Dolls of War

by Shirley Parenteau

  Macy darted to Miss Tokyo and wrapped her arms around the big doll. “She came here to make friends! Why can’t you see that?”

  “She’s a Jap,” Rachel said.

  “Enough of that,” Miss Stewart snapped. “Everyone line up. Right now!” She brought the students into order with the no-nonsense manner of a drill sergeant Hap had described on his one leave at home.

  Macy was allowed to stay to help her father straighten the museum. She watched from a window as Miss Stewart marched the rest of the class at a fast pace back to school.

  “I wonder how they’ll act in class tomorrow,” she said to Miss Tokyo.

  “Don’t worry, Macy-chan,” the doll answered. “They know they brought trouble on themselves.”

  They should know, Macy told herself. But she had noticed that kids in trouble usually looked for someone else to blame.

  Macy dreaded facing Papa at dinner after the disastrous class visit to the museum. To her surprise, her father smiled as he took his seat. Miss Rasmussen’s mother had carried over a big pot of beef stew half an hour before and left it to warm on the back of the stove. Macy filled bowls for each of them and carried them to the table.

  “I thought you’d still be mad.” The words were so close to the tip of her tongue that they slipped off before she could stop them.

  Papa breathed in the aroma of the stew while Macy paused beside the map to choose a new safe place for Nick’s ship. “Mad?” Papa asked. “No. In fact, today’s behavior served a purpose.”

  The radio on the table spoke with the solemn voice of Papa’s favorite announcer, Edward R. Murrow, but Papa didn’t seem to be listening to the news about Americans and Japanese still fighting for the island called Guadalcanal.

  Macy stabbed the blue pin into the map, tried not to think of Nick or Hap, and took her seat across from Papa. “A purpose? What do you mean?”

  “The Stanby’s record keeping has been lax for years,” he said, ignoring the pin she had placed between Florida and Cuba. “This afternoon, I tried to assess the damage done. The Stanby’s list of artifacts donated, lost, or damaged is all but unreadable.”

  Macy chewed a bite of beef from her stew, waiting for Papa to explain.

  “I found notes in the margins,” he said, “and others crowded between lines. Many entries were written in an early style that is more decorative than readable. In addition to notes jotted in, I found many cross outs. It’s a real mishmash.”

  “Maybe if you read the notes and I write them on a fresh sheet of paper,” Macy suggested, “we can put them in order.”

  “We’ll do better than that. It’s past time for a thorough inventory. I’m going to close the Stanby’s doors until that’s done.”

  Papa gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes solemn, then sighed. “Our vandals today convinced me that it’s time to store Miss Tokyo and her accessories. Even with the Stanby’s doors locked, I no longer feel the Japanese exhibit is safe in the ballroom. As long as our countries are at war, we’ll put the doll in the storeroom. I want you to help me after dinner.”

  Macy felt cold inside, but she knew that Papa was doing the right thing. Even Nick would agree if he were here.

  In the morning, Macy reached her classroom as the first bell rang and slipped into her seat. Miss Stewart stood at the blackboard, writing an assignment with quick screechy movements of her chalk. Her shoulders looked stiff.

  She’s still angry. Macy braced. Even if a scolding wasn’t meant for her, she didn’t want to hear one.

  They were halfway through geography when the classroom door opened. Principal Bates stepped into the room.

  Oh, oh. Macy sat straighter and curled her hands together on her desk. She wasn’t to blame for the destruction in the museum, yet when the principal came in frowning, she felt guilty. Everyone was silent, even the ones in the back who usually whispered and passed notes.

  Principal Bates paced across the front of the room and back to the teacher’s desk. “You all know why I’m here.”

  “Because we wouldn’t all fit in his office,” Rachel whispered.

  The principal stared at her. “What was that, Rachel?”

  “Nothing, sir,” she said quickly.

  Macy waited for the principal to insist that Rachel repeat her comment. Instead he looked at the entire class. “I am disappointed in all of you. Yesterday’s behavior is not acceptable in a sixth-grade class from this school.”

  No one said anything. After a pause, the principal asked, “Why was it not acceptable?” He pointed to Amy. “Do you know?”

  Macy thought it sounded as if Amy were talking to her desk instead of the principal when she answered in a low voice, “Things got broken.”

  Principal Bates tapped one finger with another. “What else?”

  Leland said, “They were treasures.”

  “Town treasures entrusted to our museum were damaged or destroyed.” Principal Bates pressed his lips together as if not trusting words he wanted to say. “What else?”

  Rachel said in a tone that was not at all sorry, “We made Macy cry.”

  Macy caught her breath. Rachel had made her sound like a crybaby.

  “What else?” the principal asked.

  Macy raised her hand. “Miss Stewart was embarrassed.”

  The principal tapped another fingertip. “Your teacher wanted to give this class an interesting and educational experience. Yet you made her feel ashamed of you.”

  He lowered his hands. His eyes looked hard. “Perhaps we can agree on one more point. As Rachel said, all of you will not fit into my office.”

  Rachel gasped, as if surprised that Principal Bates had heard her after all.

  “I will add my thoughts to Rachel’s,” he said. “I do not believe the Junction City Skating Rink has room for you, either. You will not be taking part in the scrap metal contest.”

  Over a rise of complaints, Mark shouted, “We brought in more than anybody!”

  “Miss Stewart!” Rachel wailed.

  Mark exclaimed, “It was Jap stuff that got broken.”

  “Not all of it.” Was that Christopher? Macy almost turned to look.

  Principal Bates had walked to the door. He turned back. “This is not your teacher’s decision. The decision is mine and not open to argument.”

  As soon as the door closed after him, Rachel shoved Macy’s shoulder. “It’s your fault!”

  “Rachel,” Miss Stewart snapped. “There is an empty chair in the back. Take it.”

  “Take it where?” Rachel muttered as the teacher asked Lily to pass out papers for a geography test. Miss Stewart ignored the question.

  When Macy walked into the hallway for recess, she noticed Christopher Adams leaning against the opposite wall. Memory flashed. He looked the same way he had on Pearl Harbor day, when he’d broken her necklace and they were both sent to Principal Bates.

  He straightened as she came near. “Rachel’s outside waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  “No skating party.”

  “That’s not my fault.” Hurt and anger boiled through Macy. Even Christopher was ordering her around as if he had the right. Clutching the tiny kokeshi doll on its chain inside her blouse, she walked past him and down the front stairs.

  At the bottom, Rachel greeted her with a surprisingly sympathetic smile. “I shouldn’t have shoved you, Macy. I was mad at Principal Bates and I couldn’t shove him.” She laughed a little. “Amy and I are sharing a cola on a bench beside the stairs. Come and join us.”

  Macy looked at her, wondering if the invitation was a trick. If she agreed to share the cola, would Rachel shout, Not with a Jap lover! and run off?

  But maybe Rachel was sorry for the way she had acted. Rachel was a leader. If she was nice, others would be, too.

  Macy hesitated just a moment longer before letting Rachel tug her toward a bench placed in a darker area where the stairs met the school wall.

  The moment the dark shade closed over her, doubt gr
ew too strong to ignore. Macy turned around. “I’m going to find Lily.”

  “No. You’re not.” The laughter was gone. Rachel’s voice sounded hard.

  Macy looked at her. “I’m not afraid of you, Rachel. If you have something to say to me, say it.”

  “It’s not just me.” Rachel sounded smug now, the way a spider might sound once it caught a fly in its web.

  Behind Macy, someone shouted, “Grab her!” She recognized Mark’s voice as both her arms were caught behind her. Someone hauled her backward, closer to the school wall.

  “Let me go!” Macy yelled. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

  “Shut up!” Rachel’s hand whipped around before Macy could duck and smacked hard against the side of her face. “Go live in Japan, Jap lover,” she said.

  Macy tasted blood and heard taunts. “Don’t take that,” a boy said to Macy. “Go on, hit her back. Don’t you want to?”

  They were ready for her to go after Rachel and still held her arms. Instead, she kicked backward. Her foot smacked into a knee. She heard a grunt and felt one of her arms come free.

  Swinging around, she punched Mark in the stomach.

  As Macy whirled toward Rachel, the other girl shrieked and leaped out of range. Two boys grabbed Macy again. Using the force of her own rush toward Rachel, they swung her around and into the wall. Her head slammed against the wood. As she moaned, one of them punched her face. Her knees buckled, but they held her arms, not letting her fall.

  “We don’t want you here,” one of the boys said in a snarl.

  “Get out of our school.” Another punched her in the stomach.

  She heard running feet. A teacher yelled, “What’s going on here?”

  Suddenly, Macy was free, falling to the ground while the group scattered in all directions. Miss Stewart rushed to her. “Macy? Oh, my heaven!”

  As the teacher knelt beside her, Macy turned her head to spit out blood. At least no teeth came with it.

  “Can you stand?” the teacher asked. “We need to get you inside.”

  She must have looked around. Was there an audience? Miss Stewart called, “Someone, give me a hand. Christopher? Help me with Macy.”

  Macy wanted to say Not him, but the words came out as a moan. A distant part of her memory told her that Christopher wasn’t part of it, that he’d tried to warn her away. Maybe he had brought the teacher. She hurt too much to think about it now.

  She struggled to her feet while the two of them helped. She felt groggy and her stomach ached. So did her face. Worse was an acid sense of betrayal.

  Christopher and Miss Stewart helped her up the stairs and to the nurse’s office just past the one for Principal Bates.

  “My papa?” Macy asked, wondering if her mouth was swelling.

  “Principal Bates will call him,” the nurse assured her as she helped her sit on a narrow cot. “Lift your head, hon. I’ll just clean away the blood so I can see what we need to do.”

  When Papa came in minutes later, Macy jumped from the cot and rushed to wrap her arms about his middle. “I didn’t cry,” she said. “Not once.”

  She felt his entire body vibrate with anger as he held her for one long moment. Setting her back, he studied her more closely. His eyes narrowed and his mouth looked tight. “Stay here.”

  As the nurse drew her to sit on the cot again, Macy listened to Papa’s hard footsteps stride into the hall and next door into Principal Bates’s office. He didn’t bother to knock.

  Macy couldn’t sit still on the narrow bed. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles. She accepted an aspirin and a paper cup filled with water from the nurse, then explored the bruises on her face with her fingertips. All the while, a sense of unfairness swelled inside her.

  Why did she have to wait here? She wanted to be with Papa. The men were in there talking about her. In Japan, girls didn’t speak out much, but if Miss Tokyo were here, Macy was sure she would say that Macy should hear what the men were saying. Miss Tokyo would be right.

  The telephone rang on the far corner of the desk. When the nurse turned away to answer, Macy scooted backward on the cot, closer to the wall, then a little closer.

  Another scoot and she heard the men’s voices next door. They were muffled, but when she turned her ear to the wall, she could understand their words. Principal Bates was saying nice things about her. “Macy is a bright girl, honest and hardworking.” There was a pause. Then he said, “I’m afraid she’s blinded by her love for that Japanese doll.”

  Blinded? What did that mean?

  Papa was agreeing, saying he’d been concerned for some time.

  There was a pause, and Macy pictured Principal Bates putting his fingertips together, as if that helped him prepare for what he wanted to say next. He’d done that when she was in his office with Christopher, last December.

  Macy glanced at the nurse, who was still talking on the telephone, then pressed her ear against the wall so she could hear the men more clearly.

  “You aren’t able to protect her,” Papa said. “I’m going to withdraw her from your school.”

  Withdraw her!

  Sounding regretful, the principal said, “I’m afraid the Japanese doll will always stand in her way with others. For her own safety, she should put the doll out of her mind.”

  The nurse said quietly to Macy, “Dear, please lie down and rest. Your father will be with you soon.”

  Macy lay flat, with thoughts whirling in her head. A new school! Where? What about her friends? She wouldn’t know anyone. What about Lily?

  Moments later, Papa came from the principal’s office. Macy scrambled to her feet. “Papa, I won’t talk about Miss Tokyo anymore. Please don’t make me leave my school!”

  His brown eyes looked troubled as he took her hands in his. Quietly, he said, “When I thought you were safely at home, you were chasing the men who wanted to burn Miss Tokyo.”

  “I saved her, Papa.”

  “What you did was dangerous. And now this!”

  She was afraid to say anything. Sobs threatened to climb up her throat. She tried hard to keep them back.

  Papa urged her toward the door. “We’ll talk more at home.”

  The pastor from their church came by after supper. Macy realized that Papa must have called him. Macy served coffee in the parlor, carefully balancing two full cups on a tray, trying hard to prove to Papa that he needed her with him.

  When she came into the parlor, she heard Pastor Wells saying, “You’re right, Mr. James. This is not the time to pile more on Macy’s young shoulders. This latest news could be too much for her. And remember, there’s always hope.”

  Macy paused, trying to make sense of the words, but the pastor changed the subject to echo Principal Bates’s praise. “Macy is a good girl and sharp as a tack. She deserves a fresh start.”

  Pastor Wells looked up as Macy put the tray on the long mahogany coffee table. She had polished the table just before he arrived, and the gleam of the dark wood made her feel proud. But his words worried her. Were they keeping something from her? Should she ask?

  Papa’s eyes were already set on the future. “We’ve placed Miss Tokyo in her original box in the storeroom for safekeeping. There’s no longer need to defy the town. With the Stanby’s doors locked for inventory, no one will see the doll anyway.”

  Macy sank into a chair as she remembered carrying the little lamps, tea sets, and all the rest into the storage room in the basement. Miss Tokyo had reassured her, with her pretend voice hushed because of the box, “I will sleep, Macy-chan, until you come for me.”

  The pastor patted her hand, bringing her thoughts back to the parlor. “Macy, you lived at the coast before you came here. Were you happy there?”

  “I liked the beach,” Macy said with caution.

  “I don’t believe either of you met the Farrells, Emory and Ida? They were solid members of our church until five years ago, when they moved to Rockaway, over on the coast.”

  He looked at Papa, who said s
lowly, “I met them when they came for the church picnic last summer. Emory, especially, impressed me.”

  “He’s a solid patriot,” the pastor said. “He didn’t feel he was doing his part for the war effort as the town barber. He signed on as a volunteer air raid warden as soon as FDR created the job. Ida helps with the Red Cross, rolling bandages and whatever. They’ll be great examples for Macy.”

  “Do you think they’ll have time for her?”

  Macy jerked her attention from the pastor to Papa, then back, as Pastor Wells said, “I talked with them by telephone before coming over. They’ve both invited Macy into their home until things settle down here.”

  “That might not be until the war ends.” Papa hesitated, not meeting the anguished looks Macy was sending him. “There’s talk of the Japanese planning to invade our beaches. I wouldn’t want my daughter there if —”

  Was there hope? Would Papa change his mind because of danger at the beach?

  The pastor’s reassurance cut off Papa’s fears. “Emory tells me they have people watching every mile of coastline. There won’t be any surprise invasion of the Oregon beaches.”

  Her entire future was being decided for her! Macy reached for Papa’s sleeve. “Please, Papa. I don’t want to go away. I want to stay here and help you.”

  “I can’t keep you safe.” He looked into her eyes, his gaze troubled. For a moment, she thought he might waver. “With Miss Rasmussen gone, there’s no one but me to watch over you. Obviously, I’ve done a poor job.”

  “No, Papa,” she said. “It’s my fault. I promise I’ll change.”

  “You need a woman to care for you,” Papa said. “You may not think so now, but you’ll be happier with the Farrells. And you’ve always enjoyed the beach. You’ll find agates and crazy-looking pieces of driftwood, maybe even glass floats lost from fishermen’s nets all the way across the ocean.”

  “But who will help inventory the museum’s collection? And make supper?” Tears brimmed in Macy’s eyes. “I don’t do as well as Miss Rasmussen, but I’m learning, Papa. I am!” Another question nearly sent the tears spilling over. If I go away, who will watch over Miss Tokyo?