Riggs disappeared down the hallway. A door opened. Then another.
Out of the corner of her eye, she felt Parker looking at her. “What?”
He smirked. “Spies, huh?”
“What kind of fool arrests three schoolteachers on espionage?” she said.
“Captain Riggs might be gruff, but he’s a fair man.”
“I don’t like him.”
His face clouded over. “What did he do?”
“I just don’t like his kind.”
Their eyes locked and Parker offered a smile. Nothing big. But enough to put a dent in her annoyance and weaken her knees.
He leaned back on the desk. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but is there any way Setsuko might be working both sides?”
Violet wanted to tear her hair out every time an allegation was made toward her friend. “She’s not working anything.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am right.”
He stood up and walked over to the window, stooping to look out. “Your friend being Japanese doesn’t help matters.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Violet, I’m here to help. But you’re up against a war and people who have done terrible things to our country.”
“What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“Rules change in wartime.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the pattering of rain against the flimsy tin roof. On not breaking down, though her heart felt pinched and pressed and ready to burst. Fairness was a thing of the past. Reason skewed.
Riggs returned a few minutes later and looked at Parker as he spoke. “We’ll be keeping them here. Until further notice.”
The room froze around her. “Sir, you can’t do this. Our kids are at home.”
He looked down at a paper on his desk, avoiding her gaze. “With an adult, are they not?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“I’ll allow a phone call. How about that?”
Parker broke in, “What if you release them to me? I’ll take them home, sleep in the jeep and be accountable.”
Riggs had developed a shiny film on his forehead. “That’s not how it works here. They aren’t going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this.”
Violet felt herself turn to stone. Immobilized. Petrified.
* * *
The jailhouse was really a jail tent. Gusts of wind pumped the canvas roof and rainwater dripped in the corners, leaving small pools on the wood floor. Anyone with a mind to get out would have only had to slit a hole in the wall and climb through, and Violet half wished she had a knife.
Jean stomped her feet back and forth for warmth. “We would have all been better off using the gas mask sitting on the shelf in there.”
Violet shuddered. “Be serious, Jean. We’re in a heap of trouble here.”
“I am being serious, and by the way, I’d like to get ahold of the knucklehead who reported this,” she said.
Setsuko had a deep crease in her forehead and Violet felt the fear coming off of her in waves. This was no longer about those people, intangible others, but scraping across their very own skin.
“This feels like one of those awful nightmares that you want to wake up from, but can’t. Where you’re screaming but no sound comes out,” Jean said, slipping onto one of the cots against the back wall.
Setsuko stood just inside the doorway, not bothering to move. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me being who I am.”
“But you haven’t done anything wrong,” Jean said.
Violet grabbed a scratchy army blanket and tossed it to Setsuko. “Come. Sit.”
Setsuko was right, of course, but the fact was that all three of them were here. Until they sorted this mess out.
“The bottom line is this—we know we are innocent. We just have to prove it,” Violet said, pulling her cot closer to Jean’s and Setsuko’s.
“I will never be innocent. As long as this war is going on. Look at all the innocent people living in relocation centers on the mainland.”
“The difference here is that only people who are considered a threat are being taken away. So if we can prove we aren’t a threat, you’ll be in the clear,” Jean said.
“She’s right.”
Silent tears wet Setsuko’s cheeks. “There’s no decency to these men. Umi and Hiro are probably sick with fear.”
“Aww, honey, it’ll be okay,” Jean said.
No, it won’t. Not for a long, long time, Violet thought.
The phone call home had not gone over well, but Violet had minimized their situation as best she could, telling the kids it was too late for them to be driven home in this kind of weather. Ella would start up on bed-wetting again and likely open a whole new row of scabs on her arms. Umi and Hiro would probably be developing stomach ailments if they hadn’t already. And who knew what would happen to the pies.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Maybe it would be easier for all of us to be in a relocation center. At least we’d be together,” Setsuko said.
“We are getting out of here. Tomorrow. So, stop talking like that,” Jean said.
Violet unfolded the scratchy blanket that smelled like horse and kerosene, and lay back on the cot. A cloud of dust formed around her head. “It’s going to be a long night. Let’s try to get some rest,” she said.
Jean sighed and Setsuko sniffled. Between the thumping of the tent and the echo of men’s voices, morning seemed years away. The sound of breathing filled the room.
Just when Violet’s eyelids were growing heavy, Jean piped up. “What do you think they would do to us if we really were spies?”
“We aren’t really spies,” Violet said.
“But say we were.”
She nudged Jean in the ribs.
“I’m just curious.”
“I suppose we would go on trial and they’d have to show evidence. Like the Doll Woman.”
A small laugh escaped Jean’s mouth. “I had forgotten about her. Velvalee Dickinson. What kind of name is Velvalee, anyway?”
They had read about the Doll Woman earlier that year, sending coded messages about the US Navy to a woman in Argentina who also worked for the Japanese. The letters mentioned dolls and doll repairs, but were really talking about ships. Velvalee had gone on trial and was eventually convicted. Ten years and ten thousand dollars.
“Worst case is that we get charged, but they wouldn’t have any evidence against us,” Violet said.
“How awful would that be? To be imprisoned and have our names and honor dragged through the mud?” Jean asked.
“It won’t happen,” Violet said.
Setsuko then voiced what Violet had been wondering all along. “I’d like to know what the signals coming from your house said.”
“You and me both.”
No one spoke for a while and Violet could almost hear her friend’s thoughts, fervently sorting through possibilities. And then the bagpipes started up, sorrowful notes jabbing at the night sky.
“Am I dreaming?” Jean whispered.
“I wish you were.”
“Not only is it ice-cold, but that music is fit for a funeral and this blanket is liable to give me a rash,” Jean said.
“My teeth won’t stop chattering, either,” Setsuko said. “Let’s combine blankets and use body warmth.”
They rearranged themselves, cot to cot and under three blankets hardly big enough for one man. Being sandwiched between two of her closest friends in the world added a small measure of warmth and comfort, and despite the pit of worry in her stomach, Violet felt herself drifting off. Her last thoughts were of signals flashing from her house to a Japanese submarine lurking off the cliffs, beneath the wind-battered surface of the ocean. She wondered what
the message said.
* * *
How did I end up here? was a question that Violet pondered as minutes dragged past as sleep came intermittently. On an island in the middle of the Pacific, no husband, a fragile daughter, surrounded by American soldiers, bolstered up by friends, terrified of Japanese attack, and now being accused of working for the very people who had turned her world upside down—everyone’s world, for that matter. Life sure had a knack for surprises, and she was growing tired of it.
The three of them were just stirring when someone opened the flap that served as a door. The early-morning light flooded the room for a second and in walked a young man in uniform with a jug of water and a plate of biscuits. He set them down on an empty cot.
“Morning, ladies. Eat up,” he said, then turned and left.
“I need coffee, not food, to face this day,” Jean said to the door behind him.
Violet immediately pictured their kitchen at home thick with the smells of dark-roasted coffee and morning rain. Pies would be stacked in the icebox, waiting for the journey into Waimea that now wouldn’t happen. Irene was probably frantically trying to calm the kids and find out what on earth to do with them. Maybe making porridge. Surely she couldn’t keep the three kids indefinitely.
The kitchen had always been the hub of the home, even more so now that it was the only room with blackout windows. Sitting in the kitchen, listening to the radio and helping Jean cook was a balm for her soul. She imagined Ella coming and going through the swinging door to show her drawings, grab a cup of milk or tell her about a new red-beaked bird in the yard. Wait.
Violet bolted upright.
“I know what it was!”
Jean, who was already sitting cross-legged with her hair piled in a bun, jumped. “What was?”
Setsuko sat up, too.
“Riggs was right about it being from our house, but there was no signal being sent. What they thought was a signal was our swinging door opening and closing. And that was the night the soldiers were there when we did a lot of coming and going,” Violet said.
Jean focused hard on her face, then leaned over and hugged her. “Violet, you are a genius! We need to tell them, right away so we can get out of this god-awful tent. It smells like putrid socks.”
Setsuko wore a look of hesitant optimism.
“Is the tent door open?” Violet asked.
Jean scooted over and tried to pull the flap open. It must have been secured from the other side. “They don’t trust us.” She called out as she wiggled the handle. “Hello?”
Their jail tent was three tents down from Riggs’s office, and who knew if any of the other tents had inhabitants. This tent had no windows, just cracks in the floorboards that let the cool air in.
“Hello!” Jean called out again.
“I imagine they can’t just leave us here all day.”
“Actually, they could,” Setsuko said.
Jean put her lips to the fold in the canvas and belted out. “Somebody let us out of here. Right now!”
“Calm down. We aren’t out of the woods yet,” Violet said.
The interior of the tent was dim and stuffy, and she wanted out just as badly. Wanted to get home to Ella. A few minutes later, the canvas parted and Riggs himself entered. He tied the flap to one side. “What’s all the ruckus here?”
A few seconds later, Sergeant Stone poked his head in. Violet’s hand immediately went to her hair and smoothed down her flyaways. He smiled.
Jean’s cheeks were pink, and her words came out stacked on top of themselves. “Violet figured it out, Captain! The swinging door in our kitchen is responsible for the flashing lights coming from our house.”
“Sir, we are not spies,” Setsuko said.
Riggs squinted at each one of them, huddled together on the cots. “Explain.”
Violet continued. “Especially when we have company over, we go in and out of the kitchen a lot. The swinging door lets a brief burst of light out with each pass. It would look like a blinking light from afar.”
It made perfect sense. Riggs scratched his chin.
Parker eased in closer, but still hung back. “We ate outside on account of the heat, so there was a lot of coming and going through that door. Look, Captain, these women are solid characters. There is not one bad intention in that house. I would swear on a stack of Spam cans.”
Riggs began pacing, the stale scent of smoke in his wake. Violet couldn’t wait for fresh air and to be clear of this ridiculous charge.
“You don’t think our men would know the difference between a swinging door and a signal?” Riggs said.
“Mistakes happen, sir. And this would be an honest one,” Parker said.
She remembered every detail of the night the soldiers had visited. Bursts of light from the kitchen, music filling the night, Parker’s hand on her waist.
Riggs growled. “I will need to see this for myself. Investigate.”
“You know where we live, and we have nothing to hide,” Jean said, flattening her skirt.
To Violet, it seemed as though Riggs wanted them to be guilty, whether they were or not. She suspected it had something to do with skin color. “Come over tonight and we can demonstrate,” she offered.
“Let me drive these ladies home. They’ve been held long enough and they have kids at home,” Parker said.
It took some persuading, even a little posturing, but Parker won out in the end.
As soon as Violet stepped outside, she was reminded of the bitter cold in Waimea. Perhaps the air was thinner, or maybe it funneled down from the high summits after skimming the snow. Whatever the cause, she felt the cold sticking behind her knees, on the back of her neck. The three of them huddled on the small porch, waiting for their ride, as the wind tried to strip them of clothing.
“I was worried I may never see the light of day again,” Setsuko said.
Jean squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s just be thankful we sorted it out.”
“I don’t know about sorting it out, but at least we bought ourselves some time,” Violet said.
“He’ll change his tune once he sees,” Jean said.
Violet only wished she had the same faith. “If they treat a couple of schoolteachers like this, I’d hate to see how they treat the men they’re hauling off.”
As soon as the words came out, she realized her error. Setsuko’s arms hung at her sides, and she stared off into some unreachable place. No sobbing, no overt show of anger, just the look of pure pain in her eyes.
“Sorry, that was dumb of me to say,” Violet said.
Setsuko blinked rapid-fire. “It’s nothing I don’t think about twenty-six hours a day, so don’t worry.”
Violet tightened her arm around Setsuko. She, of all people, knew the weight of losing a love, and the way it pressed in on you from all sides, draining away your own life. Even worse was watching what it did to your kid. Why couldn’t there be a Band-Aid for patching up shattered hearts?
A jeep swung around the corner, kicking up a cloud of dust. Parker jumped out and ran around to open the passenger door. “Hop in, ladies. I grabbed a few blankets for the ride.”
Jean and Setsuko climbed into the back, leaving Violet up front. She draped the scratchy blanket around herself. It smelled of mothballs, but she wasn’t complaining. Once they hit the edge of town, the sun emerged from behind a row of eucalyptus trees. Last night’s downpour had left the air smelling somewhere between tree bark and melted cow pies. If they hadn’t just been terrified to pieces, Violet would have wanted to pull over and soak it all in.
Parker had to yell above the engine. “You know, one of the reasons everyone is so touchy is someone claims to have spotted another Japanese sub off Hilo.”
“Recently?”
“Don’t say I told you. It’s probably just a rumor. But no one wants to be caught off guard ag
ain, so all threats are taken seriously.”
Put in those terms, Violet could hardly blame the captain. But that didn’t excuse his insinuations. What scared her the most was the fact that they could no longer count on anything to be normal. Black was green. Orange was blue. The element of living on the edge of her seat wore away at her seams. In a sense, this episode had been a drill. What if the Japanese landed? What if they were taken in by the enemy?
Smoke in our faces would be the least of our worries.
Moments later, a speckled brown owl swooped low across their path. Setsuko called out from the back, her words nearly stolen by the wind. “Pueo!”
When a pueo flew across your path, you counted yourself lucky. She had learned at least that much in her years in Hawaii. Not big on superstition, but any luck that came her way was more than welcome.
As they bounced along, Violet swore she could feel Parker sneaking glances her way. She held firm and kept her eyes on the rutted road ahead. “The morning glow suits you,” Parker said in a voice so low, she thought maybe she’d misheard.
But when she looked over, the grin on his face confirmed it.
“Everyone looks better in low light, Sergeant.”
He laughed. “There you go, calling me Sergeant again. Not good with compliments, are you?”
He was looking at her again. She could feel the burn of his stare. “Keep your eyes on the road. This stretch is dangerous,” she said.
“You want to know dangerous?”
“I don’t think I do.”
Why did everything he say cause her skin to heat up, like someone had taken a warm stone and pressed it across her cheeks? He reminded her of Johnny Martinez, at whom it was impossible to stay mad. That same earnestness worn on his sleeve. Only in this case, she was dealing with a bona fide man.
“Can I ask you a favor, Sergeant?”
“Fire away.”
“We are supposed to be selling pies near the USO. Ella is dying to see Roscoe. He’s all she can talk about. Would you bring him by?”
“You ladies are going to turn around and come back?”
“We need to.”
“Well then, we’ll be there.”
Violet looked back to check on her friends, who had fallen quiet. Jean’s head was down and bobbing, while Setsuko stared out the window. Violet leaned her head back and watched the outline of trees beneath the sky. Each branch formed its own pattern against the gold-tinged sky. She wanted to think about Herman, but her mind kept yanking her back to the soldier sitting next to her.
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 12