by Kirby Larson
Ted pushed past her. “I can take care of myself.”
“I am my brother’s keeper.” She sniffled, repeating a verse they’d learned in Sunday school. She thought he’d storm off. But he didn’t.
“I don’t need keeping.”
Mitsi ran the back of her hand under her nose. “You know what I wish?”
“What?” Ted took off his baseball cap and turned it around in his hands.
“I wish I was a good magician. Like you. So I could turn you back into my real brother.” She held her breath.
Ted laughed. “You goof. I am your real brother.” He set his cap on top of her head. “Things are going to be fine. Trust me.”
She straightened the cap. “I do.”
“And listen. That dumb story you read that time?”
“Thimble Summer?”
“I bet the girl went back and told the librarian what she’d done. Paid her for the candy she took. Am I right?”
Mitsi rubbed away the moisture on her cheeks. “Yeah. That’s right, Magic. That’s right.”
He took his cap back. “I’m Ted. Plain old Ted.”
The dining hall buzzed with the news. Lefty sat by himself with his oatmeal, wearing a shiner that mirrored Ted’s. By the time Mitsi finished her corn flakes, she’d heard the whole story. Lefty and a couple other guys confessed to the robbery. She couldn’t help but wonder if those black eyes meant that Ted had something to do with Lefty’s confession. The boys gave back the money and were sentenced to two months of latrine detail. And though Ted was sitting at a different table, making puppy-dog eyes at Karen Suda across the room, Mitsi had her brother back. He was even planning to put on a magic show for the little kids for Halloween.
After Miss Pellegrino had tacked Mitsi’s burrowing owl drawing to the wall, right behind her desk, other kids in the class asked Mitsi to draw pictures for their desert animal reports. Mitsi began to carry her sketch pad and pencils with her everywhere, drawing different camp scenes.
Sometimes, she gave the drawings away. Like the one of the dining hall for the Cauliflower Cook. But most of them she kept for her scrapbook. These weren’t the kind of memories she’d expected to be saving, but like Eddie Sato had said, it was important to remember. To remember everything.
Mitsi put the finishing touches on a drawing of their apartment, as it had looked when they’d first arrived, covered in dust. Right before she mailed it off to Mags, she added a caption at the bottom of the page: In the camp, we got plenty of Vitamin D. D for Dust. She thought Eddie would approve. She smiled, then folded up the drawing and put it in an envelope.
She tied on her Keds and stepped outside. She knocked on Debbie’s door. Obaachan was right. There were some things that could not be helped. Like getting sent to the camps. Mitsi had no choice about that. But she did have a choice about what she made of it. Like Mr. Hirai creating a beautiful garden out of ugly old tumbleweed.
The door swung open. Her good friend stood there, silver locket sparkling on her neck. “Let me guess. You’re heading to the post office?”
Mitsi smiled. “Want to come along?”
Debbie closed the door behind her. “Do you even need to ask?”
The new art teacher, Mrs. Light, asked Mitsi’s class to help the first graders make pinecone turkeys for the holiday. Mitsi and Debbie were gluing tail feathers when the principal knocked at their classroom door.
“Debbie?” he said. “Will you come with me?”
Debbie wiped her sticky hands on a rag, and followed the principal out of the room. At the door, she glanced back at Mitsi. Mitsi could read her mind. Had the principal found out about the prank they’d pulled in the dining hall? That lizard had slid right off the Jell-O tray; the cook even laughed. Were they going to get in trouble anyway?
Seconds later, Debbie ran back in, locket bouncing at her neck. She wore a huge smile. “He’s here!” was all she said. Then she grabbed her coat and was gone.
At supper, Debbie and her mother walked into the dining hall, on either side of a thin man in glasses. “This is my dad.” Debbie held his arm so tightly that he could hardly shake hands with Pop.
“So — you are Mitsi.” Debbie’s father bowed. “Thank you for being such a good friend to Debbie.”
“It’s been lovely to meet you.” Mom tugged Mitsi away. “But we’re sure you’d like some time to catch up.” Obaachan made her way over to join the dried-plum ladies. Ted was still delivering the Irrigator, but when he came in, Mitsi was pretty sure he’d sit with that new group of junior high guys. A nicer group, but still boys. Loud and rowdy.
Mitsi sat between Mom and Pop, a different kind of Mitsi sandwich. Because of the camps, life was never going to be the same. But that didn’t mean that life couldn’t be okay.
She was cutting her gristly Salisbury steak when Ted hurried over. Before he could speak, she told him the news about Debbie’s father.
“It’s better than Christmas,” she said.
“You can say that again.” Ted pulled a copy of the Irrigator from his back pocket and flipped it onto the table in front of her. Mitsi couldn’t believe what she read.
She ran back to their apartment without even touching her dessert. She had a letter to write!
Dear Dash,
This is a double good news day. First: Debbie’s dad is here. Now they really are a true family again.
You’ll never guess, but the second good news has to do with you!
General DeWitt says that we can have pets! Of course, we have to ask for permission from the camp superintendent, but he’s a nice man. I know he won’t say no.
Love, Mitsi
Mitsi had hurried off without her mittens, so she blew into her cupped hands to warm up. Every time she saw a cloud of exhaust steam from the road, she was sure this was it. But each time, it was the wrong car.
Maybe something had happened. A flat tire. A broken radiator. Maybe even an accident. She shivered, then started pacing back and forth across the main road to warm up. She crossed eight, nine, ten times. She leaned over the gate as far as she could.
Maybe they wouldn’t come today after all. She wrapped her arms around herself, huddling against the December cold.
“Ruff, ruff.”
Mitsi’s head flew up. She’d recognize that bark anywhere. A fluffy almond-colored head leaned out of the passenger window of the car stopped at the sentry post.
The sentry waved the car through. Mitsi ran toward it. “Dash!” She splashed across the slushy, muddy path. “Dash!”
The car stopped and the door opened. A streak of fur bolted out and right into her arms. Mitsi lost her balance and almost fell on her backside. Laughing, she wrapped her arms around her dog. He nearly wiggled right out of her arms, whimpering and trying to cover her face in dog kisses. He had doggy breath. Delicious doggy breath.
“He missed you.” Mrs. Bowker stood next to the car, her black galoshes already brick red with mud.
Mitsi squeezed Dash even tighter. “I missed him, too.” She knew she should say “Thank you” to Mrs. Bowker. But her throat closed up and no more words would come out. She buried her face in Dash’s fur. He still smelled like a well-worn penny.
“We drove as fast as we could once we heard from you.” Mrs. Bowker wiped her eyes with a hanky.
The driver of the car stepped forward. “That’s quite a dog you’ve got there,” he said. “He really won Mother over. I wasn’t sure she would be able to give him back!”
Mitsi’s heart stopped. “Oh —” She’d never thought Mrs. Bowker might end up loving Dash as much as she did.
“Oh, Alan, don’t tease.” Mrs. Bowker pretended to give the man a swat, as if he were a little kid. “Mitsi, this is my son.”
Mitsi nodded, still unable to breathe. Her ears began to ring, like they had before she’d gotten used to the altitude.
Mrs. Bowker placed her hands on Mitsi’s coat sleeves, and looked her straight in the eyes. “Even though my house will be too quiet without hi
m, I am delighted you and Dash are back together.”
Mitsi finally took a breath. “Was he a good boy?”
Mrs. Bowker laughed. “Well, I have a few holes in my garden that I didn’t plan on, but other than that, he was the perfect houseguest.”
Mitsi finally remembered her manners. “Mom has some cookies. And tea. Come with me.”
“That would be lovely.” Mrs. Bowker reached back into the car and retrieved a brown paper bag. “Better not forget Dash’s suitcase!” She rummaged in the bag and brought out his leash. “Would you like this so you don’t have to carry him?”
Later, Mitsi would take him for a walk around the camp. Introduce him to Debbie and Mr. Hirai. Show Davy his tricks.
But for right now, Mitsi didn’t need the leash. She wasn’t about to put him down.
Mitsi started for her family’s block. Mrs. Bowker and Alan followed.
“Good boy, Dash.” Mitsi scratched behind his ears, just the way he liked. “Good dog.”
After the Japanese Navy attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Americans were worried and afraid. It was a hard time for everyone, but hardest of all for the Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans, Nikkei, living on the West Coast of the United States. Some newspapers and elected officials insisted that the Nikkei would help Japan, and managed to convince others that they were a danger to our country. In February 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 authorizing the exclusion of “any or all persons” from designated military areas. But “any or all” really meant people of German, Italian, or Japanese descent. Within a month, the focus had shifted away from the Germans and Italians to people of Japanese descent, and FDR signed Executive Order 9012, creating ten War Relocation camps, to be built in different parts of the country. Nearly 120,000 Nikkei, most of them American citizens, were sent away to those camps.
One of them was a lady named Mitsue “Mitsi” Shiraishi, who loved her dog, Chubby, very much. Mitsi wrote to General John L. DeWitt, the man in charge of the evacuation, asking if she could bring Chubby along to the camp. Though that letter has been lost, we know General DeWitt’s office answered with a no. A neighbor, Mrs. Charles Bovee, took care of Chubby for Mitsi. Mrs. Bovee kept a diary of his first week in the Bovee household. She made it seem as if Chubby himself had written the diary. It was her way of reassuring Mitsi that her beloved pet was happy and cared for in his new, temporary home. One of the entries said, Tonight … we had such a good time. While the others planted dahlias, I ran all around the lawn and scampered back and forth until I was ready to go in the house and lie on the floor in front of the fireplace. I have been rather upset the last hour for every time I go to the door there is a little dog just like me in the glass in the door. When I bark, he barks too and doesn’t seem to be a bit ashamed to think he is such a copycat.
About a year after Mitsi went to camp (she was sent to Tule Lake, not Minidoka, as was the Mitsi of this story), the rules were relaxed. People were allowed to have pets, and Mitsi was reunited with her furry friend.
Like Mitsi, and maybe like many of you, I also have a dog. Winston also barks at the strange dog in the glass, completely unaware that he’s barking at his own reflection. He’s crazy about playing ball and jumps straight up in the air when I bring one out. His favorite game is to chase the ball and bring it back to me. Well, most of the time, he brings it back. I can barely stand to be apart from Winston for one day. I can’t imagine how hard it was for Mitsi to be separated from Chubby when she had no idea how long the separation would last. After I heard their story, I began to think about all of the Nikkei — especially the children — who were forced to leave their pets behind when they were sent to the war relocation camps.
Every story needs a heart hook, and that was mine.
Thank you to Dave Neiwert for his book Strawberry Days, which is where I first read about Mitsi and Chubby. I am grateful to Judy Kusakabe, Mitsi Shiraishi’s stepdaughter, for lending me her family’s memorabilia (including Chubby’s diary), and am honored that they’d share such special treasures with me; to Debbie and Louise Kashino for so many helpful introductions and for allowing me to borrow their surname; and to Louis Fiset, author of Camp Harmony: Japanese American Internment and the Puyallup Assembly Center, who shared his precious map of Camp Harmony with a complete stranger, and simply because I asked.
If you want to know more about life at Camp Harmony or at Minidoka, visit Densho.org. That is where I was introduced to Eddie Sato, whose sketches realistically yet humorously captured camp life. Eddie did indeed incorporate an ant into his signature.
None of my books would exist without Mary Nethery, trusted first reader; Neil Larson, cheerleader extraordinaire; and Jill Grinberg, the world’s best agent.
But this book owes its largest debt to Lisa Sandell, who immediately said yes when she heard about Mitsi and who, once again, gently drew out of me a much stronger story than I ever thought possible.
Kirby Larson is the acclaimed author of the 2007 Newbery Honor book Hattie Big Sky; its sequel, Hattie Ever After; The Friendship Doll; Dear America: The Fences Between Us; and Duke. She has also co-written two award-winning picture books about dogs, including Two Bobbies: A True Story of Hurricane Katrina, Friendship, and Survival and Nubs: The True Story of a Mutt, a Marine & a Miracle. She lives in Washington State with her husband and Winston the Wonder Dog.
Praise for Dash
“Emotionally satisfying and thought-provoking.” — Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“[A] trenchant novel.” — Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Historical fiction at its best.” — School Library Journal
“A heartfelt story … [about] how a strong family can pull together in the worst of circumstances.” — Booklist
Praise for Duke
“Exceptionally well-crafted and emotionally authentic.” — Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“[An] incisive tale of loyalty, patriotism, sacrifice, and bravery.” — Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Larson weaves a wonderfully genuine attachment between boy and dog and thoughtfully examines Hobie’s conflicted emotions as Duke gets partnered with a battle-bound Marine.” — School Library Journal
“A good example of how bravery comes in all shapes, sizes — and breeds.” — Booklist
ALSO BY KIRBY LARSON
Novels
Dear America: The Fences Between Us
Duke
The Friendship Doll
Hattie Big Sky
Hattie Ever After
Picture Books
with Mary Nethery
Nubs: The True Story of a Mutt, a Marine & a Miracle
Two Bobbies: A True Story of Hurricane Katrina, Friendship, and Survival
Copyright © 2014 by Kirby Larson
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Larson, Kirby, author.
Dash / Kirby Larson. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: When her family is forced into an internment camp, Mitsi Kashino is separated from her home, her classmates, and her beloved dog, Dash; and as her family begins to come apart around her, Mitsi clings to her one connection to the outer world — the letters from the kindly neighbor who is caring for Dash. ISBN 978-0-545-41635-1 (jacketed hardcover) 1. Puyallup Assembly Center (Puyallup, Wash.) — Juvenile fiction. 2. Japanese American children — Juvenile fiction. 3. Japanese Americans — Evacuation and relocation, 1942–1945 — Juvenile fiction. 4. World War, 1939–1945 — Concentration camps — United States — Juvenile fiction. 5. World War, 1939–1945 — Japanese Americans — Juvenile fiction. 6. Washington (State) — History — 20th century — Juvenile fiction. [1. Puyallup Assembly Center (Puyallup, Wash.) — Fiction. 2. Japanese Americ
ans — Evacuation and relocation, 1942–1945 — Fiction. 3. World War, 1939–1945 — United States — Fiction. 4. Dogs — Fiction. 5. Washington (State) — History — 20th century — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L32394Das 2014
813.54 — dc23
2013042525
First edition, September 2014
Cover art © 2014 by Blake Morrow
Cover design by Whitney Lyle
e-ISBN 978-0-545-66282-6
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.