Fury boiled through Macy, making it hard to put the right words together. “He broke my necklace. And my doll. And he called my mother a traitor.”
“What!” Christopher yelped. “I didn’t say anything about your mother.”
“Inside,” Miss Lawrence ordered. “Both of you. You can talk this over with Principal Bates.”
Macy’s whole body had burned with anger, but now she felt cold. She had never been sent to the principal’s office. She pictured it as some sort of dungeon: dark, with spears on the walls and a paddle in a desk drawer. No one was sent there unless they did something terrible.
She looked at the teacher. “I don’t need to see the principal. I’ll never talk to Christopher again.”
“And I’ll never talk to her,” Christopher muttered. He grabbed the broken chain and hurled it toward her.
Miss Lawrence waited for Macy to shove the chain and broken kokeshi into a pocket, then marched them both toward the office. There was no choice but to hurry along with her into the school and down the hall.
“Wait here,” Miss Lawrence said. “One against this wall, the other over there.”
Christopher crossed his arms over his chest, his body looking rigid as he leaned against the nearest wall. He didn’t even bother to push his dark-blond hair away from his eyes. It had a habit of falling over his forehead. Today, he didn’t seem to care.
She had never liked Mark, but how had she ever liked Christopher? She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Macy crossed to the far side of the hall. She stared at the floor to avoid looking at Christopher while Miss Lawrence went into the principal’s office and closed the door.
I couldn’t just walk away, she told herself. Not after he grabbed Mama’s kokeshi doll. What is Papa going to say? Principal Bates is sure to call him.
The principal would call Christopher’s parents, too. The thought made her look at him, after all, wondering what he was thinking.
He glared straight at her, finally pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Traitor!”
She caught her breath. “Take that back!”
The principal’s door opened. “Mr. Bates is ready for you,” Miss Lawrence told them. Her low-heeled shoes tap-tapped a warning against the wood floor as she walked away.
What if they didn’t go in? The teacher wasn’t watching. But they both knew they didn’t have a choice. Miss Nicholson, the school secretary, was already beckoning them inside. Macy walked toward her and heard Christopher follow.
Ahead lay the principal’s office, where bad kids were sent.
“I don’t belong here,” Macy told Miss Nicholson. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Behind her, Christopher jeered. “Ha!”
The secretary simply pointed toward a second doorway to the right. It took all the courage Macy could find to walk through. No weapons threatened from the walls. A picture of a smiling President Roosevelt hung near the principal’s desk, with a picture of George Washington nearby.
Principal Bates was a big man who sat behind a bigger-than-normal desk that should have been doomsday black instead of paneled with a warm wood. He studied them across steepled fingers before speaking in a calm voice, not at all like the scolding Macy had been bracing to hear. “What brings the two of you to see me?”
“You have a traitor in your school, sir,” Christopher announced.
Heat rushed back into Macy’s face. “He’s mad because of the Japanese doll in our museum, the Friendship Doll.”
“A real American would burn anything from Japan,” Christopher said. “Especially a doll that looks like one of them. She says she won’t. So she’s a traitor. Isn’t she?”
Macy twisted her hands together to keep from accidentally on purpose twisting them in his hair. “Miss Tokyo belongs to the museum.”
“Friendship Doll,” Principal Bates repeated. “I’ve seen her: a doll the size of a small girl.”
The lecture she often heard Papa give visitors burst from Macy. “They’re sometimes called Dolls of Gratitude. Japanese children”— she glanced at Christopher —“who wanted to be friends sent Miss Tokyo and fifty-seven other dolls like her to America. They were to thank American children for sending thousands of smaller dolls to them way back in 1927, before I was even born.”
The principal leaned back in his chair. “Fourteen years ago, yes. Two of our classes saved money to send a doll with the others. A cakewalk brought in enough to buy the steamship ticket. All the dolls carried steamship tickets along with passports and visas, as if they were living children. Everyone hoped the project would create such warm friendship that the two countries would never fight each other.”
Macy risked a So there look at Christopher, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Principal Bates as if he’d uncovered another traitor. She said a little louder than necessary, “American children sent almost thirteen thousand Friendship Dolls to children in Japan.”
“A good number of dolls, an amazing number,” the principal mused aloud. “I remember that children in nearly every one of the forty-eight states took part.”
“We’re at war now,” Christopher pointed out. “The Japs bombed us. It didn’t work.”
“America is sure to join the war as soon as Congress can vote. Tragically, the dream of friendship failed.” The principal gazed at Macy. “How many big Japanese dolls did you say were sent to thank the children here?”
“Fifty-eight,” Macy said. She clasped the kokeshi doll in her pocket. “The finest doll artists in Japan competed for the right to make them. We’re lucky to have one in our museum.” She glared so hard at Christopher he should have felt her eyes burning holes in his head.
“Pearl Harbor,” Christopher said to Principal Bates, as if those two words could make the doll project meaningless. His face reddened and he added with sudden anguish, “My uncle Ray is there. . . . We don’t know if he’s . . . if he’s . . . We don’t know yet.”
Macy’s anger faded. She wanted to offer sympathy but knew he wouldn’t want that, not from her. Not now.
“We all feel the pain of the attack,” Principal Bates assured him.
“Pain?” Christopher’s voice rose. “Those sneaking cowards sank our ships. Without any warning! They —” He broke off as the class bell rang.
“Perhaps I should have said outrage,” Principal Bates agreed. “This morning, our students and teachers will attend an assembly in the gymnasium. We will all listen to the radio while President Roosevelt addresses Congress in Washington, D.C.”
“Good,” Christopher exclaimed. “He’ll have plenty to say.”
“I’m certain he will. This terrible attack has brought our country together as never before. In weeks ahead, we’re sure to see many examples of patriotic fervor.”
Macy and Christopher looked at each other. Principal Bates must have seen danger in their faces. He added in a voice that turned them both to face him, “By patriotic fervor, I mean flags and victory gardens. I do not mean fighting amongst ourselves.” He looked from Christopher to Macy. “I particularly do not want to see any more fighting between students from my school. For any reason. Do you two understand?”
Macy swallowed and nodded, but she couldn’t look at Christopher. Even so, she saw the tight lines ease in the principal’s face and knew Christopher must have agreed, too. What else could he do, with the principal staring at him like that?
“You may return to class, Christopher,” Principal Bates said. “Macy, I’d like to speak with you a little longer.”
She’d been poised to dart from the room. With reluctance, she stood straighter before the principal’s desk. The smug look Christopher threw at her before leaving told her that the principal’s words about fighting had gone in one side of his head and out the other, whatever he might have seemed to promise.
She was sorry about his uncle and sick at the thought of dying men and sinking ships. But none of that could be blamed on the doll Mama had loved.
Princip
al Bates leaned forward over his desk. “Macy, I want you to remember that throughout history, wars have come and gone. After horrendous fighting and tragic deaths, however, peace always returns.”
Macy nodded. None of that sounded good for Miss Tokyo, except the “peace always returns” part. And that wouldn’t help if angry people destroyed the doll before peace could return.
A tremor ran through Macy. Papa would never agree to hide the doll. How could she make people understand that Miss Tokyo had nothing to do with the war and why her message of friendship was still important?
She stood even straighter, hoping the principal could see how much this meant to her. “Mama always wanted to go back to Japan. Every day I wheeled her chair in beside the doll, and we looked at her big book full of colored pictures of cherry blossoms and houses with paper walls. We pretended to share them with Miss Tokyo. Mama asked her . . . questions . . . and I pretended . . . to answer for . . .”
Her voice broke as the pain of losing Mama rushed through her again, not lessened at all by the months that had passed, as everyone said it would be.
“I’m very sorry her long illness took your mother.” The principal’s voice became gentle but firm. “For your mother’s memory and for your own sake, I hope your father will put the Japanese display into storage for a time. Perhaps your brother can reason with him.”
Macy nodded. Sometimes Papa listened to Nick when he wouldn’t listen to her. For a moment, she let herself hope. But Papa also remembered Mama when he looked at the big doll’s gentle expression and kind brown eyes.
She doubted even Nick could convince Papa to remove Mama’s beloved Miss Tokyo just because people were angry with Japan. Papa would say that the people who sent the doll wanted peace and that their message was even more important now.
“You may return to your class,” Principal Bates told her. “Everyone will soon be directed into the gymnasium for the president’s speech.”
Macy could hardly believe she was free to go. Relief rushed her into the hall and down to her classroom. Luckily, her seat was nowhere near Christopher’s. She could feel his scowl all the way across the room.
Later, her class joined others in the gymnasium, whispering together while the speakers were adjusted. They grew quiet, turning to face the front of the room when they heard President Roosevelt’s familiar, reassuring voice. Through crackles in the connection with the loudspeakers, he spoke of the bombing and declared December seventh to have been “a date which will live in infamy.”
Infamy, Macy thought. That means the date will always be evil in people’s memory.
Someone was standing across the room and she turned her head, wondering who would interrupt the president’s message. Betsy Oshima! A teacher was leading Betsy away from her class. Was Betsy crying? What could have happened?
Macy felt all her nerves tighten as she watched the teacher lead Betsy through a back door. Whispers traveled around the gym and finally reached Macy’s area.
Lily leaned close to repeat them to Macy. “Some older boys said mean things. They made Betsy cry.”
“Then why didn’t the teacher take them out?”
Lily shrugged. “She would have had to take too many.”
That wasn’t fair. Poor Betsy! Everyone was furious about the bombing. They wanted someone to blame. But why Betsy, who had never hurt anyone?
Another thought followed. This has nothing to do with Mama’s doll. Macy filled her heart and mind with her mother’s voice asking Miss Tokyo, “Will the cherry blossoms be in bloom this early?”
In silence, her own pretend voice answered for the doll, “Oh, no, Mama-san, not before spring.” Macy stared hard at her hands, forcing tears back. Missing Mama still left a raw wound inside, but she would not cry here. She would not.
She filled her mind with memories of looking through the photographs in Mama’s book. Sometimes, Papa had joined them, amused by their pretense and saying he looked forward to once again seeing Mama with cherry blossoms drifting into her hair. Then they would look at each other in a way that made Macy feel invisible but warmed inside just the same.
She knew that Papa wouldn’t move the doll into storage just because people said he should. It’s up to me to save her, Macy decided as she stood with the others to sing “God Bless America.”
Students were dismissed for the day. Back in the classroom, Macy gathered her books and schoolwork. In her mind, she was already running to the museum to find a hiding place for Miss Tokyo.
The moment she stepped off the school porch, she saw Christopher Adams on the walk with a group of his friends. They all looked straight at her. Christopher’s tough friend Mark smacked one fist into his open palm.
It was too late to run back into the school. The rush of kids leaving carried Macy along. Christopher stepped forward to block her path.
Macy drew a deep breath. “What do you want?”
“The big doll.” Cold fire flashed deep inside Christopher’s blue eyes. “We’re going to make an example of it. Why don’t you go get it for us?”
Macy looked at him in disbelief. “She’s not mine. She belongs to the museum. You want me to steal her?”
“If that’s what it takes.” He glanced around at his friends. They all nodded.
“I’m not a thief.” She started past him, but his friends moved together, blocking her again. Macy looked around. Other people either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She saw Rachel Rivers poke a friend to get her attention. They both watched, smiling.
“Let me by,” Macy said.
“Sure,” Mark agreed. “We’ll go along with you. You can go into the museum and bring that enemy doll out to us.”
“No.”
Christopher stepped closer. “Only a creep would protect a Jap doll today.”
“I’ll bet she’s a spy,” Mark said.
Macy glared at him, trying to hide the knot forming in her stomach. She didn’t want any of them to know they were scaring her. These were boys she saw in school every day. What was wrong with them? “Get out of my way, Christopher. Mark. All of you.”
Christopher stepped closer. The others crowded in on the sides. Panic swept through Macy. She lunged between two boys. They shoved her into Christopher.
“Stay off me,” he said, pushing her away.
Lily’s voice rose over the mutters. “Miss Lawrence! Macy needs help. Quick!”
Lily’s sometime friend Rachel grabbed her arm. “Hush! Let’s watch!”
But Lily’s shout had scattered the boys. When the teacher reached them, only Christopher and Macy remained, glaring at each other.
“You two again!” Miss Lawrence’s eyebrows rose above the frames of her glasses.
Macy exclaimed, “I was just trying to go home.”
The teacher grasped their arms and again marched them into the building and along the hall to the principal’s office. Stragglers leaving classrooms stepped aside and stared.
Christopher leaned around the teacher to scowl at Macy. “You’re nothing but trouble. You know that?”
“Me?” She hated having people stare at her, but she couldn’t let him accuse her and not answer. “You started it!”
“Silence!” Miss Lawrence snapped. “You’ll have your chance to talk when you see the principal.” She turned a warning look toward Macy before letting go of her long enough to open the door to the school office.
Principal Bates was no happier to see them in his office again than Miss Lawrence had been to bring them there. “Only this morning, I spoke to you two about fighting.”
“I’m just trying to go home,” Macy said again.
“She nearly knocked me down. For the second time!” Christopher’s face flushed red as if he’d just realized he was admitting to a girl getting the best of him. “I don’t fight with girls,” he added quickly. “They’re supposed to be ladies.”
“Boys are supposed to be gentlemen,” Macy told him.
Principal Bates cleared his throat and they both
turned to face him. “This is an emotional time for the country. But you two promised not to fight each other. Since this is your second visit to my office today, I am forced to call your fathers.”
Christopher gave Macy a This is your fault! look. She gave him the same look right back.
Waiting for Papa to come to the school to get her took a long, grim time. Macy twisted her fingers together while she sat beside Christopher on a bench just inside the principal’s office. They took turns darting angry looks at each other, but neither dared break the silence disturbed only by Principal Bates’s rustling papers and scratching pen.
Christopher’s father arrived first. He was clearly annoyed to be there and made Christopher mutter an apology to the principal and to Macy. The men looked at her as if she should apologize back. She didn’t want to. She wasn’t sorry. But neither was Christopher, so she crossed her fingers in her lap and said behind her teeth the way he had, “Sorry.”
As he turned to the door with his father, Christopher protested, “Dad, she was wearing a Jap necklace!”
“Girls don’t think the way we do, son,” Mr. Adams answered. “She probably just thought the necklace was pretty.”
Just pretty! Macy couldn’t stay put. She jumped to her feet and called after them. “It was my mother’s! It meant a lot to her!”
Mr. Adams smiled as if she had agreed with him, then said to Christopher, “You see? She wasn’t supporting the Japs. It was sentiment. Girls put a lot of store in sentiment.”
Macy caught her breath, but Papa came in then and she stayed silent. She rarely saw Papa’s temper and wasn’t eager to see it now.
Like Christopher, she was made to apologize for the outbursts on the school grounds. Principal Bates wouldn’t listen to explanations. He wanted apologies and a promise of peace between the two of them, and that was all he would hear.
When she rode home beside Papa in his big touring car, Macy kept waiting for him to scold her, but he remained silent. She couldn’t tell whether he was angry with her or simply thinking of museum business.
Dolls of War Page 2
