by Jan Morrill
Her head tilted and a tiny gasp escaped her smile. “How do you know my name?”
That was dumb. Now she’d know he’d been interested in her. “Uh, my friend, Kazu, knows you. He told me your name when we were all at Santa Anita together.”
“You were at Santa Anita, too?”
Damn. He was sure Kazu told him she’d stared at him that day in the mess hall. Had he made it up? His knees felt weak. “Yes. But we’ve been here at Rohwer since September. When did you get here?”
“We’ve been here since October. It’s very different from California, isn’t it?”
“Very,” he said, reluctantly taking his gaze from her and staring up at the tall trees. But it will be a lot better with you here. He wiped his hand on his jeans pocket before extending it toward her. “My name is Nobu. Nobu Kimura.”
She bowed slightly and gave him her hand.
At her touch, something warm surged through his body—the feel of her soft hand in his. He squeezed, a reflex.
A soft giggle—a purr—escaped her playful smile. “Nice to officially meet you, Nobu-san.”
The lilt in her voice made his heart race. He let go of her hand, crossed his arms and studied her, until he realized he was staring. Then, he tore his gaze away to find something else to look at.
How strange she made him feel. One minute, like the strongest man in the world. The next, a weak and vulnerable boy.
“What are you doing in the woods by yourself?” he asked. Was that too protective? Or worse, possessive? “I mean, I don’t know if it’s safe around here. A few weeks ago, I ran into some local hunters. They thought I was a Japanese spy.”
Her eyes widened. “A spy?”
“Yeah,” he replied, puffing his chest.
She stepped toward the deeper woods, scanning the ground. “Well, my father has the flu, so he’s too sick to gather wood.” She glanced at Nobu with flirty eyes. “And I don’t have a big, strong brother to do the man’s work. Mother said she was cold, so that left me to gather some wood.” She knelt to pick up a stick and placed it in the large bag she carried.
He reached for it, touching her shoulder. So delicate, he wanted to linger there. “Here, let me carry that for you.”
“Thank you, Nobu.”
The farther they walked into the forest, the more alone with her he felt, and the stronger his urge to be close to her. To smell her skin, her hair.
The wind brushed his face. He wanted to feel her touch.
Stop thinking those things. You’ve only just met her.
An uncomfortable silence walked with them, like an unwanted chaperone. Struggling to hold back such strong and true feelings, he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Yuki spoke. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
At last, a safe topic. “I have an older brother, Taro. He’s with the 100th Infantry Battalion. Then, there’s Sachi, my little sister.”
“You’re lucky. I often wish I had a brother or sister. It’s hard being the only child. Especially in camp. Mother and Father have very high expectations.” She pulled at her sweater and folded her arms across her chest.
“Are you cold?” He tossed the bag to the ground and removed his jacket.
“Just a little.”
He placed his coat over her shoulders and wanted to leave his arm to rest there. But he thought better of it, and knelt to pick up another branch. “Yuki, anytime you need help with something a brother might do, let me know.”
She stopped and turned to him, bowing slightly. “Thank you, Nobu-san. Then, you will be like a brother to me?”
A tingly, uncertain feeling struck him in the gut. Was that mischief sparkling in her eyes? “Well … ,”—he laughed, a little too goofy, a little too loud—“maybe not your brother.”
She touched his arm as she placed a handful of twigs in the bag. “I was teasing, silly.”
They walked and talked, shared laughter and a few moments of awkward silence. Nobu moved close to her, then away again, like an accordion, unable to find just the right note.
When, the bag was full, crammed with branches and twigs, he wondered how much time had passed. All he knew was it had flown too quickly.
“I should probably get home before my parents begin to worry,” Yuki said.
Panic set in. When would he see her again? Should he ask her to Thanksgiving lunch? No, too soon for that. When they turned in the direction of the camp, he wasn’t sure what pulsed faster—his pounding heart or the rampant thoughts in his head. When? Think!
They walked from the woods, into the bright light of day. She was even prettier in the sunlight, where her black hair glistened and the blush in her cheeks brightened. He tried not to stare. His hands sweated again.
“Thank you for helping me gather wood,” she said.
There! The excuse to see her again. “I’ll help you again tomorrow.”
She laughed. “I don’t think we’ll use all of this today. But maybe in a day or two?”
“Sure. Any time. Would you like me to check with you day after tomorrow?”
“That would be nice. We live in Block 20, three doors down from Kazu.”
Jealousy prickled at him. How’d Kazu get so lucky?
When they arrived at the gate, Private Collins greeted them with a broad smile. “Hello, Yuki. How’d it go, collecting wood?” His blue eyes lingered on her too long.
Now jealousy stung. Interrupting their interlude, Nobu showed the bag of wood to Collins. “We gathered all of this together. In a day or so, I’ll help her gather more.”
She’s mine.
Collins smiled at Nobu. “That’s good of you, man.” He pushed a clipboard toward them. “You two want to sign back in?”
Nobu kept his eye on Collins as Yuki signed first. He signed next, and the two walked through the gate together. He thought about putting his arm over her shoulder—show that guy Collins she was his. But he didn’t want to startle her. He casually moved closer to her instead.
“You two have a nice Thanksgiving,” Collins called.
Yuki turned around and waved. “You, too, Private Collins.”
Obliged, Nobu waved, without turning. “Yeah. You, too.”
Yuki reached to take the bag from Nobu. “I can take that now.”
“No, it’s heavy. I’ll carry it to your apartment for you.”
He felt out of control. His lingering jealousy was so consuming it left room only for the misery of leaving her.
Gusts of wind whipped around them as they strolled through the rows of barracks.
“Oh!” she cried.
Her skirt blew up over her knees, briefly exposing her thighs. The most beautiful patch of skin he’d ever seen.
When she clutched the pleats of her skirt and pushed it back down, Nobu’s jacket fell from her shoulders. Her cheeks blushed bright red when she knelt to pick it up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, returning the jacket with one hand and holding her skirt with the other. “I can wash it for you.”
He took the jacket. “It’s okay.” He smiled, but inside chided himself for his thoughts. A dirty jacket had certainly been worth the view of her lovely legs.
“Here we are,” she said, facing him.
He searched her eyes for any sign of the same disappointment he felt at parting.
“Shall I take the bag now?” she asked.
Such a pretty smile.
He took the strap from his shoulder and gently placed it over hers. “You sure you don’t want me to carry it inside for you?”
At once, her smile disappeared. Her eyes flashed. “No, I’ll do it.” She touched his arm. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A magnet to her metal, he couldn’t tear himself away.
Watch it. You’re making a fool of yourself.
Stepping away, she whispered, “I’d better go in now.”
“Right. I’ll see you in a few days, then. Bye for now, Yuki-san.” He watched her go inside and shut the door.
He shook his jacket before putting it on, and grinned at the memory of what he’d seen when it fell from Yuki’s shoulders. On second thought, maybe he’d leave a little dirt on the jacket as a reminder.
He headed in the direction of home, but stopped in his tracks. Damn! What was he thinking? He had no wood of his own. Mama would be full of questions. For that matter, so would Sachi.
Desperate for a solution, his mind raced with possible answers: He’d stayed to help Kazu with their Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe he had stopped by the mess hall to see what was for lunch. Neither of those stupid answers would satisfy Mama.
He had to find wood. Somewhere.
He jogged through row after row, frantically searching for anything that would burn. Time was running out. People were already walking to the mess hall for lunch.
A few stoops had wood piles neatly stacked beside them. He could “borrow” some—nobody would notice one or two missing pieces. But he couldn’t bring himself to steal from his neighbors, even to cover up his own lovesick foolishness.
There. The answer to his problem. Next to the administration building, a mountain of scrap lumber was piled near stacked two-by-fours used to build new barracks. Who would miss a few scraps?
Casually strolling by, he peeked through the windows of the building. Vacated for the holiday. One more quick glance around for anyone who might see. No one in sight, so he quickly gathered all he could shove inside his jacket. At least it would last the day.
He scurried home, feeling like a thief, sneaky and wicked. But this was survival. Damn government had no problem keeping the camp stocked with lumber for barracks for new internees. Why couldn’t they keep the place stocked with wood to keep the internees warm?
As he put his hand on the doorknob of their apartment, the door flew open.
Sachi stood on the other side, eyes flaring. “It’s about time you got home. Where have you been?”
Chapter 47
Terrence
Thanksgiving Day, 1942
Archy the Cockroach was back. From his bunk, Terrence watched the shiny, brown bug scurry into the cell from around the corner, clearly on a mission. Back at home he’d have leaped from his bed, grabbed a shoe, and smashed the critter to death. Back then, he’d even wondered why God put them on this earth.
Funny how circumstances could change the way you thought about things. Ever since Mr. Blake had given him that copy of Don Marquis’s archy and mehitabel, Terrence had changed his thinking about cockroaches—matter fact, he kinda liked this one. Sure, he’d snickered when Mr. Blake explained that Archy had been a poet in another life and that in his present form, it was difficult for him to continue his literary pursuits. The poor reincarnated creepy-crawly had a real challenge trying to type. Had to dive head first onto each key to type a letter. Since he couldn’t hit both the shift and letter keys to type a capital letter, his postings were all written in lowercase. No punctuation either.
Blake didn’t fool Terrence none. Nope. He’d figured the old guy out. Introducing Archy had been his way of getting Terrence to practice grammar—by correcting the mistakes of Archy the Cockroach.
He wouldn’t admit his secret fondness for Archy to anyone, not even to Momma. But the roach had become kinda like a pet. Terrence would watch for him to come home to the cell, and every once in a while, he’d feed him table scraps, like he used to with his dog, Jake, back home.
Terrence watched Archy zip back outside the bars and out of sight. He’d only stayed a few minutes. Must’ve gotten bored in the cell. Terrence could understand that. The fact that he had a pet cockroach spoke volumes about how bored he was. Too bad Terrence couldn’t come and go as he pleased, too. Sneak out unnoticed. Take a trip outside, even. Might not be so bad being a cockroach. Least he wouldn’t be stuck in that cell. ’Course, he’d have to watch out for the folks coming around with shoes in their hands.
Terrence looked up to see Carter’s feet swing over the top bunk. They hung there for a minute, then the bed creaked, and Carter groaned. “This mattress ain’t worth shit.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Terrence replied. “Oh, and happy Thanksgiving.”
Carter pushed off the top bunk and landed with a grunt. “Oh, yeah. Thanksgiving.” He stretched his hands to the ceiling, then scratched his crotch. “Your family coming for a visit today?”
“’Course. Yours?” Maybe he’d finally get to meet the mystery family. Carter still hadn’t let on much about them. All that did was make Terrence more curious.
Carter ran his fingers through his blond hair. “My ma said she might come … if she feels up to it.”
“She sick or something?”
Carter stretched his arms up on the bars and pressed against the cell door. He stared out and hissed. “Shit. Only when she’s had too much to drink the night before.”
The new information tongue-tied Terrence. What do you say about someone’s drunk mother? “Uh, maybe she’ll be here … since it’s a holiday and all.”
“Yeah, we’ll see. What time’s your family coming?”
“Momma said she’d be here with Patty and Missy sometime this morning. Your sister coming? What’d you say her name was?”
Carter stared at him, half studying, half glaring. “Her name’s Jenny.”
Time was passing even slower than usual. Terrence pushed his notebook away and tossed his pencil on top of it. He rubbed his dry eyes then stretched his arms over his head. He’d had enough—even correcting Archy’s mistakes had gotten dull. Heck, it wasn’t like there was anything else to do. Some days he thought he’d go crazy sitting in that cell, especially with a kid who didn’t have nothing to say. Sure never thought he’d be thankful for homework, but he praised God that Mr. Blake kept bringing him stuff to study. Anyways, he figured homework was like killing two birds with one stone—gave him something to keep him from getting more bored than he would’ve been, and if he was lucky, it got him closer to getting his high school diploma.
“Hey, Salt and Pepper,” said a guard. He shoved a key into the lock and jiggled. “What do you know? You both got visitors.”
Terrence stepped out first, not sure if he was more excited about seeing his family, or getting a glimpse of Carter’s.
Carter followed, holding his hands toward the guard for cuffing.
As they walked to the visitors’ area, Terrence leaned toward Carter. “Now I hate to say ‘I told you so’ but didn’t I tell you your momma would come, this being a holiday?”
Carter snickered and shook his head. “Yeah. Don’t know if her coming’s good or bad, though.”
Terrence had never seen the room so crowded with people. The air buzzed with voices. Hissed with whispers. Babies cried and kids pounded on the windows that divided the prisoners from their families. Every once in a while, the sounds of whimpering mommas or wives drifted above the mingling noises.
One of the guards jerked Terrence’s arm, and the quartet stopped at one of the tables. When Carter pulled out a chair, Terrence’s glance darted to the woman who sat behind the window.
He’d never seen a woman look so tired and sickly before—especially someone’s momma. Mommas were supposed to look like they could take care of their kids, but not this one. No, she looked like she was the one who needed taking care of. She might’ve made an effort to clean up some. Her stringy, blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, but half of it had already come undone. She watched Carter with gray eyes, bloodshot and sunken. And with such dark circles around them, he wondered if someone had punched her. Or, maybe those black rings were a permanent frame for eyes that reflected a hard-lived life. Seeing her sucked the energy right out of him.
He started to turn away when a girl sitting half-behind the woman peeked around. A younger, prettier version of her momma, she looked to be a little older than Patty. All he knew was, her blue eyes lit up when she saw Carter.
Carter sat down and looked up at Terrence, then nodded toward his momma and sister. “My ma and sister, Jenny.�
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Terrence smiled and waved.
The guard pushed him toward another table.
“See you back at the cell,” he said to Carter, then walked a few steps down. He heard a familiar squeal.
“Ooh, Momma! There he is, there’s Terrence!” Missy exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Patty leaned against Momma, all dressed up in her Thanksgiving finery, and smiling her pretty smile.
Momma stood. “Hey, baby. Happy Thanksgiving. I sure do wish I coulda brought you some food, but they told us we couldn’t bring nothing from the outside today.”
“That’s okay, Momma. They gonna feed us some turkey in the cafeteria later on.” He smiled, shaking his head. “Sure won’t be as good as yours though.”
“Whatcha gonna have for dessert, Tee?” Missy asked.
He wished he could hold his baby sister on his lap. Would she be too big once he got out? “Oh, probably some rat cobbler with vanilla ice cream. Maybe some nice, hot cockroach chip cookies.”
“Eeewww,” she cried.
Patty covered her mouth with her hand and giggled.
Momma grinned. “Now son, you be nice to your little sister. You know how much she been looking forward to seeing you?”
He leaned forward. “We gonna have pumpkin pie. Just like you!”
“How’s your studies coming along?” Momma asked.
“Okay, I guess. Mr. Blake said he’d come by tomorrow. It gets pretty boring sitting around doing homework so much of the day, but guess I ain’t … I don’t have anything better to do.”
“What’s your roommate like?” Patty asked.
Innocent Patty. Carter would get a chuckle out of being called his roommate. He glanced down the aisle and wondered how Carter was doing with his family. What kind of conversation does a momma recovering from a drunken binge have with her son? What was his sister like? Quiet and shy like Patty? Or silly and mischievous like Missy?
Patty knocked on the table. “Tee? What are you thinking about? Did you hear me?”
“Oh, yeah. My roommate. He’s cool.”
Momma straightened in her chair. “What do ‘cool’ mean?”
He slumped and stared down at his cuffed hands, not keen to talk about Carter to Momma, especially with his sisters around. The more he told them about all the stuff Mr. Blake had said about getting to know someone, about fear driving hate, the more they’d ask. Just wasn’t the right time to be bringing all that up. Stealing a glance back at Momma, he hoped something might sidetrack her away from the subject.