Dolls of Hope
Authors: Shirley Parenteau
Foothills Northwest of Tokyo
February 1927
B
reathless with possibility, eleven-year-old Chiyo clung to the side of her father’s oxcart. A big wicker basket tied in the back usually carried bamboo wind chimes her father made to sell at village festivals. It would be easy to climb inside and pull the lid over her head. She could ride unseen to the
omiai
with her seventeen-year-old sister and their parents. She could see the widowed man who had arranged to marry Masako.
No one would even know I’m there.
The risk tantalized her. None of the family really knew Yamada Nori. Chiyo longed to investigate him. In secret.
“He’s too old and lives too far away,” Chiyo said aloud to the ox. She glared into the animal’s soft brown eyes. “Lie down! Refuse to get up! Do not take my sister and parents behind that rich man’s high walls.”
The ox turned its head as if to say it was only an ox and must do as its master ordered.
Masako called from the doorway, “Chiyo-chan, I am to be married, not taken prisoner.”
“You may cry every day behind Yamada Nori’s locked gate,” Chiyo warned. “We will be too far away to know.”
Masako’s eyes shone. Chiyo thought she looked more like five than seventeen. “That is why the marriage broker arranged the
omiai
tonight. When
Otousan, Okaasan,
and I meet Yamada-san over the formal dinner, we will learn if we should object to the arranged marriage.”
From the glow in Masako’s eyes, Chiyo didn’t think her sister would notice if Yamada Nori’s big house was on fire. Would their parents? “I would notice anything wrong.”
“You!” Masako teased. “Younger sisters never attend an
omiai.
You might steal his attention from me!” Her smile became gentle. “You have your friend Yumi and her little sister, Kimi, to play with. You won’t be alone when I marry, Chiyo-chan. Look, I am giving you Momo.”
Chiyo reluctantly accepted the little doll shaped like a column with a round head. She had only one doll of her own, another wooden
kokeshi.
Masako’s Momo had a prettier kimono painted on her limbless body and a sweeter smile. But owning Momo wouldn’t make up for losing her sister.
“Masako,” their mother called from inside the house. “We must finish your hair. We will leave soon.”
“You should marry a man from our mountain village so we can visit you,” Chiyo called as her sister rushed inside. Masako didn’t answer. She was determined to travel down to richer land where Yamada Nori hired men and women to work his vast rice fields.
To the ox, Chiyo said, “My sister is making a terrible mistake.”
The ox mooed in its low voice, clearly agreeing with her, and drawing Chiyo’s attention back to the basket. If she did go — if she hid in the basket — she could slip through the dark and learn what Yamada Nori kept behind his high walls.
She might see something frightening for Masako and warn their parents. At the very least, she would see where her sister was to live. Then she could picture her sister’s life when they were separated and feel Masako close in her heart.
She climbed onto the side of the wagon and hesitated. She was risking her honor, but she reminded herself softly, “No one will ever know if Masako is miserable once those high gates close behind her!”
Her parents and sister were coming. The sound of their voices rushed Chiyo over the side of the cart and into the basket. When she lowered the lid, darkness closed around her. She smelled nothing but wicker and, more faintly, the scent of bamboo.
The clatter of
geta
told Chiyo that her family had reached the wagon. She knew they wore their finest kimonos. The cart swayed as they climbed onto the bench seat behind the ox.
Again, her conscience prodded. All her life, she had been told that honor was everything. She could still call out that she had only been pretending to go with them.
Instead, she braced herself in the jolting basket as the ox started forward down the winter-damaged road. Streams crossed in many places, carrying spring melt and washing out small crevices. The ride would not be easy for those on the bench seat, but even if the basket turned on its side, she would not make a sound.
She heard her mother say with gentle approval, “Our daughter has captured the heart of a wealthy man. May he also be kind.”
Masako’s voice held nothing but confidence. “He is kind,
Okaasan.
While I worked among the others from our village harvesting his rice, none were whipped and all were treated fairly.”
Her father sounded strained. “He is more than twice your age, with two half-grown daughters in school in Osaka.”
Too old,
Chiyo thought, but her mother spoke gently. “Do not fear, daughter.
Otousan
knows this is a fine match. He will not let doubts cause Yamada-san to question the marriage.”
Their father did not answer, though he must have known that the words were meant for him.
A smile sounded in
Okaasan
’s voice as she added, “No man is worthy of our daughter in our eyes, my husband. We are fortunate that such an excellent man has looked favorably on Masako.”
Silently, Chiyo rebelled. True, Masako would live in a grand house with servants to tie her obi and
obi-jime.
She would have more elaborately patterned kimonos than ever before and so much fine food that she would never again be hungry.
But that was not the same as a loving, happy family. What if those two daughters did not wish for a new mother? They could make life horrible for Masako. And she did not love Yamada Nori. She had never even spoken to him, simply worked in his fields. He had noticed her. Of course he had. Masako was a hard worker and the prettiest young woman in their village.
The cart jolted over a large rock, slamming the basket up, then down. Chiyo bit her lip but didn’t make a sound. She braced more carefully against the sides.
Although the cart rolled and jolted behind the plodding ox, Chiyo almost dozed and came fully awake only when the way became smooth.
Otousan
said, “Here is the border of Yamada Nori’s property.”
“He does well to keep the road between his boundaries free of winter damage,”
Okaasan
replied with approval.
Chiyo’s father was not as impressed. “He would do even better to smooth the road before and beyond.”
“Surely there is no need to repair property that is not his own,” Masako dared to say.
Chiyo was not surprised when her father’s answer was sharp. He was not used to his daughters questioning him. “I spoke of a thoughtful gesture to his neighbors. Be careful, elder daughter. While we are here, do not speak unless spoken to.”
“Yes,
Otousan.
” Masako answered so softly she could barely be heard. Was her sister to lose herself when she married?
“The open gate welcomes us,”
Okaasan
said.
Too curious to be still, Chiyo lifted the basket lid just enough to peer beneath as a servant led the oxcart through the gate. Her lips parted on a quick, startled breath.
