Violet immediately looked over at the picture wall, where Herman smiled out at them from a silver frame. “None for me, thank you.”
“Oh, V. At least keep an open mind.”
No one understands. On more than one occasion, Violet had stated clearly that she would not be with another man until she knew whether Herman was dead for certain. The unknowing burned through her in the wee hours of the night. But as time moved on, him being found alive grew less and less likely. Still, a place inside her heart couldn’t close the door.
“Think of it as more for you,” Violet said.
Anyway, wasn’t Jean losing sleep over Bud? One minute she cried over him, and the next, she exposed her dimples to any handsome man who so much as looked her way. On the account that they needed to use up the honeycombs from Mr. Keko’olani, Violet agreed on the chocolate honeycomb pie.
The ladies promptly got to mixing and pouring and layering. Honeycomb in chocolate, coconut on the purple sweet potato. These pies seemed far more exotic than anything Violet’s mother would have made in Minnesota. Apple, cherry, pumpkin, thank you very much.
“Any word from Takeo this week?” Violet asked.
“Wednesday a short postcard came. Most of the prisoners have been sent to Oahu, so there is plenty of space and enough food, but he said that the guards follow them everywhere, with their bayonets fixed. He promised he’s fine, but I know he’s worried sick they’re going to send him to the mainland. If he goes to the mainland, we go, too.”
“I never got in touch with the governor,” Violet said. “I guess he doesn’t accept calls from schoolteachers in Honoka’a. He has more important things to tend to. But there has to be a way to get Takeo out.”
Setsuko’s once-round cheeks had flattened. Her jawline stood out as she spoke. “No one has yet told him what the new information was that caused his arrest. Maybe if we find that out.”
“The sad thing is, no one needs a reason,” Jean said.
Setsuko said, “Being Japanese is reason enough.”
The words hung thick between them.
“Not everyone is so dumb, but unfortunately, a few people in charge think that way,” Violet said. She had asked Irene Ferreira first thing, but Irene hadn’t heard a peep. “Jean and I can ask around, because it sounds like in Takeo’s case, they suspect something.”
“I’m only thirty, and look, I have gray hair now.” Setsuko held her head down. Sure enough, a few strands of silver had sprouted almost overnight.
“You and me both,” Violet said.
Setsuko attempted a smile.
* * *
They decided on baking sixteen pies for the first day of selling. Better not enough than too many, in case no one was buying. But with twenty-three thousand homesick marines, the odds were in their favor.
Jean scooped out the last of the chocolate. “Call the kids in to lick the bowl. Oh, by the way, I ran into Irene Ferreira on my way back from town. She asked if she could stop in and I couldn’t say no.”
“She has her sights on Zach. That’s plain as day,” Violet said.
“That woman can’t keep her mouth shut, but she usually has a lot of valuable information. I’ll ask her to keep her ears open for Takeo,” Setsuko suggested, having to shout over the rain, which was spilling down and now blowing sideways.
“I already asked.”
The leading edge of the storm had arrived, and with it much cooler air.
“Lord Almighty, that rain is about my best friend right now,” Jean said.
With the rain, which sounded like marbles being poured onto the tin roof, came a pounding on the door. “Come on in, Irene. We’re in the kitchen.”
Ella poked her head in, her face pale. “It’s not Irene.”
Violet walked out. Two uniformed men stood on the other side of the screen, faces deadpan. The tall one wore two bars on his shoulder. “Jean Quinlan or Violet Iverson?”
“I’m Violet.” She turned around to see strips of Jean’s and Setsuko’s faces peering out from the kitchen. “Can I help you?”
The short one held the door open. “Mind if we come in out of the rain?”
They were on a tight schedule and Jean was in her underwear, but she swung the door open. “Please, come in, but we’re quite busy, so if you’d get to the point of your visit.”
The kids stopped their card game and stared. “Ella, please take Umi and Hiro into the bedroom to finish your game.”
All the life had drained from her daughter’s face and she made no move to leave. Umi grabbed Ella by the hand and dragged her down the hallway.
“Mrs. Iverson, I’m Officer Beckworth and this is First Lieutenant Decker. We’re here on official business. Please ask your friends in the kitchen to join us.”
“I’ll need to get something from the bedroom first,” she said.
A dress for Jean, to start.
Lieutenant Decker cleared his throat, but there was nothing in it to clear. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to stay where we can see you.” He hollered toward the kitchen. “Ladies, please come out here.”
She didn’t like the threat in his tone. “Are we in some kind of trouble?”
The aroma of baking chocolate seeped into the room, mixed with salt carried in with the rain. It was a smell to win hearts and steal alliances. Most regular folk would have commented on the sweetness of it. Not these men.
“We’ve reason to believe that messages are being sent from this house, possibly to the Japanese. I’m afraid you ladies are going to have to come with us.”
Violet laughed. “I assure you, you have the wrong house.”
Both men remained stone-faced. “No question, ma’am.”
Setsuko appeared next to her, a study in solemn.
“We’re schoolteachers at Honoka’a School, and my husband used to be principal. Look at us. Do we look like spies to you?” Violet said.
She fought to keep her heartbeat down, while time seemed to turn to cotton. Her mind flipped through questions. Was Herman somehow involved with the Japanese after all? But they had lived in a different house. Jean? No way.
Jean marched out of the kitchen in her apron and underwear, waving a chocolate-covered spoon. “Fellas, in case you haven’t noticed, we have pies in the oven. Pies that we are baking for the soldiers, no less. Leaving right now is out of the question.” Jean sneaked a wink in when the two men glanced at each other.
Officer Beckworth kept his gaze on the rug. “Ladies, I suggest you get yourselves together, turn off the oven and put some clothes on. It’s cold where we’re going.” When he spoke, his upper lip folded under, exposing a set of rat teeth. All he needed was a set of whiskers.
More than a few seconds passed and no one moved. That was precisely when Irene Ferreira walked in, wearing a long pink skirt and a white blouse dotted with rain. “I hope I haven’t missed the party!”
The cheer vanished from her face as soon as she saw the men.
“And you are?” Lieutenant Decker asked.
“Irene Ferreira. A friend. What’s this all about?”
“Well, Irene, if you’re not busy tonight, maybe you’d like to stay here and mind the children. Your friends will be coming with us to headquarters,” he said.
“What about the pies?” Jean said.
With an ugly sneer, Decker looked Setsuko up and down. “You sure you’re not putting poison in those pies?”
If Violet had had the guts, she would have slapped him hard across the cheek. Instead, she glared. He was the sort of miserable man who overinflated when given power. “Please, this is all a big mistake. You have to tell us more.”
“Back at camp. Go get your dress on,” he said to Jean, then turned to Violet and Setsuko. “You two stay here.”
As best she could, Jean swung that peachy bottom of hers slowly into t
he hallway, giving them a little wiggle before she disappeared. If Violet hadn’t been shaking in anger, she might have laughed. But it was wartime. People had been carted off, shot at, locked up. Times were different.
A small voice called out. “Mama?”
All three kids stood at the edge of the hallway. “Irene is going to stay with you guys. We’re going to Waimea to straighten up a misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about.”
Ella didn’t look convinced, and Umi was crying. Violet feared especially for Setsuko, whom she’d persuaded to join them and now was being carted off to who knew where. Even a seed of suspicion would be enough to cause real trouble for her friend.
“Officers, our children have lost their fathers. Can you see what this is doing to them?” Violet pleaded. She was struck by how much these children had to endure.
The men softened. “Say your goodbyes, and if all is as you say, you’ll be back in no time.”
When Jean returned, Irene had her arms around the children. All faces were wet. “Thank you, Irene, and please put the next round of pies in for an hour. The timer should ring soon.”
“You got it.”
The last thing Violet heard as she hoisted herself into the jeep was the splitting sound of Ella wailing.
Chapter Sixteen
Violet
They drove through fog and fierce rain. In the front seat, every time Violet opened her mouth to speak, Beckworth, who drove, said, “Wait.” She felt soaked, inside and out. At the very edge of Camp Tarawa, they crossed a line in the sky. The downpour stopped and a tangle of stars was visible all the way to the horizon. He hadn’t been kidding, either. Waimea was a good ten degrees colder than Honoka’a.
Unable to contain her shivers, Violet tucked her legs up underneath her skirt. The jeep bounced down the dirt road, past the tent barracks to a small wooden building. Whatever these men had in mind for them, she didn’t care. Her thoughts were on Ella.
The men marched them into an office with an older man sitting behind a desk. Even in the dim light, the first thing she noticed were the bushy eyebrows, and how they shadowed his eyes so you could barely see them. “Well, well. What do we have here?”
“The suspects from Honoka’a, sir,” Lieutenant Decker said.
At the word suspects Violet felt ready to explode.
Swirls of smoke rose up from the man’s nose. “Ladies, have a seat. I’m Captain Riggs, chief intelligence officer.”
“Captain, I demand to know why you’ve brought us here,” Violet said.
He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Last week, one of our ships noticed flashing lights coming from the area in which you live. The code guys on board believed it to be a signal being sent to Japanese submarines that we know are still out there.”
Jean piped up. “And you think it’s us? Horsefeathers! Someone isn’t doing their job.”
Riggs stared at Jean, whose glossy red lips were about the only thing of color in the room. “We sent a plane out and determined the exact location. Which, I hate to tell you, is the house you three were found in tonight. You two are the only adults presently living in the house. Correct?”
“Correct,” Violet said, wondering where the dickens he was going with this.
“But you live near Mrs. Hamasu.” He nodded toward Setsuko. “And she frequently visits with you?”
“She does, with her kids. We make paper animals, knit dresses for chickens and bake pies for soldiers. It’s a dangerous operation, sir,” Violet said.
The two officers standing behind split up laughing, but Riggs remained stiff as a plank. “You understand we have to investigate anything suspicious. And this is, especially knowing that Mrs. Hamasu’s husband is believed to have ties with the Japanese.”
Setsuko stood still as a mountain, scarcely breathing.
“Captain, please. My brother is a marine at this camp, Zachary Quinlan. Call on him to vouch for us,” Jean pleaded.
Violet thought of Parker. “And Sergeant Stone. They’ve been with us for dinner.”
Riggs scratched his chin, then picked up his radio. “Jed, ask Sergeant Stone to come to my office.” He hung up and turned his attention back on his detainees. “In the meantime, we’re going to interview you all separately.”
Decker and Beckworth escorted Jean and Setsuko down the hall, where they disappeared behind closed doors. Alone with Riggs, Violet wrapped her wool scarf tighter around her neck. He stretched out his legs and plunked his thready boots on the table, even offered her a cigarette.
“No, thank you.”
“So, you’re a widow?”
“My husband is missing.”
Widow was about her least favorite word in the world. The first time someone had used it on her, it was like a full-body slap.
“Must get lonely,” he said.
“Loneliness is a convenience I don’t have time for. Can we keep on the subject of my alleged espionage?”
Riggs stared up at the ceiling and blew smoke rings, one after another, into the already stale air. “So your husband disappeared. Rumor has it he was sympathetic to the Japanese. Care to elaborate?”
The dead could not defend themselves, so the work had been left to her. She hated that Herman’s honor be questioned as it had been along the way.
“My husband was sympathetic to the human race. To friends. In case you haven’t noticed, we live in a town full of Japanese. When you live and work side by side, you befriend them. Simple. But he was loyal to America. Head of the Hawaii Rifles here in Honoka’a, for goodness’ sake.”
Outside, a row of tanks rumbled past, drowning out her final words. Riggs paused. She tried to imagine what it would be like across the ocean, trapped in a place where the threat of being blown up loomed constant. Hawaii was bad enough, hiding behind blackened windows from Japanese Zeros and mortar shells.
When the quiet reassembled, Riggs continued. “What about Takeo Hamasu? Your husband helped keep him out of camp right after Pearl Harbor. And then your husband vanishes. How do we know you’re not in on it?”
“My husband was helping an innocent friend keep a little school running.”
“Pearl Harbor changed things. People became spies overnight,” Riggs said.
“Sir, no offense to my husband, but he wasn’t inventive enough to be any kind of spy. He operated strictly by the books, and all he cared about was running his school and keeping order in our small world. He had a garden, sold vegetables. That’s it. I would have known he was up to something else.”
Violet had given herself headaches over this—wondering how well indeed she knew her own husband. She felt confident in her statement to Riggs about Herman, but there was always a side to people never known to anyone else. Even a spouse. His words rang through her. “People became spies overnight.”
“Maybe you’re the ringleader, not your husband.”
Her lungs burned and she was losing patience. “Ringleader of a secret pie operation.”
“Who knows? Maybe you’re putting some kind of poison or moonshine in your pies?” He lifted an eyebrow.
A laugh escaped. “Sir, you have this all wrong. Describe the signals from our house. There must be another explanation.”
“I’ll ask the questions.”
“You’re wasting your breath.”
Violet worried for herself, but even more so for Setsuko. Who knew to what lengths Riggs and his men would go to force some kind of confession out of her? Even if she had nothing to confess to.
A few seconds later, the door opened. Parker walked in with a cool gust of wind. He saluted. “Captain Riggs.”
“Stone, this woman says she knows you.”
Parker looked at her and his face softened. She suddenly felt stupid for involving him. What did he really know of her, anyway? Aside from the fact that she made a swell pie and was a terrible dancer.
“Why is she here?” he said to Riggs.
Violet burst out. “Not just me. Setsuko and Jean are in the other rooms.”
Riggs lit another cigarette. “Your gal friends have been sending signals out of their house.”
A wind gust tore through the camp, shaking the thin walls and groaning as it moved through the cracks. She felt her chair vibrate.
“Was anyone able to decode the signals?” Parker asked.
At least maybe Riggs would listen to him.
“Not in front of the woman, Sergeant.” Riggs nodded in Violet’s direction.
“And you are sure of the location?” Parker asked.
She watched the way the sides of his mouth curved up when he spoke. How his hands joined in the conversation, waving around with a life of their own. When he caught her looking, he gave a subtle thumbs-up. Instantly it was like someone smoothed a layer of healing salve across her worried parts.
“One hundred percent,” Riggs said.
Even in the cold air, sweat formed on the back of her neck, and her palms heated up. Was Jean or Setsuko—or maybe both—involved in something sinister that had also gotten Herman killed? Was she the naive one in all this? Violet combed her mind for anything out of place. Her friends acting strangely or other subtle clues. She came up with nothing.
“You know what makes me mad?” she said, glaring at Riggs.
His bushy eyebrow arched. “Tell me.”
“That all your allegations made me question my friends for a few seconds there. But you’re wrong, sir. None of us are spies. I know this one hundred percent.”
Stone cut in. “Captain, I was at the house last Friday with some of my boys. The women were with us the whole time, and in the kitchen. Even Roscoe was there.”
“And in the kitchen.” His words tickled at her unconscious. Was someone in the kitchen flashing lights? Maybe Ella had been playing and somehow the plane had mistaken whatever she was doing for signals.
“The boys know what they saw. Stone, watch this one. I’m going to go check on the others.”
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 11