Dolls of Hope (19 page)

Again, Chiyo felt reluctant sympathy. Her own father would be as near the front as possible, trying to look well mannered while wanting to break into a big smile.

“Tokyo is a busy, exciting city,” Hoshi began. “It can frighten country girls more accustomed to chasing goats than riding in rickshaws and automobiles.”

She glanced toward Chiyo and Hana with a faint smile. “Since I was no stranger to the city, I saw a chance for leadership. I led the other girls whenever I could.”

Chiyo began to regret her earlier sympathy. She whispered to Hana beside her, “What would we have done without her?”

Hana’s eyes sparkled. “We were helpless.”

Hoshi ignored them. “I helped the girls select a rickshaw and explained sights we passed, such as the shrines.” She smiled at Headmaster Hanarai. “I would like to thank Tsuchiura Girls’ School for the opportunity to grow as a leader.”

Hana nudged Chiyo and they both hid smiles.

Tomi spoke next, describing silk kimonos in Tokyo shop windows that were as pretty as the wings of butterflies. Shizuko spoke of the big welcoming ceremony with classes of American girls from the Tokyo school. “We all sang together,” she said, “except for Chiyo.”

Chiyo realized that this was not the first time Shizuko had made her look bad.
Shizuko wants to be like the worst parts of Hoshi.

Shizuko’s cheeks reddened as if she had embarrassed herself with the comment. “But Chiyo got to be in the newspaper and on a poster,” she added quickly. “We’re all proud of her.”

Chiyo twisted her fingers together in her lap, remembering that those things had happened because she broke her promise to avoid touching any of the dolls from America. Would someone mention that? She wished the reports were over.

Kimiko also talked of the welcoming ceremony and of the exchange of dolls between the American ambassador’s daughter and Miss Tokugawa Yukiko. “Miss Tokugawa is the granddaughter of the great shogun. We were honored to share the ceremony with her.”

Hana spoke then, telling of a Westerner in the hotel who wore a casual kimono with the lapels crossed from the wrong side, the way they would be arranged if he were dead. “Whenever we saw him in the hotel, we asked each other behind our hands, ‘Shall we bow to the dead man?’”

Several students laughed, and parents smiled. The teachers were less amused. Oki-sensei said sternly, “Miss Nakata, surely you saw something more impressive in Tokyo than a man wearing his kimono in the wrong way.”

“Hai,”
Hana said quickly. “We met master doll maker Hirata Gouyou and saw the beautiful dolls he makes. He let us each choose a
kokeshi
to take home. Here is mine.” She drew the little doll from a fold of her kimono and held it up for everyone to see.

Chiyo listened to the others with a sinking feeling. They had talked of so many things. What else was there for her to say? Oki-sensei called her name, and she walked to the front of the room and bowed to the class and to the parents. She was tempted to say that they hadn’t needed Hoshi to tell them which rickshaw to choose, but remembered Hoshi’s father. She would not embarrass Hoshi in front of him.

“Tokyo is big and very interesting,” she said. “The mayor of Tokyo sent his automobile to bring me to his office. It smelled nice inside.”

Watanabe-sensei asked, “And why did the mayor send his personal automobile, Miss Tamura?”

“He wanted to have his picture taken with me.” Her face heated. It felt like bragging to say such a thing, but it was true. “Watanabe-sensei went with me to help me know the right things to say. I had never met a mayor before.”

People chuckled, sounding sympathetic. Watanabe-sensei said gently, “Everyone will enjoy hearing what the mayor gave you.”

“The mayor gave me this medal.” She was wearing it on a ribbon over her new kimono and held it out so everyone could see. “It says I am to protect Emily Grace and keep her safe. And I did. I carried her all the way from Tokyo and showed her the view from the window of the train.”

Headmaster Hanarai took Watanabe-sensei’s place as speaker. “Miss Tamura is a modest young lady, as are all our students. She has not mentioned another gift given her in Tokyo.” He held up the drawing, now in a black lacquer frame. “Hirata Gouyou-san, who has become a master doll maker while still a young man, presented Miss Tamura with a drawing of herself. Hers is to be the face of a doll he is creating to be sent to America.”

Chiyo grew warm with embarrassment. Everyone looking at her made her uneasy. She noticed several murmuring together. She hoped they were not saying that the hill village girl did not deserve such honor and that Miyamoto Hoshi should have been chosen.

She waited for Headmaster to give her the picture, but he was saying that it would be displayed next to the door into his office. Anyone who liked might see it there.

But it’s mine!
she objected in silence.
It’s for my parents.

Headmaster ended the meeting by inviting guests to talk with the girls who had made the trip. To Chiyo’s surprise, General Miyamoto approached her. “I find it interesting that Hirata Gouyou should select you as a model, Miss Tamura.”

Embarrassment flushed through Chiyo. It was hard enough to find the courage to speak to Hoshi’s father. How could she answer him? She was afraid to risk a glance at his face and tried to understand his tone. Did he believe she was immodest to have posed for the artist?

But his voice had been warm and even sounded friendly when he added, “You used your time well in Tokyo, Miss Tamura. You are to be congratulated.”

“Arigatogozaimasu,”
she murmured. When she raised her head from a respectful bow, her gaze met Hoshi’s. The girl stood behind her father, looking furious that Chiyo had received the rare praise that should have been hers.

“I have tried to be like Hoshi,” Chiyo said. It wasn’t exactly true, but she hoped that General Miyamoto would compliment his daughter, too.

“You were yourself,” he said. “It was enough.”

Behind him, Hoshi’s eyes narrowed, her brows lost their arch, and her mouth turned down in a dangerously stormy expression.

H
oshi’s stormy glare stayed with Chiyo through the rest of the day and into the next morning. That expression had been like a boulder poised above the village. The slightest push might send it tumbling down the canyon, causing damage all the way.

Chiyo started for Headmaster’s office to peek in at Emily Grace but saw the doll on a carved stand in a recess outside the door with the drawing displayed nearby. She stopped, looking from one to the other while fear fought with longing. Hana approached, looking worried. “Are you afraid Hoshi is going to do something awful? You can’t watch all the time.”

That was exactly what she needed to do. Plans flew through Chiyo’s head. “I only need to watch between classes and during lunch.”

“You might be late to class.”

“No, I won’t. Hoshi is never late. As soon as I see her go into the classroom, I’ll go in, too.”

“Hoshi’s quick. What if you see her brush ink over the doll or slash her with a knife? What will you do?”

“I’ll jump in front of Emily Grace to save her.” And she would, too, if that moment actually came.

Her plan worked for two days. On the third afternoon, Kaito-sensei stepped in front of her. “Miss Tamura, it does not look well for you to pose with your picture during every class break. Students are talking about you. A humble Japanese girl never causes talk.”

Pose!
Chiyo struggled to swallow the sting of the accusation. “I’m not posing, Sensei. I’m guarding. I’m afraid something will happen to our doll.”

Sensei looked even more offended. “What harm could come to the doll here in our school? You must learn trust, Miss Tamura, along with humility.”

“But Sensei —”

The teacher cut off Chiyo’s attempt to explain. “I was sorry to see you join the group going to Tokyo. You were not ready for such a trip, and you were certainly not ready for all that happened there.”

Did Kaito-sensei believe that? The unfairness cut through Chiyo, and she couldn’t help protesting, “Even General Miyamoto said —”

Again, the teacher stopped her. “You have a great deal to learn yet about humility. I do not want to see you posing here again. Vanity is not attractive.”

Chiyo felt the words burn. She had taken Hoshi’s sarcasm and kept silent. Scolding from her teacher was too much. She knew she wasn’t vain. It wasn’t fair for Sensei to say so.

“I didn’t want to be in the newspapers!” The words burst from her. “Or on a poster! Or on a doll! I just want to be an ordinary girl!”

She realized that Hoshi had come from a classroom in the midst of the outburst. Hoshi was seeing her revenge without doing a thing. That knowledge lodged pain deeper in Chiyo’s throat than the teacher’s words.

Sensei’s mouth set in a severe line. “I had not thought you to be excitable, Miss Tamura. Clearly, becoming a minor celebrity has been damaging to you.”

Chiyo stared at the floor.
Celebrity.
That was another thing she had not wanted.

“You are excused from the remaining afternoon classes,” the teacher said. “You are to rest in your room. I advise you to think of the sacrifices your family made to send you here.”

Yamada Nori-san sent me here. He believes in me. So do my parents.
She had already said too much and would only get herself into deeper trouble if she said more. She bowed respectfully and, sick inside, walked across the courtyard toward the stairs.

She had tried to fit in and what did it get her?
A lecture she didn’t deserve!

It’s not fair!
The words swirling in her head gradually faded. By the time she pulled her futon from the closet, her mother’s face came into her mind. She saw again the unexpected fire in
Okaasan’
s eyes and in her voice as she said Chiyo must go to Tsuchiura.
“Put fear behind and seize this opportunity.”

Chiyo felt as if
Okaasan
said those words again now. Somehow, they meant even more than they had at the time. Her parents expected her to learn from Tsuchiura Girls’ School. They were pleased she had been to Tokyo and had met the mayor and the doll maker.

They trust me,
she thought.
Why doesn’t Sensei trust me?
She spread the futon, picturing home, but as she lay on the mat, she made a silent promise. She would not go home until she had made her parents and Yamada-san proud.

She must convince Kaito-sensei that she was still a modest traditional girl, the girl her parents wanted her to be, the girl the school wanted her to be.
I’ll tell her right now,
Chiyo decided.
I will bow so low my forehead will touch the floor. And I’ll apologize. Then everything will be right.

By letting anger show, she had only pleased Hoshi.

She went quietly down the stairs and across the courtyard, but at the closed doorway, she realized that class was still in session. Sensei would not wish to be interrupted, and as much as Chiyo wanted to apologize, she did not intend to bow to the floor in front of all the girls.

She would have to wait until after school. As she turned to the stairs, doors opened and girls rushed from some rooms and into others, hurrying to music or dance, mathematics or calligraphy. All of them talked and laughed as if this day were no different from any other day.

For them, it wasn’t different. For Chiyo, it felt like the worst day of her life. She returned to the second building, climbed the stairs, and lay again on her sleeping mat. Sometime later, she woke with a start. She hadn’t dreamed it. Hana was shouting her name from the doorway.

“What is it?” Chiyo sat up, rubbing her eyes. Hana’s expression made no sense. She looked scared and angry at the same time. Something had happened. Something bad.

“Headmaster wants to see you. In his office. Right now!”

“Why?”

But Hana was already running down the stairs. Chiyo scrambled to her feet, smoothing her clothes and hair as she rushed after Hana.

All along the walkway, students fell silent, then moved back to leave a clear path to the headmaster’s office. Chiyo wanted to ask what had happened, but as her stomach twisted, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

When she stepped into the office, the room wavered like a reflection in water when a stone has disturbed the surface. Only Headmaster Hanarai’s desk remained clear and, on top of it, what was left of Emily Grace.

The sleeves and ruffles of the doll’s dress were ripped half off. Her arms and legs were missing. Bits of broken rubber bands showed through the empty sockets of her hollow body. Someone had cut Emily Grace into pieces.