“That’s not right,” Macy protested. “After Pearl Harbor, when we were all in the school yard pretending to shoot Japanese planes, Betsy was right there with us, pretending, too. She’s not from Japan. She was born right here. So were her parents.”
“It’s war. A lot of things aren’t right.”
Macy couldn’t accept Papa’s answer. On the day the Oshimas and other Japanese families were to leave, she walked to the station, wishing she had talked more with the girl, even though Betsy was a year younger. She stood beside a pillar, trying to see Betsy. She wanted to tell her she would miss her.
Families crowded the platform, wearing their best clothes and carrying suitcases packed with all they were allowed to take with them. Macy brushed tears from her cheek. They were leaving farms where many had lived their entire lives. Who would care for their crops? Who would feed their chickens? And their dogs? Betsy Oshima had a dog. Where was it?
Japanese people with worried or set expressions filed into waiting railcars. As the train rolled slowly ahead, Macy moved closer to see who was near the windows of one car after another. By the time a fifth car had rolled past, she realized that smudges on the train’s sides were from fresh dirt clods. Someone must have been throwing them
farther down the track.
She didn’t have time to see who was doing that. The fifth car carried Betsy in a seat beside a window, looking out with a sad expression.
Macy ran even closer, waving her hand so Betsy would see her.
The girl leaned near the window. A smile brightened her entire face. She waved just as hard as Macy, pressing against the window to keep in sight longer as the train kept rolling.
When Macy wrote to Mama that evening, she told her about the Japanese families sent away on the train, adding, I’m glad I went down to wave good-bye. Nobody else did, except somebody throwing dirt clods. Betsy seemed glad to see me. I still don’t understand why she had to go.
In early April, Macy located the blue-headed pin in the box where Papa had tossed it again and walked over to the map. Where would be a safe place for Nick today? Maybe he’d like Canada. She pushed the pin high in the north between Canada and Russia.
Papa came in as she opened her notebook to begin an essay for her English class. He studied the map, asking, “Where is Nick sailing today? Ah, off the coast of Canada. I’m afraid his admiral has a poor understanding of maps.” He dropped the blue pin back into the box, but he chuckled.
Macy smiled to herself. When Nick left for the war, he had said that she and Papa would become closer with him gone. It was true, but Nick couldn’t have known it would happen over a blue-headed map pin.
Miss Rasmussen brought Papa coffee to carry over to his desk at the museum, then glanced at Macy’s empty essay page. “What does your teacher want you to write about?”
“My favorite pet.” Macy leaned her cheek on her hand and stared at the paper. “I don’t have a pet. Maybe I can write about Miss Tokyo.”
The housekeeper dried her hands on her ruffle-edged apron and considered. “You must have friends who have a cat or dog or even a goldfish. Why don’t you write your essay on what you like about one of those and maybe how you’d treat a pet like that and what you’d call it. There’s lots you can write.”
Macy chewed her pencil, thinking.
Luke sauntered in through the back door with a load of firewood. He dropped it into the wood box and grinned at Miss Rasmussen. “Thirsty work.”
Miss Rasmussen took a clean cup from the dish drainer and poured coffee into it. “Sit down, Luke. Maybe you can give Macy a hand. She needs to write a school essay about a pet.”
Luke sank into a chair near Macy and sipped the hot coffee. “The Oshimas’ dog. Now there’s a story. They couldn’t take it on the train, you know. Had to leave it behind on the farm.”
“Who’s feeding it?” Macy asked.
“As it happens, I drove out there a day or so later just to see where that dog might be.”
“Was it there?” She held her breath. She had wondered about Betsy’s dog when the Oshimas had to board the train without it. “Why didn’t you bring it here?”
“I thought about it.” Luke sipped his coffee again, drawing out the story. “The Johnsons’ oldest boy was hoeing weeds when I drove in. You know the Johnsons, from the next farm south. He said his family’s keeping care of the Oshimas’ crops for them.”
Miss Rasmussen said, “I’m glad to hear that. I hope all the interned Japanese have good neighbors caring for their crops.”
“But what about the dog?” Macy asked.
“The dog was with the boy, bouncing around chasing butterflies. He’s staying over at the Johnsons’ until his family comes back from the camp.”
“That’s a good story.” Macy bent over her paper and began to write. She made a mistake and started to reach for an eraser before she remembered she didn’t have one anymore. “Luke, did you know we get all our rubber from the Dutch East Indies?”
“Well,” he said in his teasing voice, “I didn’t think it grew with our strawberries and grapes.”
“It grows on rubber trees,” Macy said. “But the Japanese captured the Dutch East Indies. So now we can’t get any more rubber for erasers and stuff.” She looked up, her eyes widening. “Erasers are against the law!”
“The rubber shortage is why Mr. Bradford isn’t delivering groceries anymore,” Miss Rasmussen said. “He can’t get new tires for his truck.”
Macy looked at the word she had misspelled and carefully drew a line through it.
“Your teacher won’t think kindly on a messy paper,” Luke warned.
“She has to. Miss Stewart says not giving erasers to students saves thousands of pounds of rubber for the war effort.” Macy studied her paper. “Miss Stewart said she won’t mark us down if we cross mistakes out carefully.”
“We’re living in strange times,” Luke said. “I heard ladies can’t buy nylon or silk stockings anymore. The soldiers need nylon for parachutes and silk for powder bags, since it won’t cause sparks.”
“You’re well informed,” Miss Rasmussen said.
Luke grinned. “Ladies are even drawing lines down the backs of their bare legs to look like stocking seams.”
His grin widened when Miss Rasmussen put on a disapproving expression. Macy wasn’t surprised when he kept teasing. “No more twisted seams for you ladies. That’ll be a boon, won’t it? Tell you what, Miss R., anytime you want to borrow my calipers to hold a pencil steady, just let me know.”
“The nerve!” Miss Rasmussen exclaimed. “Talking about ladies’ legs in front of the girl!”
Luke chuckled as he finished his coffee and left. Macy covered her smile with her hand so Miss Rasmussen wouldn’t think she was laughing at her.
When sugar rationing began in May, Macy walked with Miss Rasmussen to the school gymnasium to stand in line with many other people. “It’s part of the war effort,” a woman in front of them said. “This is the least we can do for our brave soldiers.”
Macy agreed. She would stand in line all day and all night if it would help Nick and Hap. “I won’t use sugar on my oatmeal anymore,” she told Miss Rasmussen. “Then we can save enough coupons to buy sugar to make fudge for Nick.”
“That’s a generous idea,” the housekeeper said with a smile. “But we can’t save stamps. We have to use them every month and throw away any we have extra.”
From across the gym, a woman called, “Sally Ann Rasmussen!” A blond woman hurried toward them. “I haven’t seen you since high school!”
They hugged, then Miss Rasmussen stepped back, smiling. “It’s been three years since I graduated. You were two years behind me and you look prettier than you did then, Patty.”
The other woman’s eyes sparkled. “That’s because I’m excited! I’m going to Seattle! I’ll help build airplanes in the Boeing plant and make heaps of money.”
“Seattle! You were going to study to be a teacher. What does your father s
ay?”
“Oh, you know fathers. They get grumpy when they don’t get what they want.” Patty winked at Macy. “I’ll bet you’re one of his students. I should be careful what I say!”
“My teacher is Miss Stewart,” Macy said, confused.
Miss Rasmussen explained. “Patty . . . Patricia . . . is Principal Bates’s daughter, honey.” She turned back to her friend. “Isn’t this idea kind of sudden?”
“Who has time for long debate? Say, why don’t you come with me? We can be roommates. Put away money for our old age. Maybe meet the men of our dreams.”
Miss Rasmussen shook her head. “The men of our dreams are all fighting in the war.”
“But they go on leave. We can help out at the USO when we’re off work. We’ll serve the boys coffee and doughnuts and maybe share a dance. Come with me, Sally Ann. It will be swell!”
Macy saw temptation in Miss Rasmussen’s face. Was she really thinking of leaving them to go work in the Boeing plant and dance with soldiers and sailors? She tugged the housekeeper’s hand. “Papa and I need you here.”
Miss Rasmussen seemed to shake the dreaminess from her expression. The ration sign-up line was moving forward. “That’s not for me,” she told her friend. Clasping Macy’s hand, she stepped forward with the line.
“Think about it,” Patty said before leaving to join friends across the room.
“I’ll do that much,” Miss Rasmussen called after her, making Macy feel cold inside. “I might not be able to think of anything else!”
In early June, Macy sat beside Miss Tokyo, writing a note to Mama in her Christmas journal. Miss Rasmussen didn’t go to Seattle with Principal Bates’s daughter, but she left us anyway.
You’d be surprised, Mama. All around the country, women are signing up with the WAAC. That’s the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps. Last week, Miss Rasmussen joined! When she left, she said she’ll miss us, but she wants to serve our country even if they only allow WAACs to do paperwork. Papa says maybe she’ll meet somebody nice and come back married. Luke doesn’t like that idea, but we’re all proud of her for helping the war effort. We’ll really miss her, though.
Macy closed the journal and hurried to the kitchen to help Papa with dinner. It didn’t take long. Their meals were simpler now without Miss Rasmussen. Neighbors sometimes brought extra servings from their own meals, and that helped.
When they’d finished, Macy carried their dishes to the sink, then turned to study the big map on the wall. Papa was listening to the radio and moving map pins around.
He hadn’t yet noticed the blue pin for Nick’s ship, safe in a cove off New Zealand. Macy ran water into the sink for the dishes, smiling as she waited for Papa to notice the blue pin.
The news switched to a commentator whose voice rose a little as he reported, “A military man says that death and destruction may come down from American skies at any moment.”
When Macy gasped, Papa turned the radio down. “Don’t believe all these reporters, Macy. Some of them think they need to scare people so we’ll support the war effort.”
She shivered. “We’re already supporting the war as much as we can! They have Nick and Hap. And now they have Miss Rasmussen!”
The radio commentator’s words made fear almost crush her. She had learned to push it back most of the time, but not always. Leaving the dishes to soak, she rushed across to the museum and Miss Tokyo. She knelt beside the doll’s stand and looked into her gentle face. “Is Mama listening, Miss Tokyo?”
“Yes, Macy-chan,” the doll said in her high voice. “Mama always listens to you.”
“Please tell her I’m so scared for Nick. So is Papa.” She drew in a deep, shaky breath and spoke straight to her mother. “We’re trying to be brave without you, Mama, even though it hurts.”
Macy bit her lip and waited a moment until she trusted her voice again. “We just can’t lose Nick, too. So if the angels tell you Nick will be with you soon, please tell them we need him here. Ask them to please give him more time. Let him come home to us after the war.”
Papa sat at the breakfast table one morning when school had let out for the summer and turned on the radio. “We’re not getting a lot of museum visitors these days. With gas rationing and the risk of wearing out their tires, people are staying home more.”
Macy poured the coffee she had made just the way Miss Rasmussen did and carefully carried the cup to him. “Will the museum have to close?”
He sipped the coffee and nodded approval. “Not right away, but fewer visitors will give us time to do a better job of polishing floors and dusting exhibits. There will be a small salary for you if you’re willing to help.”
“Of course I’ll help.” She would help without a salary just to work with Papa, but it would be nice to have spending money.
Busy days passed quickly, she found. It was mid-July before she had time to sit beside Miss Tokyo and write a quick letter to Mama. It’s been fun working with Papa. Everyone in town seems nicer this summer. Maybe they aren’t mad at Miss Tokyo anymore. Maybe they aren’t mad at me. She hoped that feeling would last, especially when school began again in the fall.
After Labor Day in September, she used a lot of exclamation marks in her note to Mama. School started again! I’m in sixth grade! We’re still at war, though. So it’s still scary! The littlest kids have to hide under their desks when the siren blows. They hope the desks will protect them if bombs fall!
Older students are supposed to run to nearby homes when the siren blows. I hope I get assigned to a family that likes to play Monopoly so we won’t have to think about bombs!
We haven’t heard from Nick for a while. Maybe I should stop moving the pin for his ship around. I don’t think he gets near land long enough for the crew to send the mail!
She didn’t tell Mama that the hope for friendlier feelings hadn’t lasted. Mark and Rachel had begun saying mean things about Miss Tokyo again. Macy didn’t write those things to Mama. She didn’t want to say them in front of the doll.
She did tell Mama about the Evil Axis. That’s what they call our enemies, Japan, Germany, and Italy. Christopher Adams got so mad at news about Adolf Hitler that he threw his mother’s German nutcracker men in the trash. His mother made him dig them out and scrub them, but she stored the nutcrackers away until after the war.
When Christopher told the class about it, he stared straight at me. As if he expected me to stand up and say we were putting the Japanese doll in storage. I guess he’s been listening to Mark and Rachel. I don’t care what any of them think. Miss Tokyo is my friend.
Macy sat with Lily on their favorite bench outside the schoolroom with their lunch bags on a windy day. Macy smoothed a letter from Nick on her knees, trying to keep the wind from catching it. “The paper he uses is so thin, I can almost see through it.”
“Airmail paper,” Lily agreed.
“And look,” Macy said. “One side of the paper is the letter, then he folds all the sides in and writes the address on the back so it turns into its own envelope. That way it doesn’t weigh much and the mailbags can carry lots more letters to families.”
“If you don’t know where he is, how can you write back to him?” Lily asked.
“He uses an FPO address. That means Fleet Post Office. The people there know where to send it.”
She looked up as Christopher walked over. “A letter from your brother?” he asked.
“Yes.” Macy spread Nick’s letter on her lap, careful to keep it safe from the wind. “He can’t say anything about where he is, but he loves the feel of the waves.”
She stopped. “The censors used a black pen to cover whatever he said next.” She grinned. “I’ll bet he said he almost never gets seasick. When we lived at the coast and he went fishing on trawlers, he always bragged about that. Why would the censors care?”
“They’re very careful,” Lily said. “My father was upset when they canceled his favorite radio program, the one with interviews with ‘the man in the street.’
But he said he’ll agree with anything that keeps our boys safe, and an interviewed man in the street could easily be a spy using the radio program to send coded information to our enemies.”
“They’re even censoring weather reports,” Christopher agreed. “The radio can’t mention rain or snow or fog or even sunshine because it might help the enemy.” He watched Macy smoothing Nick’s letter on her lap. “You’ve had a letter from your brother every day this week. You’re lucky.”
“He thinks about us a lot.”
Lily sighed loudly. “It’s the same letter. She brings it every day and pretends she just got it.”
Lily was her best friend, but honesty might as well have been her middle name. Macy could only bite back tears and say, “You don’t know everything.”
“I know that’s the same letter,” Lily said.
Christopher broke in. “I’ll bet he does write every day, but the mail doesn’t get off the ship that often. You’ll probably get a bunch of letters all at once.”
From across the school yard, Rachel called, “Christopher! Do you want to hear something funny Mark just said?”
Macy looked after Christopher as he walked away. Could it be true? Would a bundle of letters be coming from Nick? That had to be what was happening, and she was going to answer every letter, one at a time. She turned to ask Lily if she thought the letters should be numbered in case Nick got them in the wrong order.
Lily was watching Christopher join his friends. “Rachel’s right. He does like you.”
“What? Who? Christopher! No, he doesn’t.” But he had given her hope about Nick, and today she couldn’t even resent Rachel.
In October, dried leaves crunched beneath Macy’s shoes when she walked home from school to share good news with her mother. She went straight into the museum and over to Miss Tokyo and pulled the Christmas journal from under the doll’s stand, where she kept it.
Guess what, Mama, she wrote. We collected lots of scrap iron and tin over the summer. The school set up a collection in September and Principal Bates announced a contest. The class that collects the most scrap before Christmas break will win a trip to the skating rink in Junction City!
Dolls of War Page 7
