Dolls of Hope (12 page)

When she pushed open the
fusuma
screen, she saw all the others leaning over a newspaper spread open on a table. Oki-sensei turned at once. “Tamura Chiyo, how did this happen?”

“This . . . what?” The satisfaction in Hoshi’s face said the paper held bad news. Had something happened to one of the dolls? To Emily Grace? Was she cracked in her fall?
But she didn’t fall. I caught her.

As the others made room for her, the koi Chiyo had imagined lying dead in her stomach suddenly flicked its tail. Her own face filled most of the newspaper’s upper half! She sank to her knees beside the low table. Above the picture, in quotation marks, were the words
“You are home.”

The picture showed her holding Emily Grace, looking directly into the doll’s wide eyes. How trusting Emily Grace looked, as if she knew that Chiyo would take care of her.

I wish I could,
Chiyo thought. Had such longing been in her face when she held the doll? Such . . . tenderness? Everything she had felt at that moment was revealed. The photographer had caught it all.

“Miss Tamura,” Sensei said severely, “you have disgraced yourself and the rest of us with you.”

“Sumimasen.”
She stared unhappily at the photo, but nothing in it changed, no matter how hard she wished it would. This should have been a picture of the ambassador’s daughter and the granddaughter of a shogun. Those girls were probably used to having their pictures shown in public. Everyone expected it of them. No one expected it of Tamura Chiyo.

The picture was all she would ever have of the doll who had captured her heart the moment she opened her blue eyes. Despite the humiliation, Chiyo wanted to keep the picture so that she could look at Emily Grace and wish her well.

It was best to say nothing now.
Sensei is too upset,
she warned herself.
She will probably rip the paper into pieces if she knows I want it.

“Listen.” Kimiko held up the paper. “Here’s what they’ve written. ‘The tenderness in this little girl’s face speaks to the heart more poignantly than any words heard during yesterday’s welcome.’”

“That one of our girls should be displayed in the newspaper for anyone to look upon . . .” Sensei staggered backward to balance against a table. “Oh, I fear I will collapse!”

Kimiko said, “It goes on.”

If only the floor would open up and stop her from reading,
Chiyo thought.
This would be a very good time for a small earthquake to shake the country.

Kimiko did not stop reading. “‘When asked what she whispered to the doll called Emily Grace, Miss Tamura Chiyo answered, “You are home.”’”

“Her name!” Oki-sensei fanned herself rapidly. “The newspaper used her name!”

Chiyo sank a little lower, as if every part of her grew smaller. When the photographer asked, she had blurted out her name as if his question must be answered. This was what careless thinking led to — disgrace. She would never be allowed to attend her sister’s wedding.

Kimiko continued to read. “‘You are home. What a simple phrase to put all the speeches to shame. This girl’s warm heart speaks for all the Japanese girls who are embracing these beautiful dolls with their message of friendship.

“‘When little Miss Tamura said to the doll, “Oh, how I hope you will come to my school,” her entire heart was in her voice. Japan is filled with girls as loving as this, and we are awed and thankful for every one.’”

“How did he get your name?” Tomi asked.

Chiyo could only answer in deepening despair. “I told him.”

“You told him!” Sensei sank onto a cushion, looking as if her legs would no longer hold her. “I will hear from Yamada-san. And from your parents. This is a disaster.”

Hoshi said in a pitying tone, “She must go back to the country before she brings more shame to us all . . . for a doll she will never see again.”

Chiyo pulled strength from the very center of her heart. “Wherever she goes, I hope she will be loved.”

“Loving the dolls is the point of your picture, isn’t it?” Kimiko asked, surprising her with approval. “All Japanese girls should open their hearts to the dolls, as you have done. Girls all over the country will see the truth of that.”

“The newspaper said nice things,” Hana added.

Shizuko said, “Perhaps it is not as bad as we first thought.”

A knock sounded at the door. No one moved. Then Shizuko hurried to answer. Watanabe-sensei rushed past her into the room, waving a folded note.

“The mayor of Tokyo has sent a message! He wishes to meet Miss Tamura Chiyo who, he has learned, represents Tsuchiura.”

E
veryone spoke at once. “The mayor?”

“Why?”

“He wants to see Chiyo?”

“It’s because of the picture!”

Oki-sensei simply moaned.

Hoshi slowly shook her head. “Poor Chiyo. I’m so sorry the newspaper used your picture in place of Miss Tokugawa’s.”

Watanabe-sensei said, “Ladies, please! Miss Tamura, you must get dressed at once. The mayor is sending his personal automobile for you in one hour.”

Tomi and Shizuko said together, “His automobile!”

“He must wonder why the picture is not of Miss Tokugawa. Is our student to be officially reprimanded?” Oki-sensei snatched the newspaper from Kamiko, becoming again the teacher with her head full of schedules. “He cannot see her. Our train leaves in little more than an hour. We return home today.”

“We will stay a day longer,” Watanabe-sensei told her. “I have already arranged for the tickets to be changed. Listen, I will read the mayor’s message.”

He adjusted his glasses before reading solemnly, “‘The honorable mayor of Tokyo requests the privilege of posing for a picture with Miss Tamura Chiyo, whose glowing love for the little doll ambassadors speaks eloquently for all Japanese girls.’”

Oki-sensei’s voice rose nearly to a shriek. “He wants a picture with her?”

Hoshi put a hand to her mouth before saying, “Tsuchiura Girls’ School will lose all respect.”

“I disagree, Miss Miyamoto.” Watanabe-sensei took the newspaper from Oki-sensei’s limp hand and studied the photo. “The tenderness in Miss Tamura’s face as she looks at the doll speaks well for the young ladies of Tsuchiura Girls’ School.” He handed the paper to Kimiko. “Our school will be seen as encouraging compassion, and that is a good thing.”

His gaze reached Hoshi. “Of course, our best efforts may not succeed with all our students.”

Hoshi raised her chin. “Oki-sensei, I will spend the day in the shops. I need a new kimono jacket for the spring. There is nothing worth having in Tsuchiura.”

Chiyo moved closer to Sensei as he placed the newspaper on a table. She slipped the paper into a fold of her robe when everyone was watching Hoshi. The newspaper must be saved. Her parents would not think the story shamed her.

“A day in the shops may be well spent,” Oki-sensei agreed. “We will all go. The mayor has not requested our company.”

“I will escort Miss Tamura.” Watanabe-sensei turned to Chiyo. “Bathe! Dress! Comb your hair! Go! I will meet you downstairs. There is scarcely time for breakfast.”

“There is no need for the rest of us to rush,” Oki-sensei said. “Hurry downstairs for your bath, Miss Tamura. Do not keep the mayor waiting. And try not to embarrass us further.” The teacher looked around. “What has become of that wretched newspaper?”

Kimiko looked at the table. “It was right there.”

Chiyo wanted to escape. She had just been told to hurry, but there was no choice. “I have it.”

“You have it!” Oki-sensei’s frown darkened her face.

Chiyo felt her own face burn with embarrassment. Once again, everyone was looking at her. “My parents will like to see it.”

Oki-sensei shook her head. “I look at that picture and see a girl who picked up a doll against direct orders from her teacher. I also see a girl who sang when she had been told to remain silent.” She looked hard at Chiyo. “Is that what you wish to share with your parents?”

Chiyo thought with a hollow feeling,
I look at my teacher and see someone who resents extra work caused by an untrained girl in her dance class. That must be why she is so cross.
Did Sensei also resent having a hill country girl in her class?

Chiyo turned, hoping Watanabe-sensei would understand why the paper was important to her, but he had already gone downstairs. “No,” she answered Oki-sensei in a small voice.

“No.” Sensei spoke in her no-nonsense classroom tone. “What appears in the newspaper today is forgotten tomorrow. We will not speak of this again and we will not keep old news.”

She held out her hand. Blinking hard, Chiyo handed her the folded paper.

The teacher snatched it from her. “One of you please ask a maid to take away this trash. Miss Tamura, if you do not hurry, you will keep the mayor waiting, and that will not do.”

Chiyo was glad to escape past the
fusuma
screen to gather her dark school uniform and stockings. After soaping and scrubbing in the bathing room of the hotel basement, she soaked briefly, then hurried into her clothes. As she combed her hair, her thoughts churned. She had not wanted her picture taken.

And she didn’t want the mayor’s attention or the car he was sending. Well . . . maybe the car. She had never dreamed she might ride in one. A shiver of excitement began in her toes and worked its way through her.

She could only hope that Yamada-san would not hear of this and decide Masako’s younger sister had drawn too much attention for him to wish to marry into her family.
After all,
Chiyo reassured herself,
if he had not sent me away from home, none of this would have happened.

Downstairs, Watanabe-sensei rushed her through breakfast. It didn’t matter. She was far too excited to eat. Soon she waited with Sensei in the hotel lobby, looking toward the street door each time it opened.

Sensei gave so much advice, her head swam. Don’t be frightened. Behave naturally. Do not embarrass yourself or the school. She didn’t mind the advice. She was glad he was going with her. Sensei would tell her the right things to say and do, things she hadn’t had time to learn.

Fresh air rushed in with the opening door to the lobby. A man in a crisp blue jacket and cap asked, “Miss Tamura?”

Chiyo’s heart leaped. Watanabe-sensei answered for her. “We are ready.”

The mayor’s automobile was long and black and even more elegant than others Chiyo had seen. With a flourish, the driver opened a back door. The car even smelled important. Feeling as if she had stepped into a dream, Chiyo settled inside next to the far window. A velvet curtain was drawn back, and she leaned closer to look out at the street.

In her own village, she had rarely ridden in an oxcart. Since leaving, she had traveled in a carriage behind Yamada-san’s beautiful horse and ridden in rickshaws and that huge, noisy train. And now an automobile!

The uniformed man cranked a handle at the front of the car. When the engine rumbled to life, the entire vehicle vibrated. Chiyo vibrated along with it, but from excitement. Sensei sat properly still. She tried to copy him, though she wanted to bounce on the springy seat.

The driver hurried around and climbed behind the steering wheel. In moments, they were rolling smoothly into the street. Chiyo scarcely had time to look at people or into shop windows before they were gone and something even better came into view.

Or something worse. She began to notice posters in many shop windows, posters holding large copies of the newspaper photo. There she was on that corner. And in that window. And again, there!

When they paused at a corner, a young boy on the street pointed through the window. “That’s her! That’s the girl! That’s Chiyo!”

Several other boys ran with him as the car moved on, all of them shouting, “Chiyo-chan! Chiyo-chan!”

“Why are they shouting?” she exclaimed. “What do they want?”

“You have become a celebrity,” Sensei answered. “They want to be close to you.”

“I don’t want to be a celebrity.” What did that even mean? “I’m just a student. I’m nobody, Sensei. They are all mistaken.”

“There is no mistake,” he answered in a serious voice that told her she must listen. “You have become much more than you think, Miss Tamura. Now you must live up to what you have become.”