arsenic to her bowl of pudding to put an end to her relentless demands. Over the course of several months, he’d given her a little at a time, watching as each dose made her sicker. Finally, he’d administered what he thought should be enough to kill her, then doubled the amount. Much to his glee, she died almost instantly. Since she’d been ill for so long, it had seemed as though she’d succumbed to whatever sickness had plagued her.

  Smug at the recollection of his past success in removing unwanted obstacles from his path, Norman lurked behind the cover of rambling blackberry bushes down the road from the farm the Jap family had owned. He sucked on his favorite sour candy and waited.

  The first time he stopped at the farm to see if he could sell any of the second-rate chocolates he peddled, the old Japanese man had purchased a box and had given him a free apple, polished to a high shine.

  Norman had noticed the wealth of timber behind the tilled acres — cedar, oak, maple, and birch trees grew alongside pine, alder, and fir. Dollar signs danced before his eyes.

  For two years, he’d had his eye on the farm. Under the guise of selling his wares, including everything from watered-down cough medicine to the poorly made shoes he wore, Norman visited the farm every few months, asking questions and making plans.

  Once he took over, he’d get rid of the produce stand, hire someone to log the trees, clear the land, and sell the place at a handsome profit.

  Thoughts of living like a king off the money he’d make from the tree sales alone had kept him going. The last thing Norman wanted was to work hard like the stupid old couple who ran the place.

  When the no-good Japs along the Pacific Coast were ordered to evacuate, he knew it was time to make his move. Desperate to sell their belongings before leaving for assembly centers, many Japanese accepted mere pennies on the dollar.

  The day he’d heard the news, Norman had sped out to the farm and offered the old man fifty dollars for the place, including all the furnishings and contents of the buildings. The scrappy geezer acted insulted by the offer and chased Norman back to his car wielding a pitchfork, yelling at him never to return.

  More determined than ever to get his hands on the prime piece of property, Norman waited until he was sure the cagey ol’ Jap and his wife were long gone to drive out to the place. He’d been enraged to find a soldier had taken up residence in the house. Under no circumstance would he allow an unwelcome interloper to interfere with his plans.

  Norman Milford Hess did not intend to let anyone stand in the way of getting what he wanted. With a little patience, he’d have all that timber and the land. He might even decide to stay in the house since it was far nicer than the dank place where he lived. After all, a salesman peddling marbles, shoes, and cookware barely made enough to keep himself fed.

  Through a pair of field glasses, he watched the soldier and a tall woman walk out to the car. The man drove onto the road and headed off in the direction of Beaverton.

  Norman hadn’t realized the soldier boy was married. A perverted sneer crossed his face as he watched the woman walk inside the house. Maybe the soldier wasn’t married and the girl was a fun diversion.

  Quickly ducking down as the car drove past where he’d parked behind the blackberry bushes, Norman waited a few moments before driving down the road past the produce stand. He pulled over and glanced up at the looming trees overhead, popping another piece of candy in his mouth.

  His gaze followed the fence that ran along the base of the hill all the way around the property. Inquisitive, he pondered what the old Jap had in there that required a ten-foot high wall.

  One day soon, Norman would find out.

  Chapter Nine

  Rock smoothed a hand down the front of his trouser legs and tugged on the hem of his jacket.

  Miko ironed his navy-blue suit that morning, carefully pressing two straight seams along his trousers. She made sure his white shirt appeared crisp.

  Unable to manage his tie one-handed, he lifted his freshly shaved chin while she expertly tied it for him. He caught her gaze lingering on his face, her eyes full of something he hesitated to acknowledge or define.

  Hastily stepping back when she finished, he held his arms out at his sides and grinned at her. “Are you sure I don’t look out of style?” he asked, concerned the single-breasted suit he’d purchased three years ago seemed outdated.

  Miko shook her head and reached out, straightening his collar and tucking a snowy white square into his breast pocket. “You look quite nifty, Captain Laroux.”

  The way her voice caressed his name made him long to trail his fingers along the silky smoothness of her cheek. Instead, he picked up a gray fedora and settled it on his head. He gathered her letter and the papers he wanted to take with him and lifted the keys to her grandfather’s car from where he’d left them on the kitchen table.

  “Will you be okay here on your own?” he asked for the third time as he walked outside.

  The saucy grin she tossed at him almost made him miss the last porch step. “I’ll be fine. In fact, I think I’ll spend the day up on the hill.”

  Rock knew that meant she wanted to work in the secret garden. He hoped to explore it in the near future.

  As it was, he anticipated being gone all day. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but most likely it will be ea
rly evening before I return.”

  “I know. I’ll be fine,” Miko assured him as he set the papers he carried on the front seat of the sedan. “Take care of yourself, Rock, and please give my family my love.”

  “I will, Miko. I promise.” He squeezed her hand, then slid behind the wheel and started the car. “Be a good girl and I might bring you a treat,” he teased, waving as he drove down the driveway.

  When he reached town, Rock turned down a side street that took him to a grocery store he recalled visiting many times with his parents. The owner had been a jovial fellow with a bald head, rosy cheeks, and a broad smile. Before he was old enough to know better, Rock had thought the man was Saint Nicholas himself.

  He parked the car in a space in front of the store and lifted a basket that held a paper-wrapped square of butter, half a dozen eggs, and a jar of buttermilk. Outside the front of the store, he studied a display of brooms to the left, a large Dr Pepper cooler to the right, and Coca-Cola signs in the windows. A small sign by the door promised farm-fresh eggs and milk.

  It had been so long since Rock had tasted a soda, moisture flooded his mouth at the prospect. Miko had insisted he take five dollars with him before he left the house, but it seemed frivolous to spend money on a cold bottle of soda.

  Determined to ignore the temptation, he pulled open the door of the store, listening to the bell jangle above his head as he stepped inside. Familiar scents of linseed oil, meat spices from the bologna and sausage made right there in the store, and dill from a crock of pickles swirled around his nose.

  A round little man bustled through a doorway at the back of the store and hurried down the aisle to the counter where Rock waited.

  “Morning, mister. What can I do for you?” he asked as he stepped behind the counter with a welcoming smile.

  “Mr. Ross, I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I used to come in here with my folks when I was a boy.” Rock held out his hand toward the man.

  Bill Ross shook it and studied Rock for a long moment. “Who are your folks, son?” he asked, propping his elbows on the counter and leaning forward. “Your face is familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”