When Bud left town, you’d have thought Jean was at a funeral every day for a month. I knew she was really bad off when she stopped wearing lipstick. Up until then, her lips were always cherry. Now they were ginger, like the kind you get at Hayashi store with your musubi. Things got better slowly, but she still talked about him constantly. So when Zach said he was here about Bud, I wanted to hear for myself. One good thing about a swinging door is that it’s easy to push open just a tiny crack, enough for one eye to see through. I had to tell my heart to stop beating so loudly or they would see me. From what I knew about grown-ups, they were able to love only one person at a time. This new information went against my current set of beliefs. If Bud was married, then what was he doing with Jean?
If a husband or a wife dies, only then are you allowed to marry someone else. Like Mama. Eventually she might take a new husband, once she is able to stop being sad about my papa. I know I should tell her the truth because it might help matters, since she doesn’t really know he’s dead yet.
Only I do.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Violet
People always say there are no seasons in Hawaii. That isn’t true. In the blurred lines between fall and winter, Violet had come to recognize the subtle shift in the light and a less ambitious sun, ohia blossoms that wouldn’t stop, and the need for an extra blanket at night. Plovers and sanderlings returned and the waves marched toward the island in towering lines, crashing against the cliffs in explosions of white.
She could almost say the same for herself, a changing of seasons. But hers was more a winter to spring thawing, when ice cracks and begins to melt and shoots poke through the earth. Not Jean, though. Jean was in the midst of a bitter-cold winter ever since the Bud news. Moping, brooding, staring off into space.
On Saturday morning, a new layer of dew covered the car windshield. Violet hadn’t seen dew since spring. When they pulled up to Waimea town, a pack of men and a lion milled around in the grassy field where they were to set up their pie stand.
“What’s going on?” Violet asked.
“We are going on,” Jean said. “Those boys are waiting for us.”
“We ought to have matching aprons,” Setsuko said.
“Agreed,” Violet said, thrilled that Setsuko was sticking it out amid the tension and getting more involved.
“If I’m Honey Jean, you two need new names,” Jean said, pausing to contemplate the idea. “Guava Bee and...”
“I’ll be Coco Mama,” Violet offered.
“Guava Bee? We’re not even making guava pies,” Setsuko said.
“We could be,” Jean said.
Setsuko shrugged. Right now, any of them would walk to Hilo and back barefoot to turn Jean’s mood around.
Parker guided Violet as she backed the massive truck into place. In the mirror, she could see the sunlight catch his dimple. Ella had already jumped out and had her arms around Roscoe.
“Sweetie, what did I say about hugging him?”
“He likes to be hugged. Especially by Ella,” he said.
For some reason, she was irritated by the sight of Parker, decked out in his utilities. While she had gone home to an empty bed and a bowl of vinegar last Sunday, in her mind he and the light-handed Hawaiian had danced under the stars and swum bare-skinned in the lagoon. “Is that what you came here to tell me?”
He looked as if she’d slapped him. “Actually, it’s not. I came because I wanted to be the first person in line this morning for your honeycomb pie. And I dragged these fellas along with me. Told them it was part of morning training.”
What had gotten into her? “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. My fuse is a little short right now with Zach’s news the other night.” She nodded toward Jean, who was also bent over Roscoe and vigorously rubbing the loose skin around his neck.
“Tough situation,” he said.
As a rule, marines kept their mouths shut about other marines. No one kissed and told. It was a brotherhood. She knew that. They were just lucky Zach had a higher obligation to his sister; otherwise Jean might have never known the truth.
The boys erected the stand in eight seconds flat, and before Violet knew it, Honey Cow Pies was in business again. The only problem was that Roscoe decided he wanted to lie in the middle of the stand, under the shade of the tin roof.
Violet tapped his flank with her foot. “Excuse me.” He didn’t budge.
One ear moved forward, one back. He looked at her as if to say, “Good luck.” The mother in her felt sorry for him, having to be dragged around all day by the soldiers. Parker clearly hadn’t been thinking about the lion’s well-being when he bought him. But he was a man, and worrying was a woman’s job.
“Fellas, your lion is in the way, and he’s likely to scare away all our customers,” she said.
Ella found another stick and wiggled it in front of him. He batted at it before grabbing the leafy end with both paws and kicking at it with his hind legs. The maneuver was bad enough when Snowflake performed it, but with Roscoe, one risked being shredded like the chicken hekka Mr. Tavares sold a few stands down.
Roscoe stayed in the stand but sat upright instead, with his face just high enough to look out over the counter. Violet couldn’t resist the urge to scratch behind his ears. With all his weight, he leaned in for more.
“You like that, don’t you,” she said.
When she looked up, she caught Zach and Parker exchanging glances. “Only a matter of time,” Zach said.
“Before what?”
“Before you’re hugging him, too.”
“Nonsense.”
After serving up slices—about half chocolate honeycomb and sweet potato coconut—Violet pulled Parker aside. “I have another favor to ask of you.” The favors seemed to be stacking up, but she didn’t know who else to ask.
He held his fork in hand, waiting to take the first bite. “Not making any promises, but shoot.”
“Of course you’re not.”
Her stomach rolled. One side of her knew that her anger was misdirected, even ridiculous. Parker was not her father, not Herman, but he was leaving. Of that she was sure.
“Jeez, you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
The wind had picked up speed and her hair blew in every direction. She had to hold her skirt down with one hand. “We heard that the evidence they have against Takeo is bogus. I was wondering if you could talk to Riggs, since he’s involved in the case. If the military doesn’t have any reason to keep Takeo, it’s only fair they release him.”
Parker formed a quiet whistle. “Where’d you hear that?”
Unable to implicate Irene Ferreira, she said, “I overheard two men at the bar the other day.”
“You were at a bar?”
Did it seem so far-fetched that she might be out? “I was. I had to trade some of our ration tickets.”
“Captain Riggs is what you might call hard-boiled, but I’ll inquire. And I hate to tell you this, but if you’re of Japanese ancestry, fair went out the window after Pearl Harbor,” he said.
“Asking never hurt anyone.”
“Well, that may not be technically true,” he said, smiling.
Her heart thudded and she wondered if he could hear it. “Gravity is sometimes a by-product of circumstances, Sergeant. I wasn’t always this way.” She turned to escape this line of talk, which was likely to end in tears.
“Just trying to make a joke, ma’am.” He saluted.
It was impossible to be upset with him when he had two pieces of pie on his plate and now tried to maneuver both into his mouth at once. The way he chewed, slowly and with his eyelids half-closed, reminded Violet how much these men appreciated the smallest specks of life.
He patted his stomach. “Trying to gain some weight for Island X,” he said with a piece of crust stuck to his chin.
�
�Island X?”
“What we’re training for. It’ll be our first combat experience as a group.” When Parker spoke, his eyes flickered. He shifted positions the way a cornered dog will.
“When will they tell you where it is?”
He grinned, returning to his usual cocksure self. “Not until we’re coming in hot.”
She had seen enough war propaganda to know that secrecy came before all else. “Keep mum—she’s not so dumb,” or “Don’t kill her daddy with careless talk.” Everything was kept strictly need-to-know. All this talk now struck her in the kneecaps, causing a near buckle.
* * *
As it turned out, Violet got the chance to speak with Captain Riggs personally when he showed up for a piece of moonshine pie. A cigarette dangled between his gray lips. “I survived the last piece. Figure I must be immune. Age does that to you.”
She wasn’t especially glad to see him, but forced a smile. “Instead of paying, how about you answer a few questions for me.”
Setsuko found a reason to walk away at that very moment, and disappeared behind the truck. Violet had told her about Irene’s overheard phone conversation.
He coughed. “I’m not in the habit of answering questions.”
Violet plunged ahead anyway. “I overheard some men talking in town the other day. One of them mentioned something about bogus evidence at the school. Would that be Takeo and the Japanese school?”
“We don’t talk about ongoing investigations to civilians, ma’am, even if they do make a fine pie,” he said.
She knew this was her big chance, and something about the shift in his gaze told her she’d struck truth. “What worries me is the fact that someone would fabricate documents. That there’s such a dangerous individual among us. Maybe you should look into that instead of hauling off innocent family men.”
Riggs worked to take a deep breath. “We have eyes on the ground, everywhere. And I don’t take my job lightly. If you knew half of what went on, you might change your tune.”
“But if the evidence is bogus, you need to release Takeo, sir.”
He was one of those men who had no trouble blowing smoke in a woman’s face. “We don’t need to do anything, ma’am.”
By two o’clock, Honey Cow Pies had sold out. Before heading back, they took some of their change and splurged on hamburgers up the street from Tsugi Kaiama, who almost always sold out before they did. She claimed it was because the whole cow went through her gas grinder. Violet thought it was from the bread crumbs and celery.
As they bounced along the rutted road home with stomachs and pockets full, she caught herself smiling out the window at nothing in particular. Bees swarmed in the tops of the eucalyptus, and a low bank of clouds cast the fields in a blue light.
Pretty soon, a picture of Parker emerged in her mind. Standing an inch away in the pond. She imagined feeling the drumbeat of his heart through salt water, her whole body wrapped around him. Up close, she could see how his lashes lightened at the tips and salt caked onto his lids. He tasted like sardines and beer, and his tongue was bold.
Bam. She flew up, banging her head on the lightly padded roof. Everyone else went with her. “Horsefeathers! Where were you?” Jean cried.
She checked the rearview mirror to see that all kids were still in, and spotted a pothole the size of a drinking trough. Hiding a blush, she focused on the road. “Sorry. It’s just so lovely out, I was admiring the scenery.”
“Admiring the scenery in your mind, more likely.” She could feel Jean filling up on questions. “What really went on when you disappeared with Sergeant Stone last weekend? You couldn’t wait to get left behind,” Jean said.
“That’s not true!”
Any talk of men right now might have been enough to send Jean smack over the bridge. Thus, Violet had kept her conflicted feelings about Parker unvoiced. Jean was no dummy, though.
“You have a pulse,” Jean said.
“We swam. I stepped on wana.”
Jean shook her head, unconvinced. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Either way, you end up crushed. But he is the cat’s meow. Not a crumb like Bud.”
“Nothing happened, nor will anything. End of discussion.”
Jean gave her a knowing look. “You remind me of myself not that long ago. Only I wasn’t afraid to admit it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ella
If the amount of chocolate honeycomb pie I ate today is any indication, things might be looking up for my stomach. I’ve wanted to eat more lately, in general, and I wasn’t sure if lions liked pie, but I got my answer after Roscoe wolfed down his piece. There was cream all around his mouth, which gave me away. Mama wiped it off with a napkin and said, “Ella, no more pie for Roscoe.” But I could tell she didn’t really mind too much.
The day had been such a good one up until then, I was afraid to count my chickens. Good thing I didn’t. We were headed home around four o’clock in the afternoon. Mama had already hit a huge hole in the road and I was starting to wonder if she was driving blindfolded. We were barreling around a bend when she jammed on the brakes. We skidded to a narrow shoulder with our front wheels in the tall grass. Us kids rolled into the cab like bowling pins and I had to disentangle myself from Umi’s braids.
We all stood up to see. Just ahead, a jalopy had been cut down, blocking passage. How Mama explained it was that these cars had been hoisted up along the roads all over the island, ready to be dropped to slow advancing Japanese troops. I always wondered who would be there to drop them, since most of the time, there were no soldiers anywhere to be found. And if there were Japanese on our roads, wouldn’t it be too late?
No one spoke for a moment. We were far enough in the boondocks that air-raid sirens would not be heard. Suddenly I felt cold. If we were being attacked, where would we go? As much as I loved my Japanese friends, I had heard enough about the Japanese soldiers to worry. The fact that we were women and kids might not even matter. I concentrated on keeping my bladder under control.
Us kids jumped out and ran to the cab. “Are the Japanese here?” I asked.
“More likely it was a prank, or the cables broke,” Mama said, opening the door.
My first thought went to animals. “What if they burn our houses and the chickens can’t get out of their coops?” My lips were quivering now and I had a funny feeling that my knees were loosened.
Mama smoothed out my hair, which didn’t help this time. “I’m sure the Japanese aren’t here, but we need to be tough in any event. Remember what the doctor said—deep breaths.”
Still, I wondered. What if we had been lured into believing Hawaii was safe again, that the war had now moved closer to Japan? There was no question that the Japanese military people were sneaky, and smarter than most Americans. Ambushes were their specialty, after all. Jean started mumbling a prayer.
“Would you not do that? You’re scaring the kids,” Mama told her.
“A prayer never hurt anyone.”
While Jean stood talking to God, the rest of us scouted out the jalopy to see if there was a way around. Hiro scrambled underneath and to the other side. One thing that’s happened since his father was taken away is that he acts more like the man of the family. Jean says he has stepped up to bat. His eyes are always on Setsuko—I guess kind of like me and Mama. Where before Setsuko had to ask, he now does stuff on his own. Lately I’ve been thinking he would make someone a good husband one day—when he’s older. “See anything?” Setsuko called.
“Looks like it was cut, but no telling by who or what,” he said.
In the distance, I thought I heard a low rumble. Hopefully just someone driving up from Honoka’a. But from the raspy sound, it might have been a tank or a heavy truck. We all looked at each other with big eyes.
On the far side of the road we saw a small hill with a thick stand of ohia bushes.
Jean was the first to speak. “Run! Hiro, hurry!”
I froze in place. “Ella, come on!” Mama said.
My legs somehow kicked in and we wasted no time scrambling up and leaving the truck where it was. Mama’s fingers strangled my hand and I gulped for air. My heart was beating about two hundred beats per minute and thudded against my ribs like it wanted out. We crouched down low. Between branches, we could see down to the jalopy, which was upside down.
“Stay calm,” Setsuko whispered.
Staying calm was about as unlikely as me turning Japanese. My kneecaps were pressed into sharp pieces of cinder, and mud streaked across my overalls. Everyone held their breath. Time moved like dripping honey. I noticed a red bird twittering away on a bare branch. Clouds swam past. Please, God, let me be a bird in my next lifetime, I asked.
Have you ever tasted fear? It tastes like you’re sucking on pennies and then you swallow them and they pile up in your stomach. I sank onto the ground, wanting to scream and cry and disappear all at the same time.
“Ella’s shaking,” Jean whispered.
Mama turned and looked me hard in the eye. “I need you to be strong right now.”
It’s one thing to be strong. Another to act strong. I stood back up. It was all I could do.
Setsuko risked talking out loud to all of us. “If it’s anything other than an American truck, we run down that hill and follow the stream as far back as we can.”
We all knew what she meant.
Several clouds later, a tank emerged from the stand of eucalyptus. From this distance, it was hard to make out what kind. As it approached the roadblock, it slowed, making a loud chunk-a-lunk sound. That was when we saw.
One big star.
Jean leaped up, sniffling. “I thought I was going to lose my lunch for a moment there.” I was worried about losing more than my lunch. I was so relieved, I stood there mute. All the air-raid drills in the world won’t teach you how to behave when faced with the real McCoy. A saying I picked up from the soldiers. I burst into tears and hugged Mama’s waist.
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 16
