Tracie Peterson (6 page)

Rachel nodded and said, “Come on, David. This is the fun part.”

David shrugged and let Rachel lead him upstairs. He was curious as to what she was doing when she opened the door to her own room. As if understanding his confusion, Rachel smiled.

“You have to get to the attic through our room. Actually, it’s just a storage area and a place for the pipes and wires, but it holds quite a bit.”

David nodded and stepped into the decidedly feminine bedroom. It wasn’t at all a pretentious room, but rather a very useful and practical place. A sewing machine stood in one corner, a stack of material placed in a neat and orderly fashion beside it. One bed, with its narrow iron frame, filled the opposite corner. Topped with a colorful, no doubt homemade quilt, it brightened the room and gave it a cheerful nature. Its twin was positioned at the bottom to form an L shape and give the girls the maximum amount of room. Around him on shelves were books, and bits and pieces of collected treasures.

“David?” Rachel called him out of his observation. “Is something wrong?”

He offered her a lopsided smile. “Wrong? No. I was just looking things over. I’ve never been in a girl’s—I mean a lady’s bedroom before.”

Rachel blushed again and headed for a miniature door on the far wall. “You’ll have to duck your head to get inside, but once you’re in, the room opens up.”

David followed her into the musty, dark room. “Is there a light in here?”

“Just leave the door open,” she called back to him. “I’ll open the shutters and then we’ll have light from the window.”

David waited, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He hated the feeling that washed over him. He felt momentarily trapped and rubbed his left arm to ward off the dull ache. In a moment his fears were pushed aside, however, as Rachel opened the window and light flooded the narrow room.

“We keep the Christmas things over here,” she announced. “We’ll have to sort through them and decide what we want to take down. Last year . . .” She paused and was momentarily unable to speak.

David felt her sorrow. “It’s all right,” he murmured, unable to think of anything else to say.

She knelt down beside a trunk. “We put up the tree last year, but by the time we took it down, we knew for sure about Kenny. Pop just kind of gave everything a toss up here, and I don’t think any of us ever thought to come up and straighten it out.” She wiped away a tear and opened the trunk.

“We can do that now,” David said, uncomfortable with her emotions. He found it impossible to focus on her sentiment and keep any reasoning in his own head. Helping her lift the trunk and place it on a small table, he dusted the top before unfastening the latches.

“We’ve been collecting these things for years,” she said offhandedly.

David could see the truth in that. Homemade decorations, as well as a couple of store-bought ones, were found within the trunk.

“See this one?” Rachel said, holding up a little snowman. “I made it at school when I was ten years old. And this one,” she said, putting the snowman aside and retrieving a tiny stable scene, “was carved by Grandpa Bennett. He’s quite an artist when it comes to whittling wood.”

David could see for himself the craftsmanship. He could instantly tell the various figures—Joseph, Mary, and the baby Jesus. Christmas was a holiday that made its way even into the homes of Jewish families—not in celebration, but rather out of simple overwhelming attention. Stores rarely had Hanukkah sales, but they always showed their Christmas spirit.

Then, holding up a tiny silk and wood lantern, Rachel smiled. “This might seem a strange ornament, but the Akimotos gave it to my parents when they first moved to town. William was just a little boy and his father, Yoshimi Akimoto, gave this to my father as a gesture of goodwill.”

“Too bad they didn’t remember that goodwill at Pearl,” David muttered and turned away.

“You truly hate all Japanese?” Rachel asked softly.

“Yes,” he stated matter-of-factly. “And you should too. They killed your brother. They bombed us in the peacefulness of a Sunday morning.” He felt his anger push aside any residual feelings of Yuletide warmth.

“Mother said you felt this way. She told us to avoid discussing anything, but . . .” Rachel seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say next.

“Go ahead,” David encouraged. “I’m not afraid to talk about it if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m a big boy. I can take whatever life dishes out, and I can certainly handle anything you throw at me.”

Rachel winced and he immediately regretted his tone. They’d just experienced such a tender moment at lunch. How could he throw that away in his anger at the Japanese? It was one thing to be mad at the enemy, but she didn’t deserve his rage.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I didn’t even mean to lose my temper the other night at the shop. I just can’t understand how you can be so forgiving of a people who did this horrible thing. You weren’t there. The only effect it had on you is Kenny will never come home.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, lowering her gaze. “Losing Kenny was so painful. He was so happy—so full of life. No one thought he would die. At least I never thought he would die.” Her voice broke with emotion before she turned back to the ornaments. “We can carry this trunk downstairs. There are a couple of other boxes, but I can handle them.”

David couldn’t leave things like this between them. He ignored the trembling he felt inside and reached out to touch her shoulder. “I really am sorry.”

Rachel turned, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve just never known anyone who hated something or someone so much.”

“Then you’re lucky,” David said, dropping his hold.

“Can’t you at least forgive people for being of the same race and nation? The Akimotos are good people. They were the first ones here to help Mom deal with the news. They cried with her, and William was so angry he threatened to go join up and see all the armies of the enemy defeated. He probably would have, but Sarah was already expecting their second baby.”

David could only stare at her blankly. Her words shot all sorts of holes in his defense of a hatred he’d carried around with him for well over a year. “Their people killed your brother—my friend.”

“
We
are their people, David,” she replied softly. Glancing up at him, she shook her head. “I’m sorry that you can’t see the truth.”

“Your truth, maybe. Not mine.”

“I can understand that you’re angry,” she said, trying hard to
regain control of her emotions. She toyed with the ornaments for a moment before closing the trunk lid. “Kenny told us you were well on your way to becoming a great boxer. He figured you would probably be able to make a career of it after the war. Now here you are a wounded war hero. I can see why my feeble attempt at explaining our feelings for friends would sound silly.”

“I’m no hero.” David felt his chest tighten. There was no way to explain his statement without revealing all of his ugly secrets. He chose the easy way out instead. As usual. “I’m surprised Kenny told you about the boxing.”

She nodded. “He said you were very good.”

David closed his eyes and pushed the memories aside. “It was Kenny’s attempt to redirect my aggression and give me some respectability. I’m afraid it was misdirected.” He steadied himself and looked at her again. A shaft of light fell across the room and highlighted her hair. Why did she have to be so pretty—so sweet and vulnerable?

Uncomfortable with the silence, he grabbed for the trunk handle. “I’ll take this downstairs.”

“Are you sure it’s not too heavy?” she questioned.

“I may have a bum arm,” he told her, “but there’s still plenty of strength left in me.” He wondered if there was any truth in that statement. Somehow, he wasn’t at all convinced.

David refused to accompany the family to church the following morning. He told Ruth it was because of the way his arm felt, and in truth that was partly the reason. He needed to see a doctor and have his medication refilled. Funny, he thought, he hadn’t needed the pain pills nearly as often. What normally would have lasted him no more than three days had taken him through the week.

Ruth had accepted his excuse, but she surprised David when she returned an hour later. He was sitting quietly beside the fire when she opened the door and came into the house. A light dusting of snow melted atop her wool coat and scarf.

“I didn’t like the idea of you being alone,” she said softly in explanation.

David wondered for a moment if she was worried that he might run off with the family silver. Then smiling to himself, he realized that in their simplicity of life, they had no silver. There was truly nothing here of any real value to steal. The things that were valuable were intangible, and no thief would ever be able to snatch them away.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, realizing he meant the words. “I wanted to apologize to you for how I acted last week at the flower shop.”

Ruth hung up her coat and closed the closet door. She turned and smiled with such a look of love that David knew beyond any doubt she had already forgiven him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you ahead of time. I presumed upon your feelings, and I’m the one who should apologize.”

David shook his head. “I just reacted and the thoughts that went through my head weren’t at all the kind I can share with you.”

Ruth took a seat opposite him in a ladder-backed straight chair. “Why not?”

“It’s just too awful to imagine. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“Not even the Japanese?”

He looked at her hard. “Okay, so I would wish it on them. After all, they caused it.”

“David, you can’t blame an entire race for the actions of a few. You also can’t continue to carry such hatred bottled up inside or it will destroy you.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, looking away.

“I don’t understand?” she questioned. “I don’t understand that this war has taken the life of my only son?” Her words forced him to look at her. “I don’t understand that hundreds of thousands of men have already died in Europe and now they’ve killed or will kill just as many in the South Pacific? I’m not stupid, David.”

He began to stammer. “I . . . you aren’t . . . I never said . . .”

“I know you didn’t call me stupid,” she replied softly, “but you think me rather naïve in my devotion to the Akimotos. You think it senseless that a community would work to keep a family from losing their home and business, especially when that family is descended from the enemy. But, David, you must understand that there are many Japanese in this country, and most have clearly aligned themselves with America. Do you know why they did that, David?” He shook his head. “They did that because they are Americans.”

He started to comment, but she held up her hand to still him. “Please hear me out.” He nodded and she continued. “You and Kenny were good friends. The best of friends, as I understand it. Kenny took an instant liking to you from the first time you were put under his command. I remember the letters telling us of the potential he saw in you.”

David tried to conceal his surprise, but apparently his expression betrayed him.

“That’s right,” Ruth stated, “Kenny saw great potential in you. But not only that, he genuinely liked you.”

“He was like a brother to me,” David admitted.

“And you would have done anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

“I wish I could have died in his place.”

Ruth smiled and nodded. “I believe you. Now I wish you would believe me when I say one country does not speak for the entirety of
its citizens. Neither do the actions of one member of a particular race speak or act for the entirety of the country.”

“Japan seems pretty united over this. Haven’t you seen any of the news reels? Those people want us dead.”

“You’re only seeing what they want you to see,” Ruth chided. She got up and went to the china cupboard in the dining room. When she returned, she held out a framed picture of an elderly couple.

David took the picture and looked at it for a moment. “Who are they?”

“My parents. They emigrated to this country in 1897. I was born the following year.”

He handed the photograph back but had no idea why she had shown it to him. Seeming to understand, Ruth sat down beside him and gazed for a moment at the picture. “My family loved this country more than anything. My father was so happy to be here in America—to see his children born and raised as Americans.”

“I don’t understand,” David finally said.

Ruth smiled and nodded. “They were German, David. I’m full-blooded German and the first of our family to be born in America. As far as ancestries go, Kenny was half German.”

David shook his head. “What does this have to do with my hating the Japanese?”

“Do you hate us as well? Do you hate Kenny and me? Rachel and Helen?”

“Why should I?” David asked, his tone clearly betraying his irritation.

“Our people in Germany are killing your people, the Jews,” she said softly. “Our German relatives are at war with the Americans.”

“It isn’t the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

David shook his head. “No. I don’t see it that way.”