The Fences Between Us

by Kirby Larson

  John is all signed up for classes for the fall. He said Pop inspired him to take a course in philosophy and that I inspired him to take a course in photography. Pretty neat.

  Hank’s letter didn’t say much. Which is good, because that way the censor didn’t mark it all up! At the end, he wrote, “yapph yirthdab ot ym dik ristes.”

  I wrote back, “ton hucs a dik — mi nourteef!”

  Friday, August 21, 1942

  DeeDee —

  Section B cleared out of Camp Harmony today, the first group to leave for Idaho. Pop said as bad as Harmony is, people acted sad to leave it. At least they knew what to expect there. No one has any idea of what they’ll be going to in Minidoka.

  I don’t know when Betty and her family will be sent to Idaho.

  Neither does she.

  Thursday, August 27, 1942

  DeeDee —

  I was all set to go school shopping with Trixie and her mom when the call came. The Satos were leaving Camp Harmony. Today! Pop and I hopped in the Blue Box and made it down to Puyallup in the nick of time to say good-bye.

  Mikey and Tommy were all excited about getting to ride on the train. They were running around, hollering “choo-choo” as loud as they could. I gave them each a roll of Neccos for the long overnight trip—but they immediately started gobbling them up. I tried! Betty and Jim were as quiet as their little brothers were noisy. Betty thanked me for the care package I’d brought for her—three movie magazines, a deck of playing cards, and two Sky Bars. We stood there, waiting without talking. When it was time to board the train, Jim took Mikey’s hand and Betty took Tommy’s. They followed their mother up the steps and, in a blink, were lost inside the dark of the car.

  I know it doesn’t make any sense, because the train car windows were all blacked out — we couldn’t see in and Betty and her family couldn’t see out — but Pop and I stood there, waving until the train was an ant on the tracks.

  Saturday, August 29, 1942

  DeeDee —

  I broke open my piggy bank and cleaned Mrs. Lee’s grocery out of penny candy. Margie and Pop helped me divvy the treats up into paper sacks and then we drove down and handed them out to all the little kids still at Camp Harmony.

  Maybe that will sweeten the long trip to Idaho a little bit.

  Monday, September 7, 1942

  DeeDee —

  I start eighth grade tomorrow. Next year, we’ll be lowly freshmen so I plan to enjoy every minute of being an eighth-grade “top dog.” Trixie wants us to go out for the Girls’ Club, but I have my eye on the school newspaper. I’m sure they need a crack photographer!

  Tuesday, September 8, 1942

  DeeDee —

  This is going to be such a great year. I like all of my teachers — well, as much as you can like them after one day of classes. We get to sit at the eighth-grade table in the cafeteria, and Miss Wyatt is the newspaper club advisor and she was so happy that I wanted to be the photographer.

  I was so bubbly on the way home from school that Bud said he was going to start calling me “Soda Pop”!

  Wednesday, September 9, 1942

  DeeDee —

  I hate, hate, hate my father! And I don’t care if that gets me sent to h-e-double-toothpicks.

  Tonight after supper, Pop said he had something to tell me. I said okay. I’d been hearing bits and pieces and figured it was probably about his new church assignment.

  “Mr. Carter at the denomination headquarters has given his blessing to the plan I’d mentioned back in August.” Pop smiled. “In fact, he paid me quite a compliment. Said I was the man for the job.”

  “That’s great, Pop.” I innocently took a bite of apple crisp, completely unaware of what was coming next.

  Pop cleared his throat. “We’re moving,” he said. “To Minidoka.”

  I dropped my fork. “Where? No. No.”

  “Well, we won’t be allowed to live in the camp. Only WRA folks can. But we can stay there until we find a place nearby. Maybe Hunt or Eden or Twin Falls.”

  I thought of Bud and Trixie and everything. “Pop, all my friends are here.”

  “Betty’s your friend,” he said. He took a bite of his apple crisp and chewed calmly, as if he wasn’t ruining his youngest daughter’s life.

  I looked down at my own plate. I wanted to throw it. I wanted to hear it crash against the wall, shattering into pieces. I wanted to throw all of the plates. I didn’t, but I shoved my chair back from the table, shouting and sobbing at the same time. “You don’t care about me. Not one bit. All you care about is the Japanese.” I practically growled in anger and frustration. I threw my fork and then my napkin down on the table. “I hate you!”

  Pop set his own fork and napkin down slowly. Carefully. “I can imagine you aren’t very happy with me right now, Piper. But the decision is made. Now, you may go to your room. I will clean up the dishes. We can talk more after you’ve calmed down.”

  I turned around so hard I knocked the chair over. And I didn’t stop to pick it up. I ran up to my room, slammed my bedroom door, and threw myself on the bed, pounding the pillows as hard as I could.

  He’s the pastor, not me, so I don’t know why I have to go to Idaho. It’s not like I can do anything to help.

  I’m not going to move.

  Thursday, September 10, 1942

  DeeDee —

  He can’t make me do this.

  Friday, September 11, 1942

  DeeDee —

  Trixie had a brilliant idea. She said I should ask Pop if I could live with her family while he goes to Idaho; after all, it can’t be for very long, right? That way, I could help Margie keep an eye on the house. And Pop could do his important work without having me underfoot. It was the perfect solution!

  I helped Margie make Pop’s favorite dinner, goulash. I set the table without complaining once, and the second Pop’s coffee cup got empty, I jumped up to fill it up.

  “Thank you for dinner, girls.” Pop dabbed his mouth with his napkin and started to stand up.

  “Pop, wait. I have something to ask you.” I nervously smoothed out my skirt.

  He cocked his head like our neighbor’s spaniel. “Okay.”

  I glanced over at Margie. She took the hint. “I’m going to go wash my hair.” She carried her plate to the kitchen and then went upstairs.

  I cleared my throat. “I was talking to Trixie and she said, well, she asked her mom and she said it was okay …”

  “I’m not following you, Piper.”

  I started again. “Can I live with Trixie while you’re gone? It’s okay with her mom and dad. That way I wouldn’t have to change schools when classes have already started.”

  “That’s very generous of the Burkes,” Pop said.

  My heart beat double-time and I sat up straighter. Trixie’s plan worked!

  “But the answer is no.”

  I slumped down in my chair. “But why not?” I hated the little kid whiny tone in my voice but I couldn’t help it.

  “We couldn’t impose on the Burkes like that.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even know how long we’ll be in Idaho.”

  “But it wouldn’t be imposing. Trixie said so. And couldn’t Margie use some help with the house?”

  “I’ve given my answer, Piper.” I started to say something else but he held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  Well, he won’t have to.

  I am never speaking to him again.

  Saturday, September 12, 1942

  DeeDee —

  I’m being shook up by an earthquake full of bad news. On top of Pop’s announcement, there’s war news from the Pacific. The Navy and the Marines are duking it out with the Japanese over these tiny little specks called the Solomon Islands. I found them on our globe, east of Australia and New Guinea. We have no way of knowing for sure, but we all worry that the Enterprise is there.

  I wrote Hank a long letter tonight and signed it, “eb rup
es-ruped larefuc!!!”

  Monday, September 14, 1942

  DeeDee —

  On the way home from school today, I broke the news to Bud. I could hardly hold back my tears and I thought he was pretty broken up, too, because he didn’t say a word for blocks. When we got to my house, he reached for my hand. The September sun lit up the maple leaves behind his head so that it looked like he was wearing a crown. He looked at me with those green eyes of his. Then he took a deep breath and I was certain he was going to pledge me his undying love, like the hero did in that last pirate movie we saw. I got all shaky and started crying even harder.

  Then he said, “Well, I’ve been thinking we should see other people, anyway.”

  That stopped my tears right away. How could he be so heartless? Couldn’t he see how sad I was?

  “I guess I’d never seen the real you before,” I said. My voice was quavery, but I summoned up all the dignity I could. I pretended I was Joan Fontaine finally standing up to the evil housekeeper in the movie Rebecca. “I’ll give your pin back, of course.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Bud smiled at me. I never noticed that he had crooked front teeth. What had I ever seen in him, besides those green eyes?

  I straightened my back and walked away, down the sidewalk, alone, leaving my first true love behind.

  It can’t get any worse than this.

  Tuesday, September 15, 1942

  DeeDee —

  More doom. More gloom.

  Still not speaking to Pop.

  Thursday, September 17, 1942

  DeeDee —

  One crumb of good news. A postcard from Hank. The Enterprise had taken some “body punches” near the Solomon Islands and was headed somewhere — name of the place had been cut out by a censor — to get patched up. The crew gets a month’s leave in Pearl Harbor while repairs are being made. I wish he could come home but I am still thankful.

  One month away from the fighting for my brother — glory hallelujah!

  Monday, September 21, 1942

  DeeDee —

  As Trixie was helping me clean out my locker, Bud walked by, Debbie Sue at his side.

  I caught Trixie looking at me, and knew she was wondering what to say. Even though I felt like I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me, I wasn’t going to let anyone know.

  “That didn’t take long,” I said, in as flip a tone as I could muster.

  Trixie gave me another look, and then grabbed me in a hug. “You deserve better, that’s for sure.”

  What would we do without our friends?!

  Wednesday, September 23, 1942

  DeeDee —

  The last group left Camp Harmony today. Pop’s loading up our things in the Blue Box. Margie helped pack up the kitchen and the bedding and Pop’s books.

  She dropped some empty cardboard boxes in my bedroom. I kicked them in the corner.

  If she can stay, I don’t see why I can’t.

  Thursday, September 24, 1942

  DeeDee —

  When I turn eighteen, I am going to do whatever I want to do. Wear lipstick every day. Go to any movie I want. And live wherever I want.

  Which will not be Podunk Town, Idaho, U.S.A.

  Friday, September 25, 1942

  DeeDee —

  Of all the low blows, this is the lowest. Without telling me, Margie wrote to Hank about the move and my “childish” reaction. Leave it to Margie to get to him before I had a chance to tell my side of the story. He wrote to say he’s disappointed to learn I’ve been giving Pop a hard time. “People all over the world are making sacrifices. That’s what happens in war. You need to just ‘grin and bear it,’ for Pop’s sake.”

  I fumed after reading it.

  Why doesn’t anyone have to do anything for Piper’s sake?

  Saturday, September 26, 1942

  DeeDee —

  Trixie never gets up before ten on Saturdays but she was here at 5 A.M., with red eyes and a bag of doughnuts. We both cried and promised to write. It was the hardest thing to open the car door and climb in. I leaned out the window and waved until I couldn’t see her anymore.

  There were two apple fritters in the bag — Pop’s favorites.

  I ate them both.

  Minidoka

  War Relocation

  Center

  Eden, Idaho

  Monday, September 28, 1942

  DeeDee —

  It takes one and a half days to drive from 307 Spruce Street, Seattle, Washington, to the Minidoka War Relocation Center, near Eden, Idaho. I did not say a single word the entire way except “Please pass the salt” when we stopped for supper last night.

  Pop didn’t even seem to notice.

  Tuesday, September 29, 1942

  DeeDee —

  I couldn’t write last night about the camp. It’s worse than I ever imagined. The same kind of joker who named Camp Harmony must have named the town of Eden. I can’t imagine a place less like paradise. The heat is bad enough but it’s the dust that really gets to you. There are gaps around the windows and doors and even in the walls so the dust blows right in. No amount of sweeping gets it up. I’ve already got a sore throat from breathing it and this is only our first day.

  There are latrines here, too, and lines to use them, like Camp Harmony. I took my flashlight and went around 11 P.M. and I was the only one there, thank goodness. I knew from Betty to spray a hanky with the smelliest perfume possible and hold it to my nose. These outhouses weren’t built to be used by so many people! The camp manager says real bathrooms are coming but doesn’t say when.

  If Pop had his way, we’d live here, right in the camp. But since he’s “just” a minister and doesn’t work for the WRA, it’s against the rules. Thank goodness. We can stay until we find a place nearby to rent. Pop and I went into Eden to look around and found one house that might’ve worked. The landlord was real friendly to us until he asked what line of work Pop was in.

  “The Lord’s work,” Pop answered. “I’m a Baptist minister.”

  “I’m not much of a churchgoer myself,” the man said. “But I didn’t know the old preacher had left.”

  “I’m not serving a congregation here in town,” Pop said. “My congregation’s over at Hunt.”

  As soon as Pop said that, I knew it was a mistake. The man shifted back, as if trying to avoid smelling something unpleasant.

  “Hunt? Nothing there but that camp.” The man walked over to the front door and opened it. “My son was at Pearl Harbor. I don’t rent to no Jap lovers.”

  When the door slammed behind us, I called back over my shoulder, “My brother was at Pearl Harbor, too!”

  But the door stayed firmly shut.

  Wednesday, September 30, 1942

  DeeDee —

  Pop had business with the camp manager today so I’m waiting around in the waiting room (get it?!) in the guard house. The only nice part of the room is the fireplace, which one of the guards told me is made from stones they got from the desert. There isn’t much else to look at in here. Not like at my dentist where I can at least look at the Reader’s Digest magazine. There’s one photo on the wall. It’s of the camp, taken from a plane. In the picture, the buildings look like a cock-eyed capital M, kind of like this:

  Pop’s still busy. Maybe I should describe the camp a bit, though there’s not much chance of me forgetting what this place looks like, even when I’m an old lady. To get here, you take State Highway 25. You turn off on a road—I don’t know the name of it—and drive over a bridge that spans the Twin Falls canal. It’s different than Camp Harmony because there’s only one gate here. Once you’re inside the gate, there are two roads. The one to the left takes you to the MPs (Military Police), the hospital, and Blocks 1–19; you go straight ahead to get to Blocks 21–44.

  This place is huge. I should know. We have to park the Blue Box at the gate and it takes forever to walk places. Luckily, Betty’s in Block 5. That’s not as far as some of the other blocks. Mrs. Harada is in Block 10, the Matsui
s in Block 17, but Mrs. Tokita is way over in Block 36.

  Each block has twelve barracks, a mess hall — oops, I mean dining hall (the camp manager won’t let anybody call it a mess hall) — and a social hall. Between the two rows of barracks, there’s an H-shaped building with the laundry and bathrooms. Well, it’s where the bathrooms will be when they get real bathrooms. Here’s a not-very-good picture:

  Right now, we’re staying in one of the staff apartments, behind the administration building, by the gate. It’s nicer than the barracks but I can’t wait to get into a real house of our own.

  Thursday, October 1, 1942

  DeeDee —

  We’ve been here less than a week and it feels like a year. Today’s dinner was a pork chop with fried apples. It looked tasty. But looks are deceiving. The minute I put a bite in my mouth, I was chewing grit along with the food. The dust here gets into absolutely everything. My teeth ache all the time. It’s like having a serving of sandpaper with every meal. Jim Sato says it’s our “DIDD” — “Daily Involuntary Dose of Dust.”