Bridge of Scarlet Leaves

by Kristina McMorris

  “Good morning,” she said groggily.

  “Morning.” He didn’t smile.

  “How long have you been up?”

  “A while.”

  In order to sneak into camp with ease, they would need to beat the sun. Logic told her this. Her heart told her they should never return.

  “I ought to get ready to go, I suppose.” She dragged her words, somehow hoping he would argue. Wanting him to suggest they prolong the bliss of their hideaway.

  He merely pitched a pebble into the water.

  Confused by his change of mood, she flashed back to their night together. Had he viewed her behavior as too brazen? Her bareness, even now, left her vulnerable. She tightened her wrap of blankets.

  When she turned for the cave, a small tug halted her, Lane’s hand on the fabric.

  “Please, don’t go yet. There’s something I need to tell you.” The foreboding in his tone sent a shudder down her back.

  Reluctant, she lowered onto a large rock at his side.

  He shifted to face her, though his gaze remained on her lap. “Army recruiters came through the other day,” he said. “Some of the factory guys wanted to go over. I just went with them to find out more. When I got there ... well, they handed me a test. Most of the guys failed, but apparently I aced mine. So they asked me to stay.”

  Maddie warned herself not to jump to conclusions, not to panic. “What did they want?”

  After a moment, he raised his eyes. “They swore me in, Maddie. I thought I’d have more time, but they’re busing us out tomorrow night.”

  Army? He’d joined the Army?

  The news taking hold, she questioned if she were dreaming. This had to be a nightmare. With American casualties steadily rising, having a brother and a husband in the war was unfathomable. Enlistment wasn’t even supposed to be possible for Lane.

  “Japanese Americans aren’t allowed to serve,” she insisted. “You said so yourself.”

  “That’s how it’s been—until now. It’s a secret branch in Intelligence. They won’t tell me much. Just that I’ll be putting my language skills to good use.”

  “No... .”She shook her head, and repeated with vehemence, “No. You can’t do that.”

  “Honey, I have to.”

  “The only thing you have to do is stay with me.”

  He rested a hand on her covered knee and said, “Don’t you see, Maddie? I’ll be helping our country win. Then everyone can go home—to our real homes.” He gave her a smile, the kind that took effort. She found his reasoning even less convincing.

  “That country, if you recall, is the one that locked your family up in the middle of nowhere.”

  “And that,” he said, “is exactly why I’m doing this. It’s the only way I’ll ever prove our loyalty.”

  “How? By spilling your blood?” When Maddie bit off a laugh, his eyes firmed.

  “If that’s the only way, then yes.”

  She stared in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. They’d sacrificed too much to lose each other now.

  Then she remembered his father. The man’s predicament could selfishly prove a blessing. “Do they know about your dad? That he’s still being detained?”

  Lane sat back. His gaze slid toward the water. “They didn’t ask, and I don’t plan to bring it up. If it becomes an issue ... what’s the worst they can do? Send me back to camp?”

  Exactly right.

  “In that case, I’ll make sure they know, so I can save you the trip.” She returned to her feet.

  “Maddie, don’t.” He rose, grabbing her elbow. “Please, don’t do that.”

  The plea in his eyes reached out and closed snugly around her. There was no room for debate. He’d made up his mind—without her.

  God, how she wanted to hate him.

  “Just try to understand.” He relaxed his hold but moved closer. “I’m doing this for you too. You shouldn’t be living in a prison. And I know you won’t leave as long as I’m here. I talked to the administration already, about getting you out.”

  “You made plans for me?” she said, stunned.

  “Of course I did. I wouldn’t go without doing that first.”

  “What about talking to your own wife first? Don’t you think—” She stopped, pulled her arm away. “Never mind. I’ll go if that’s what you want. In fact, you should have just told me from the beginning, since you’ve clearly wanted that all along.” She stormed off and, in the cave, started throwing on her clothes.

  He trailed her inside. “Sweetheart, listen to me. There’s another reason I joined up.”

  She continued to button her blouse, avoiding his eyes.

  “For months now, I’ve felt like I was losing myself.” He leaned against a rock wall, let out a breath. “Maybe I’ve never really known who I was. But if I’m ever going to find out, I have to do this. And not just for me, for us.”

  Maddie heard what he was saying, though she didn’t want to. She knelt on the ground to collect their picnic supplies.

  Lane squatted down and gingerly grasped her wrist, rendering her motionless. “Do you think I’d leave you again, ever, if I thought there was any other way?”

  The sound of his struggle, the truth of his words, forced her into quiet defeat. He was leaving tomorrow.

  Tomorrow ...

  “But what about Emma?” she asked, recalling the girl who finally resembled her old self. “If I go home, she’ll only have your mother.”

  “She’ll have Yuki too,” he assured her.

  The puppy, a model companion, had claimed a daily spot outside the grade school. There he waited until Emma bounded out of class. Even in terrible weather, he never neglected his post.

  “My sister’s strong, like you. I know she’ll be all right.” He raised Maddie’s chin and peered into her eyes. “With you to come back to, so will I.”

  These final words ripped through her, shredding all doubts about their history, their bond. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  He offered his arms, and she folded against his chest. Aware they’d soon have to let go, she stored this moment away. She’d hold the vividness in her mind, like a talisman to keep her strong. In times of fear she would rely upon these: The comfort of Lane’s body, the melody of a creek. The chill of coming snow. The fading scent of ashes.

  43

  TJ threw back another gulp of beer, avoiding the thief who’d just plopped down on the next stool.

  “You can’t seriously still be steamed,” Ranieri said in a snickering tone. Liquor wafted from his breath and cigarette smoke from his khakis. “If you got a look at those dames, you wouldn’t blame me a bit.”

  TJ gripped his bottle on the bar. Ignore the guy and he just might go away.

  A pack of sailors chucked laughter across the open-aired tavern, rising above the static of waves pounding the beach. Flirtatious girls added their giggles to the gratingly happy clamor.

  TJ took another drink, the one and only reason he’d gone out tonight. He certainly hadn’t come to Kanoa’s for company. Or to listen to anyone’s excuses.

  “Ah, don’t be such a sorehead, Kern. Said I was sorry. Let bygones be bygones, whaddya say?”

  In a mirror behind the racked liquor, TJ could see Ranieri’s trademark grin, slick and smooth as ever. He should have trusted his instincts from when they first met at gunnery school.

  “Here, let me buy you a shot. Make it up to you.” Ranieri turned to the bartender. “Hey, Kanoa! Need some whiskey over here.”

  The Hawaiian covered in tribal tattoos poured two shots. If not for his husky build, he could have been any one of General Tojo’s soldiers. A third of the population, after all, was Japanese. The fact that few had been detained could give anyone with common sense a headache.

  Following Ranieri’s request, the bartender left them the bottle. “Salute,” Ranieri toasted, raising his glass to TJ. No doubt, the guy believed a couple shared drinks could solve the world’s problems.

  TJ snubbed the off
er. He’d even lost his desire for the beer. He threw a crinkled dollar onto the bar.

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me. All this over a lousy chute?”

  It was more than that.

  Ranieri didn’t make for a real friend. And not just because he’d given TJ’s parachute to some broads, so they could sew slips and pajamas from the coveted fabric. Not for the hassle TJ had endured with the supply sergeant upon discovering it missing. Truthfully, the swindle was pretty impressive; he would have otherwise thought it damn near impossible to smuggle a pack from the personal equipment shack. But the jerk should have come clean on his own, rather than bragging to others about his deed.

  Better to cut him off before any real damage could be done.

  “Lighten up, will ya?” Ranieri set down his shot glass. “If they’d charged you for a replacement, you know I would’ve covered it.”

  TJ stood up to leave.

  “Kern.”

  When he didn’t stop, Ranieri clamped a grip on TJ’s arm—and that finally did it. An ancient anger burst free.

  “Get your paws off!” he roared.

  Ranieri backed up, showing his palms. Disgust creased his face. “Fine by me,” he muttered as TJ turned away from him. “Besides, who needs a pal who only gives a shit about himself. No wonder your sister ran for the hills.”

  On reflex, TJ spun around and grabbed Ranieri by the shirt, shoving him against the bar. Stools tipped, a bottle crashed. TJ raised his fist, about to clean the guy’s clock, when a memory returned. The night he’d gripped Lane the same way. The night TJ lost a brother.

  No other betrayal could compete.

  He sharply released his hold while Ranieri pushed himself free. A table of sailors looked eager to join in.

  “Take it outside,” the bartender growled, holding a wooden club.

  TJ shook his head and replied through clenched teeth. “He ain’t worth the trouble.” Then, tossing out a couple more bucks, he snagged the whiskey bottle and left their friendship behind.

  Sunlight pierced TJ’s brain like an ice pick. Eyes slowly adjusting, he assembled pieces of reality. Air Corps. Hawaii. War. Booze.

  Thankfully he’d woken up on his own cot. He tried to recover moisture on his tongue. His mouth tasted like a bin of dirty cotton.

  “Rise and shine!” A guy entered the barrack. Short. Yellow hair. Through groggy vision, he looked like Tack. “You missed chow, buddy. Too bad. Powdered eggs and Spam actually tasted good today.”

  The mention of food curled TJ’s stomach. “Not hungry.”

  “Yeah, you’re lookin’ a little green.” Tack blew out a breath, amused, and rustled through his footlocker. Every noise blared in the halls of TJ’s mind. “Gotta say, though, serves you right for waking me up last night. I was smack in the middle of making it with Rita Hayworth.”

  TJ rolled over onto his side and smothered his ear with the pillow. He had only a vague recollection of returning from the beach. That’s right ... it was a beach where he’d emptied the bottle. What had it been—half full? Ah, Christ. He could still feel the liquor swishing around like the waves he’d watched roll in. Couples had strolled by in the moonlight, shoes dangling from their fingers. TJ had kept to himself. Invisible in the shadows, he’d stared into the sky, searching for Jo’s stars.

  “Better get up soon,” Tack warned. “Cabbie’s gonna chew you out if you’re late for the practice run. Oh, and I handed off those letters to him. Don’t know what was so urgent, but they’re gone like you asked.”

  TJ’s mind spun with nauseating visions of aerial maneuvers. “What’re you talking about?” he rasped. “What letters?”

  “To your girl. Jo Allie-whatever.” Tack hitched his hands on his hips. “What, you don’t remember that either? Sheesh. How much you drink anyway?”

  Letters ... to Jo ...

  Letters to Jo?

  Panic propelled TJ’s body to sit upright, the alcohol sloshing. His dog tags clanked together as he reached into his footlocker. He lifted stuff up, shoved it around. They weren’t there. Each page he’d written—never intended for her eyes—was missing.

  Then he realized: “They didn’t have her address.”

  “Not till you rattled it off,” Tack said. “Some hardware store in California. And don’t forget you owe me two weeks of cigarettes.”

  The soul-baring confessions TJ had poured onto those pages came rushing back. Strung together, the words did a loop-the-loop and skid landed in his gut. “Holy crap.”

  TJ worked to throw on his uniform.

  “Where in the Sam Hill you goin’?”

  Cabbie, as first lieutenant, censored all the crew’s outgoing mail. TJ had to stop him from sending out those posts. Jo couldn’t read those posts!

  He was still buttoning his shirt as he raced outside. Finally he located Cabbie on the hardstand. In the midst of a preflight inspection, the pilot stopped to give TJ an earful over his appearance. Only then did TJ get an answer to his pressing question.

  The letters to Jo Allister were already en route.

  There was no way to get them back.

  44

  At the main gate, surrounded by MPs, Maddie and Emma waved good-bye to Lane. To avoid conflict with those opposed to enlistment—the Black Dragons, in particular—the Army smuggled out Nisei soldiers in the frosty black of night.

  “Kiotsukete” was Kumiko’s single bid to Lane before he turned for the bus. Even Maddie understood the phrase: Take care. His mother’s face had remained stoic all the while, but the slight quiver in her voice had betrayed her.

  As Lane boarded the steps, Maddie pondered the keepsakes he’d claimed would bring him home. Packed in his travel bag was a photo of Maddie, a paper crane Emma had once given him—a symbol of a thousand cranes for luck—and a senninbari from his mother. Kumiko had recruited a thousand residents to each sew a red stitch into the white waistband that would, in wartime, protect her son.

  A thousand stitches, a thousand cranes. A thousand years, it seemed, until Maddie would see him again.

  Four days later, the eruption began.

  Fred Tayama, rumored to be an FBI “stool pigeon,” had just returned from the national JACL convention in Salt Lake City. Representing Manzanar, he’d reportedly spoken there in favor of a Nisei draft. Not all camp residents shared his stance. Six masked men beat him severely. An investigation led to the arrest of the kitchen union leader, a popular Kibei who’d recently charged two administrators with stealing food supplies to sell on the black market.

  Maddie knew none of this until today. She had gone to the Administration Building, in anticipation of her release papers, when she discovered a protesting mob. Obscenities in Japanese and English flew at a barricade of soldiers armed with mounted machine guns. Eventually, negotiators reached a compromise and the crowd dispersed.

  Rumors about the incident, however, were only getting started. Even Emma had plenty to share. Seated on a cot, beside Maddie’s half-packed suitcase, she continued her rambling.

  “Hana says they moved the guy back to camp—the one they arrested. His name’s Harry something. But they’re still keeping him in jail. And some other guys are gonna try and break him out.”

  “So your friend knows all this for a fact?” Maddie challenged, trying to shut down the topic.

  “She says there’s a lot more of us than them. So really, what could the guards do? If we took over the camp, they’d have to let us go. Right?”

  In that “us” versus “them” equation, Maddie herself resided on a vague border between both. She folded a skirt, added it to the pile. “Em, that’s not really how it works.”

  Emma shrugged. “Either way, there’s bound to be a whole lot more fights and stuff.” She fingered a sachet Maddie had set out for packing.

  All afternoon, the girl had been carrying on about potential disasters, a thinly veiled attempt to keep Maddie from leaving. Kumiko, in contrast, had exuded a silent triumph; yet not even this was boosting Maddie’s confidence over h
er decision.

  “Did you hear about the fella getting beat up?” Emma asked.

  Maddie didn’t respond, not wanting to know.

  “They say he was sleeping in his bed when it happened. And now the police can arrest anyone they want.”

  Anxiety climbed, hastening Maddie’s folding.

  “According to Hana’s brother, the guys who did it are even madder now. So when Tayama-san gets out of the hospital, they’re gonna hurt him again. Maybe even kill him.”

  “That’s enough,” Maddie snapped.

  Emma’s face clouded and her gaze dropped. On the floor, Yuki rested his head on her Mary Janes and peered up. A show of defense for a girl who wasn’t to blame.

  Maddie took a leveling breath, then sat down next to Emma. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But gossip like that is dangerous. Besides,” she said, “everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Everything’s not gonna be fine.” Emma’s finality squashed any debate.

  Oh, why wasn’t Lane here? He would know what to say; with charm in effect, he could coax a mama bear from its cub. Now, the role had fallen to Maddie. For so long, she’d taken for granted the luxury of being the sibling cared for, and not the reverse.

  Emma turned to her with those eyes—those big brown, heartrending eyes. “Why can’t I go with you?”

  Summoning her strength, Maddie answered cheerfully. “Because you have to take care of Yuki. Where else would he have this much space to run around?”

  Emma pursed her lips as if to prevent a surge of tears.

  “You know, we’ll only be apart for a little while. The war will be over before long.” By saying that enough times, maybe they could all make it true. “Until then, I won’t have a clue what’s happening here. So I’ll need a letter from you at least once a week, to keep me in the loop. Just like you do for your dad. Will you do that for me?”

  After a beat, Emma issued a small nod.

  “Thanks, pretty girl. I knew I could count on you.” Maddie smiled, smoothing Emma’s hair. Goodness, it nearly reached her collar. The length was more noticeable since a wide ribbon had replaced her pigtails. How much older would she appear when they saw each other next?