Cherry Blossom Winter

by Jennifer Maruno

  Michiko picked up her spoon. She decided to tell Kiko to write down her dream as soon as their ink thawed. It was so cold at night that the bottles on the ledge beside the stove wouldn’t be ready for an hour.

  Every morning the boys and girls in Michiko’s class left their little wooden huts so bundled they could hardly move. Long johns went under corduroy pants, flannel blouses under sweaters. With their hats down to their eyes and their scarves up to their nose it was hard to tell who was who.

  To keep their minds off the harsh winter, everyone stayed busy. When they weren’t sweeping frost from the floor or icicles from the roofs, they attended the forbidden classes.

  Tamiko took lessons in Ikebana. Kiko became a champion in Japanese chess. Raymond carved a knife for opening letters and a wooden whistle from a tree branch. He bragged about his plan to carve an entire baseball bat.

  “Since you are so interested in wood,” Mr. Katsumoto said to him one day, “you can be in charge of feeding the fire.” Everyone laughed because the black pot-bellied stove consumed cord after cord. Raymond scowled. From the look on his face this was not the job that he had in mind.

  Michiko attended classes in Haiku, but her poems had to wait for the special rice paper in the red box at home. There was still no one to teach her Kanji.

  Edna Morrison, caught up in all the activity, formed a War Relief Club. The women of the church held meetings at her house to knit socks and scarves.

  “Come home with me today,” Michiko told Kiko. “It’s warmer there.”

  “I hope it is warmer in our new home.” Kiko said as they put on their coats.

  “You can’t go back to Vancouver? You told me it was Ban City.”

  “Who said anything about Vancouver?” Kiko replied with defiance. “My father,” she said with a stutter, remembering Michiko knew the truth, “got permission to move to Ontario.”

  “Ontario?” Michiko repeated. She turned and grabbed Kiko’s shoulders. “Why?”

  “I keep telling you we are going to get moved again,” Kiko said, kicking at the snow as they crossed the street. “My father said this time he’s going to decide for himself where he wants to live.”

  As they entered the apartment, Michiko overheard Mrs. Morrison say, “I’ve brought a few live things into the world myself, living on the farm.”

  Kiko froze in the doorway. “I won’t stay for lunch,” she said. “I’ll just tell your mother my news and go back to school.”

  Michiko frowned. “We’ve got enough, don’t we?” she asked her mother.

  “Of course we do,” her mother exclaimed. “Kiko take your coat off and sit down.”

  “I’ll let you get on with your lunch,” Mrs. Morrison announced, lifting her heavy black purse from the floor and placing it on the table with a thud. “I’m attending a luncheon at the King residence today. All the women of the auxiliary will be there.”

  “Do you mean George King’s house?” Michiko asked in astonishment.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Morrison said. “You know George, don’t you?” She turned to Michiko’s mother. “He’s such an overprotected boy. His mother won’t even let him get wet.”

  Michiko and Kiko burst out into such uncontrollable laughter they had to escape to Michiko’s bedroom. Since January, Hiro slept in Geechan’s old room.

  “She won’t even let him get wet,” Kiko repeated with glee. “He didn’t tell his mother.”

  “Let’s hope that’s not the only thing he didn’t tell her,” Michiko whispered back. So far the RCMP seemed to know nothing about the boat. Hopefully he would keep his promise.

  “Did you know that Colgate is the only toothpaste used by the Dionne Quints?” her father asked, sticking his head in the doorway.

  “They live in Ontario, don’t they?” Michiko asked.

  Her father nodded, beckoning them to lunch.

  “Kiko is moving to Ontario,” Michiko announced as they all sat down.

  “Are you?” her father asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “We got special permission.”

  “I wonder what Ontario is like,” Michiko mused as she lifted her soup bowl to her nose.

  “We can’t think of moving anywhere,” Michiko’s mother said in a voice that was sharper than usual. She looked into Sam’s eyes and blinked, as if flashing a warning.

  “Why not?” asked Michiko.

  “Why move?” Her father said in a jovial way. “We live here for free.”

  “Everyone is going to have to move again,” Kiko said. “My father says so.”

  “Why don’t we move to Ontario too?” Michiko asked.

  “Michiko,” her father said in a deep voice. She knew she had angered him. Her stomach churned as her mother cleared the table in silence. Eiko’s face told Michiko there was to be no more talk about moving.

  Chapter Eighteen

  GOOD NEWS

  Eiko sprawled on her hands and knees across the kitchen floor, scrubbing. “I’m finished,” she said as she held her hand out to Michiko. “Help me get up,” she whispered, almost out of breath. Lately every one of her sentences ended in a whisper.

  Michiko leaned down and grasped her mother’s hands. The linoleum floor smelled of soap and wax.

  Eiko pulled heavily and rose to her feet. She put one hand on the back of the chair and winced as she tried to stretch her back. “I think I may have overdone it,” she said. She leaned heavily on Michiko before sinking into a chair. “Make some tea, please.”

  “Is it all right if Kiko and I make popcorn?” Michiko asked. “One of the bags in the store had a hole in it and Kiko talked the clerk into giving it to her for free.”

  “As long as you keep the floor clean,” her mother told her. “I can’t face it again.”

  When Kiko arrived, Michiko’s mother took off her blue checkered apron. “I’m going to lie down for a while,” she told them. “You can keep Hiro busy with your popcorn.”

  “Don’t forget to shake the pot really hard,” Michiko advised Kiko when the wild pinging sounds started. It always reminded her of winter hail against the windows. She left the kitchen to peek in on her mother and covered her with the patchwork quilt.

  Kiko pulled a chair to the stove. “Hiro,” she said, “stand beside me and watch.”

  The pot lid rose and a collar of fluffy kernels peeped out. Soon popcorn danced onto the stove and bounced to the floor. Hiro jumped from the chair. He picked up the puffs and ate them.

  “How much did you put in?” Michiko asked when she came into the kitchen, seeing the puffs drop.

  Kiko shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I put some in and Hiro put some in.”

  Michiko scooped up the bag. Over half was gone.

  “You’ve put in way too much!” she exclaimed as she turned down the burner.

  The floor looked as snowy as the road outside.

  Hiro darted about, stuffing his mouth. Broken kernels stuck to the clean linoleum.

  “My mother just washed the floor,” Michiko moaned.

  The two girls scooped up popcorn and filled a bowl. Even though the stove was off, it kept on popping and dropping. In desperation, Michiko opened the cupboard under the sink and grabbed an empty rice bag. She stuffed it with popcorn. Now there was mess and waste. That would upset her mother even more.

  “We can take some to my father,” Michiko said, “but we have to clean the floor first.”

  A bicycle whizzed by the front window just as Michiko entered the drugstore. She recognized the man’s khaki uniform and polished boots.

  “Oh no!” Michiko shrieked. “The telegram man could be going to Mrs. Morrison’s.”

  Sam, Kiko, and Hiro went to the window.

  “I’m going to find out,” Michiko announced, tugging on her boots and grabbing her coat from the peg. She ran out the front door as fast as she could through the snow.

  The bicycle was leaving when she arrived at Mrs. Morrison’s front porch.

  As Michiko ran up the steps,
a sob came from the open front door. She stepped inside as Kiko pounded up on to the porch behind her.

  Mrs. Morrison sat on the stairs, her face in her hands. An open envelope lay at her feet.

  Michiko went on her knees. “Mrs. Morrison,” she said, “is it bad news?”

  The woman removed her large fleshy hands from her face. Her nose was bright red.

  “He’s …” she said. Her voice cracked. She looked at them both with wide eyes.

  Michiko and Kiko helped her to the sofa.

  “Get her a glass of water,” Michiko commanded as she retrieved the letter.

  “I’ll read it out loud,” Kiko said when she returned from the kitchen. She snatched it from Michiko’s hand and scanned the strips of typed print. “He was rescued from a lifeboat.”

  “Hurray!” Michiko yelled, handing Mrs. Morrison a glass. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in a naval hospital in London.”

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Morrison said, finally able to speak. “He will be able to come home on leave.” She crossed her fingers. “Hopefully the war will be all over before he has to go back.”

  “I knew he would be all right,” Kiko said to her. “I always said that to Michiko.”

  Michiko shot her a glance of disbelief while she patted Mrs. Morrison’s hand.

  “My mother will be here soon,” Michiko said.

  “I hope not,” Mrs. Morrison said standing up. “It’s too far for her to walk in her condition.” She turned to Kiko. “You run back and tell Eiko to stay put.” She turned to Michiko. “You tell Bert to bring his truck.”

  When Bert pulled into the laneway, Mrs. Morrison waited on her front steps holding a large wicker basket. “We are going to celebrate,” she said.

  Michiko peeked inside at the bag of sugar, package of butter, a lemon, and huge bowl of eggs. This really is a celebration, Michiko thought. Mrs. Morrison usually sells her eggs. There was enough there to buy herself a new hat.

  Michiko’s mother met them at the door.

  “I think I feel a bit of a cry coming on,” Mrs. Morrison said as she climbed out of the truck. “I don’t know what I would have done if it had been different.”

  Eiko gave her a hug.

  “I was so afraid he drowned at sea,” Edna said. “I didn’t think that at first, but I when couldn’t find the watch he gave me it seemed like a bad omen.”

  Michiko’s eyes widened. Kiko stared at the ground.

  “I have searched the whole house. I opened drawers, emptied vases, and moved things about. One night I looked until two o’clock in the morning and still no watch,” Mrs. Morrison said. “You must think I am a foolish old woman.”

  “It is never foolish to care about things you love,” Eiko said putting her arms around her friend. “I’m sure it will turn up,” she squeezed her friend’s shoulders, “just like your husband.”

  That night Michiko watched Mrs. Morrison make them lemon curd. She sat her mixing bowl on top of a saucepan of boiling water. Into it she cracked six eggs and beat them well. She stirred in the sugar and butter, and then put her hand out for the lemon.

  Michiko and Kiko had been taking turns holding it and smelling it. Michiko remembered how Geechan could never make the sound of the letter L. He would always call the bright yellow fruit a “wemon.” Sadie said it the same way too, just to tease.

  Mrs. Morrison cut the lemon in half and gave the girls the job of squeezing in the juice. Then they stirred until it got as thick as honey.

  “Speaking of good news,” Sam said when he came upstairs, “isn’t it about time you shared our good news with Mrs. Morrison?”

  “She already knows,” Eiko said with a bit of a blush.

  “But your daughter doesn’t,” Mrs. Morrison said.

  “Doesn’t know what?” Michiko asked. Had her mother changed her mind about moving?

  “You’ll be happy about one thing,” Sam said, looking at Michiko. “You won’t have to share your room. It will be Hiro’s turn to share this time.”

  “Is Sadie coming back to live with us?” Michiko asked.

  “No,” her father teased, “we haven’t met the person who will be living with us.”

  Michiko looked at each of them as the smell of the sweet pudding filled the air.

  Kiko hit her in the arm. “Your mother,” Kiko began, but stopped, seeing Eiko’s face.

  Eiko moved to Michiko’s side and whispered into her ear.

  “We’re having a baby!” Michiko exclaimed.

  That night Michiko lay in bed, wide awake. There was so much to think about: Kiko going to Ontario, Mrs. Morrison’s missing watch, and now a new baby.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE WATCH

  Michiko opened her eyes the next morning and gazed about her room. The small black-spotted mirror attached to her bureau reflected the wooden cat Geechan had carved for her. She looked at the ceiling. Geechan made the paper lantern that covered the bare bulb. He was always doing something for them. She needed to do something special for him.

  She remembered the baby. It seemed like she had just gotten used to carting her brother around and now he ran and climbed everywhere.

  Then she remembered the watch. She rose and dressed quickly.

  “Can I go to Kiko’s house today?” she asked her mother.

  Her mother was busy taking apart one of Mrs. Morrison’s dresses. She cut a pattern from brown paper. After she sewed it together again, inside out, it would look like new. Eiko nodded.

  Michiko put on both her sweaters, then her coat. Tugging her hat down over her ears she thought about what she was going to say. What if Kiko wouldn’t co-operate?

  The cold, sharp air bit her face as she made her way down the middle of the snow-banked street. The water below the bridge rushed beneath a cover of ice. This is where she would usually meet Clarence. Clarence would never take anything that didn’t belong to him, she thought. He even returned the baseball glove given to him at the game.

  The wind howled about her feet as she made her way down the laneway that led to the orchard. Wisps of smoke floated up from the tiny snow-covered roofs. She gave three hard knocks on the door of the newspaper house.

  “Hello, Michiko,” Mr. Sagara said as he opened the door. The familiar acrid smell of printers’ ink tugged at her nose. His dark hair stood straight up on top of his head, reminding Michiko of a brush. He held a blue-stained cloth in one hand.

  “Is Kiko at home?” Michiko inquired.

  “No,” he said.

  “She has something that I have to get back,” Michiko said at the doorway.

  Mr. Sagara indicated that Michiko should sit on a kitchen chair. He went back to his stool in front of the rows of type letters. Michiko stared at the mildewed walls.

  Kiko danced through the doorway. “Hi, Michiko,” she said. She put her hands over the small black stove and rubbed them hard. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to get something back,” Michiko whispered. “Something you borrowed.”

  Kiko stared at her blankly. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

  “I want the watch,” Michiko said, pointing to her friend’s wrist.

  Kiko’s eyes flicked open. Then they half closed and opened again.

  Mr. Sagara rubbed his face, smearing ink on his forehead. “Najii des’ka?” he asked as he got off the stool and came toward them. “Do you have a watch?”

  “She said it was just an old thing,” Kiko hissed at Michiko. She turned to her uncle. “She doesn’t need it. Mrs. Morrison’s got a huge clock in her hallway.”

  Mr. Sagara fixed his dark eyes on Kiko. “Did Mrs. Morrison say you could have it?”

  Kiko looked away.

  “Did Mrs. Morrison tell you that you could have it?” he repeated.

  Kiko bit her bottom lip. Her eyes sparkled with tears.

  “Kiko was supposed to put it on the mantel, but she put it on her wrist instead,” Michiko blurted out. “Mrs. Morrison doesn’t know where it
is.”

  Kiko stared at her in disbelief.

  “Well, then,” Mr. Sagara said, taking a deep breath, “give the watch to Michiko.”

  Kiko yanked back the sleeve of her sweater. She undid the clasp, removed it, and slammed it into Michiko’s outstretched hand. She slumped on to the chair and crossed her arms.

  “Well,” Mr. Sagara said, “you have your hakujin watch back. You can go home now.”

  Michiko fixed her eyes on Mr. Sagara, wondering what to say. Suddenly Geechan’s voice floated into her head. “Those who make the first bad move always lose the game,” Michiko said to him before she opened the door.

  Mr. Sagara blinked rapidly.

  Michiko turned on her heel and left. All the way home her eyes smarted. How could she and Kiko possibly stay friends now?

  At the bridge, hearing the sound of tires on snow, Michiko moved to let the vehicle pass.

  “Hey, there,” Bert’s voice called out to her. “What are you doing way out here?” He leaned across the seat and opened the truck door.

  Michiko’s hand went to her pocket. What if Bert found out she had Mrs. Morrison’s watch? It took him a long time to accept the Japanese people living in his town. This could change everything.

  “Hop in,” he said. “I’m going to the General Store.”

  Michiko climbed into the truck, glad of the warm interior. “Thanks,” was all she could say. Her mind was full of what to do next.

  When she got home, Mr. Katsumoto and Mr. Hayashi sat at the soda fountain counter.

  “What’s the matter?” her father asked as she took off her hat. “You look upset.”

  “Snowball fight,” Michiko said removing her boots.

  “In a word,” she heard Mr. Hayashi say, “dispersal.”

  “We’ve been uprooted for more than two years already,” her father complained.

  “If I can get work in Raymond, Alberta, they’ll let me play in the Southern Alberta Sugar Belt League,” Mr. Katsumoto said.

  “You want to harvest sugar beets with a college education?” Sam replied.

  “The evacuation ended the Asahi team,” Michiko heard her teacher say as she mounted the stairs. “At least I’d get a chance to play.”