Stumbling to her feet, she tried to lift Miss Tokyo to her hip again. From behind her, Christopher Adams said, “Want me to carry her for you?”
Should she trust him? What if he meant to throw the doll into the street? She took a step toward home. Again, the doll slipped on her hip.
Christopher caught Miss Tokyo before she could hit the sidewalk. Deciding to risk trusting him, Macy let him lift the doll from her. She would simply walk close enough to snatch her back if he tried anything.
As they walked along the street, Macy realized that Christopher was risking teasing or worse from his friends. He kept glancing around, but he didn’t hand back the doll until they reached the museum stairs.
“Are you looking for Mark or Rachel?” Macy asked him as she took the doll. “Were they supposed to show up and pull some mean trick?”
Christopher looked startled. “There’s no trick.”
“There usually is,” she said, feeling awkward. She had insulted him. He’d only meant to help. That was hard to believe. “Why are you helping? I thought you hated me.”
“I don’t hate you.” He started to turn away, then swung back. “Remember when the Japanese were sent away on the train?”
“Of course I remember! I went down to the station to wave good-bye to Betsy.”
“I know. I saw you.”
“You did? I didn’t see you.”
“I went with my dad.” Christopher kicked one shoe against the bottom step. “He wanted to make sure the Japanese left. I . . . was throwing dirt at the train. I ran after it all the way to the station.”
“I was at the station.”
“I know.” He stared at his shoes for a moment, then raised his head. “Betsy was looking through the train window, crying. Then her face turned bright and happy with a smile. When I looked at the station to see why, I saw you there waving, showing her she still had a friend.”
“She did.” Macy remembered the dirt clods smeared on the train cars. For a moment, anger rushed through her. Christopher threw those! At Betsy!
“I dropped the dirt clod I was holding,” he said, not looking at her. “I felt like a creep. You showed me what friendship is. And you reminded me that Uncle Ray bought strawberries from the Oshimas’ farm. He didn’t hate them. And they weren’t the ones who bombed Pearl Harbor.”
Macy’s anger vanished. She didn’t know what to say. She should thank him for carrying Miss Tokyo home.
But before she could find the words, his cheeks flushed red. “You should put the doll out of sight,” he said, and ran off as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.
“Boys,” Macy said softly to Miss Tokyo. “Sometimes they don’t make much sense.”
“Most of the time,” Miss Tokyo agreed in her high pretend-voice.
Macy hugged her. Christopher had been kind. And the doll was safe from the bonfire. That was what mattered. Papa would be proud to learn she had saved the doll for the museum.
As she came through the Stanby’s big doors with the doll, Papa looked up from his desk, then sprang to his feet. “I thought you were in the house! Did you follow those men? How did you get the doll?”
“I saved her,” Macy said. She expected praise, but Papa came around the desk looking angry instead of proud.
“You might have been hurt. Those men . . . People are too angry to think straight. Don’t you realize that? You heard them! They’ll be coming after her again and they’ll be even madder!”
“You don’t understand. Hap gave me a valentine when he was home on leave. He wrote inside that I should take care of Miss Tokyo.”
“He was just being friendly. He sure didn’t mean for you to go chasing after angry people bent on burning her!”
“They were going to burn her because of Hap, Papa! I let them read his note in the valentine. When they saw he didn’t want them to hurt her, they let me bring her home.”
Some of the fear left Papa’s face, but he glanced at the doors as if expecting a crowd to burst through, demanding Miss Tokyo. “They’re not thinking straight,” he said again. “They’ll come after her. They’ve wanted to burn her for a long time. Hap was an excuse. If they can’t use his death, they’ll find another reason.”
“No, Papa. Hap’s mother thanked me, and his father said they wouldn’t hurt the doll because Hap didn’t want them to.”
Papa’s mouth was pressed tight and white around the edges. Macy knew he was thinking about what she’d said, but he was still worried for her and for the doll and maybe for the Stanby. Maybe he was remembering the threat to burn down the museum.
“This finishes it,” he said. “The doll is going into storage. Right now.”
Macy held the doll closer. “No, Papa. Hiding Miss Tokyo is like agreeing with those men. They’re saying all the Japanese are evil. Doesn’t that mean Mama’s love for the people she knew was a lie?”
A startled look crossed her father’s face. “There’s a lot of your mother in you.” He lifted Miss Tokyo from Macy and studied her critically. “After today’s treatment, it’s a wonder she still looks as nice as she does.”
His face set with decision. “We’ll display her in the ballroom where your mother wanted her. The burn-the-doll gang scattered the accessories. Come along and straighten them.”
As he carried the doll toward her stand, Macy followed, her heart filling with pleasure. Papa thought she was like Mama. And he had loved Mama more than anything. Maybe something good had come from today’s scary bonfire after all.
In the ballroom, she located the scattered tea sets and other accessories the men had knocked aside. When she picked up a tiny lamp with a silk shade, she paused. In her mind, she imagined Hap as a six-year-old boy, fascinated by a shade of silk made by worms in faraway Japan. “You saved her, Hap,” she whispered, and carefully set the lamp where it could be seen.
When Papa left, Macy located her Christmas journal and wrote a note to Mama. Men came to the museum and took Miss Tokyo. They said they were a committee to keep our city safe. They were going to burn our doll on a bonfire.
Hap and I saved her.
On Monday morning, Miss Stewart announced to the class that she might have a surprise for them by the end of the day. She wouldn’t say any more, so guessing flashed in whispers and notes throughout the classroom. The most popular idea was Rachel’s, who guessed that their class was to be declared winner of the scrap drive skating-trip contest.
During the lunch recess, Mark got into a fistfight for telling a seventh-grade boy that his class had won the skating trip. They were both sent to the principal’s office.
“I think she should just have told us,” Lily said, watching the two boys being marched toward Principal Bates. “All this secrecy is causing trouble.”
“She shouldn’t have said anything at all,” Amy said. “Then she could have surprised us with good news.”
Lily added, “Or not tell us at all, if the news is disappointing.”
When they returned to class after the last recess, Miss Stewart welcomed them with a smile. Lily whispered to Macy, “The news must be good.”
When everyone was seated and looking expectantly at the teacher, Miss Stewart said, “I’ve had excellent news in answer to the surprise I mentioned this morning.”
Again whispers circled the room. Mark exclaimed, “I told that big kid we won!”
Miss Stewart rang her bell for silence. “Now,” she said. “I know you must all have been as alarmed as I was by yesterday’s bonfire in the city square. The people of Stanby are better than that.”
Leland said, puzzled, “Better than what? They just wanted to burn that doll.”
“Precisely.” Miss Stewart gazed around the room, her expression severe. “They wished to destroy an artifact that has long been a treasured gift to our museum. I asked myself why.”
She rang her bell for silence when several children started to speak. “I answered my own question. Violence often stems from ignorance. Therefore, I have arranged with Mr. J
ames for our class to spend fifth period today on a visit to the Stanby Museum.”
Macy heard people muttering that this was supposed to be about the contest, not a stupid museum. The back of her neck tensed. She could feel angry stares, but she was as surprised as any of them. She wanted to leap to her feet and say visiting the museum was a bad idea.
Miss Stewart thought it was a good idea. “Mr. James will escort us through the displays of our town’s treasures and explain why each is important to our understanding of this locale and, in many cases, of the larger world.”
“What about that Jap doll?” Mark asked.
Miss Stewart frowned. “The doll called Miss Tokyo was a special gift from the children of Japan long before the fighting between our countries. She tells us of the gentler and more beautiful side of her country’s heritage.”
Rachel said, “She’s a symbol of our enemy!”
“We have not always been enemies,” Miss Stewart reminded her. “This war, like all others, will end. Someday we may well be friends again. In the meantime, today we will explore the Stanby Museum with Mr. James. I’m sure I do not need to remind you to treat all the displays with respect.”
When the entire class marched down the sidewalk toward the museum, Macy ran ahead. She burst into the museum, shouting, “Papa! Papa!”
“What is it?” Her father jolted to his feet behind the reception desk. “What’s happened?”
“The sixth grade,” she said, gasping for air. “They’re coming here. Right now!”
Papa’s big chair creaked on its rollers as he eased back into it. “Oh, yes. Miss Stewart wants her students to understand how the museum enriches the community.”
“We need to hide Miss Tokyo!”
“From sixth-graders? Why?”
It was too late. Miss Stewart and the remaining twenty students were coming up the stairs. Macy rushed into the ballroom to Miss Tokyo. “Don’t be scared,” she told the big doll. “Miss Stewart won’t let anybody hurt you.” She hoped that was true.
Her entire body stiffened as she heard Miss Stewart shush loud voices. “You are not small children. I don’t have to remind you to enjoy the displays with your eyes, not your hands. Everyone, please stay together.”
Papa welcomed the class the way he always did, teasing a little about the mummy in the Egyptian room. “This was Professor Stanby’s private home before he built the nearby second home now used for the curator’s family. He decided his collection needed its own space when Mrs. Stanby began using the sarcophagus for a coffee table. The mummy’s still upset about that, so to assure our visitors’ safety, we keep his lid tightly shut.”
While Miss Stewart paused in the hallway to talk with Papa, the group came into the ballroom. Most of the class was laughing, but some wondered aloud if Papa was joking or telling the truth about the mummy. Three of the girls shrieked when Mark and two other boys said they were going to slide the mummy’s lid open and see if he moved.
“What if he sits up?” Lily asked.
Rachel added, “What if he wants to know who’s been putting their feet on his lid?”
Two more girls shrieked.
“We’ll slam the lid down,” Mark’s friend Leland answered.
Mark added, “Right on his head.”
Miss Stewart called the group together and warned them again about treating the exhibits with respect. “These are our town’s treasures.”
“That’s no treasure,” Leland said, pointing to Miss Tokyo. “That’s the enemy that’s killing our boys.”
Macy had meant to be quiet but couldn’t. “She is a treasure. She’s here for friendship. She shows us how kids our age live in her country. Kids like us aren’t making war.”
“How do you know?” Rachel demanded. “They might be in workshops building bombs right now.”
“Yeah,” Mark said, moving closer to Miss Tokyo. “This thing might be hiding a bomb. Let’s pull her ugly coat open and see.”
“It’s a silk kimono,” Macy protested. “There’s nothing inside. She’s carved from a solid piece of wood.”
“Come on, Mark,” Christopher called. “Take a look at these arrowheads.”
Miss Stewart stepped through the doorway. “Did everyone see that long chain of white seashells in the hall? Those are wampum. They were used as money.”
Papa added from beside her, “We’re told the museum’s chain of wampum is long enough to buy a horse.”
While Papa returned to the wampum display with Miss Stewart and several students, Mark snatched one of Miss Tokyo’s delicate porcelain teacups and raised it to his mouth. “Oh, no! I’m drinking Jap poison!”
“Put that down!” Macy exclaimed. “It’s not here to play with.”
“Arghh!” Mark fell to his knees, clutching his throat, then glared up at Macy. “No, it’s not for play!” He slammed the cup onto the stand beside Miss Tokyo’s foot.
Pieces of fine china flew. Macy felt her insides shatter along with the teacup Mama had used in their pretend teas with Miss Tokyo. It was nothing now but shards and porcelain dust.
Christopher grabbed Mark’s arm. “What are you doing, dummy? This is a museum.”
Macy hardly heard him. She scooped up pieces of the cup and held them close to her cheek. Her heart ached. She thought she caught a faint scent of green tea, but that was impossible. She and Mama had never put tea in the little cups.
Mark stabbed a finger toward her. “Look at the Jap lover, crying over a broken Jap cup!”
Choking through anger and a cloud of feelings that made thinking impossible, Macy hurled the china fragments at Mark.
“Ow! Look, I’m bleeding!” Mark shouted. “That Jap lover cut me with her Jap cup pieces.”
He wasn’t bleeding, but Macy felt she was, inside. As she sank to her knees, Miss Stewart hurried in, demanding an explanation. Lily told her what had happened. Macy could hardly hear her through a sick roaring in her ears.
Somehow, Papa was there, lifting her to her feet. “I’m going to ask your class to leave.”
“I am so sorry!” Miss Stewart clutched Mark’s arm with a grip that looked painful. “This boy is going straight to the principal’s office. If I might just use your telephone?”
While Papa directed her into the hall, several of the other students complained about wanting to see the mummy. Macy scarcely heard any of it. She leaned both hands flat on Miss Tokyo’s stand and listened desperately. But Miss Tokyo wasn’t saying anything.
Macy straightened to watch as Miss Stewart’s heels tapped smartly across the polished floor. The teacher marched Mark to Papa’s desk in the front hall, where she dialed the phone with quick angry jabs, then tapped her foot as she waited. When the secretary answered, she asked to speak at once with Principal Bates.
“Mark Wayfield has disgraced the entire school,” she told the principal. “He will be in your office to explain in less than ten minutes.”
She slapped the receiver in place and aimed Mark toward the doors. “Go! If you are not there within ten minutes, Principal Bates will expect your father to explain why.”
“My father doesn’t like Japs, either.” Mark spotted Macy watching through the open ballroom door and stuck out his tongue before swaggering from the museum.
Papa removed a broken teacup handle from under Miss Tokyo’s stand where Macy had missed it. She could see from the sorrow in his eyes that he was remembering Mama. War hurts everybody in all kinds of ways, she told herself. Why do we have to have it?
After sighing deeply, Papa told the remaining students that he had decided to let them continue their tour. His words sounded automatic as he said again that Professor Stanby had wanted girls and boys to enjoy his remarkable collection, gathered from all over the world.
Few of the students were listening. Rachel came closer to Macy. “First it was Christopher. Now Mark. Are you going to get all the cute boys in trouble?”
Macy looked at her in disbelief. “I didn’t do anything.”
Rachel’s mouth twisted. “I didn’t do anything, either. For instance . . .” She walked around Miss Tokyo to the back. “I didn’t do this! Oh!”
Macy didn’t have to look at Rachel to know she had tried to pull loose the doll’s obi. “It’s sewed together,” she said. “Mama did that to keep kindergartners from untying it.”
“Really? Maybe I just need to pull harder.”
“Knock it off, Rachel,” Christopher said.
“Why?” she snapped. “Do you think Macy’s pretty?”
“I think making Macy feel bad won’t end the war any faster.” He walked after the rest into the Egyptian room.
“Everyone hates her,” Rachel called after him. With one hand, she brushed back her hair, then added, “If you’re going to take her side, don’t ever ask me to kiss you again.”
Again? Macy felt as if she had fallen into Alice’s rabbit hole. Everything was changing and nothing made sense.
In the next room, stone grated over stone. Macy looked at Lily, who was standing nearby. They both recognized the sound. Boys had slid aside the lid to the sarcophagus.
Papa’s voice rose in anger. Papa never raised his voice to visitors. Of course, their usual visitors didn’t peek inside the sarcophagus.
Across the room from Macy, a vase shattered. One of the girls said, “That looked Japanese to me.”
Lily shouted, “Allison, why did you do that?”
Allison said again, “It looked Japanese.”
“This does, too.” Another girl hurled a carved wooden elephant. In horror, Macy watched a tusk fly free.
“I’ll get your father,” Lily shouted, and raced toward the Egyptian room.
Like wildfire spreading, one classmate after another chose something to destroy, calling it Japanese. Leland grabbed a velvet drape hanging beside a window and swung on it, howling like Tarzan.
“Stop!” Macy shouted.
Papa rushed in from the Egyptian room while Miss Stewart ran from the reception area. The teacher echoed Macy’s scream. “Stop! Stop right now! All of you!”
Dolls of War Page 9
