Cherry Blossom Baseball (12 page)

“Do you want to make a deal?” Michiko asked Mary the next day at recess.

“What kind of deal?”

“I'll help you pass arithmetic if you help me with something.”

“How can I help you?” Mary asked with a frown. “You're good at everything.”

“Not physical education,” Michiko confessed.

“But I can't stay after school,” Mary said. “I've got my lessons.”

“And I have to catch the bus,” Michiko said, “but you can stay for lunch.”

Mary smiled. “I'll ask,” she said.

Michiko pulled her socks up tight and stepped into Mary's running shoes. She ran up to the springboard and gave a little bounce, but she had no idea what to do next.

Mary came to her side and placed Michiko's hands on the handles. “Put your hands like this after you jump. Just think, run, bounce, hands, legs. It will all come together.” Mary turned to Miss Barnhart and said, “She needs to try again.”

“And again, and again, and again,” Carolyn said, for all to hear.

Miss Barnhart nodded. “Try again,” she said with a tight smile.

Michiko took a deep breath. She imagined the pommel horse as one of the fences around the field. She just knew she could clear it this time. She ran hard, bounced hard, put her hands on the handles and lifted her legs. She landed with a splat on top of the horse.

“You got up in the air,” Mary said, clapping her hands, “didn't she, Miss Barnhart?”

The teacher nodded. “Try again, Millie.”

Some of the girls on the other equipment stopped to watch.

This time the whole class watched. Michiko cleared the horse and landed on her feet.

Miss Barnhart beamed. “Do it again,” she said.

“Show-off,” Carolyn called out. But to Michiko's surprise, the rest of the girls clapped.

At lunch, Mary stared out the window chewing her pencil as Michiko went over the arithmetic lesson Miss Barnhart had taught that morning. “I've been thinking,” she said. “There is a much easier way for me to get good marks in arithmetic, without missing recess.”

“Are you going do your homework every night?”

“I wasn't thinking of that,” Mary said. “Carolyn gave me an idea.”

Michiko's brow darkened. “What is it?” she asked.

“Well,” Mary explained, “she said it was too late for me to study everything I ignored all term, and there was a much faster way.”

Michiko waited to hear what this magical plan was. As far as she knew, the only way to get good marks was to study.

“We've got a test this Friday, right?”

Michiko nodded.

“Well,” Mary said in a whisper, “since we sit right beside each other ... if maybe you could keep your paper close to the edge of your desk, if you know what I mean.”

Michiko understood exactly what Carolyn wanted her to do. She flipped her arithmetic book closed, put her notebook on top of it, and her empty lunch bundle on top of that, and rose to leave. Her parents would disown her if they knew she'd let someone copy from her test paper.

“We won't get caught,” Mary called out. “Carolyn says she does it all the time.”

“We won't get caught because it won't happen,” Michiko said quietly. She walked out of the room, worrying.
If I don't let Mary copy, will we still be friends?

TWO LETTERS

M
ichiko
opened her window one morning to the fresh green scent of an early spring. She spotted the red flash of a fox through the patches of trillium as she watched her father move the tractor about the apple orchard. The sweet smell of the air meant one thing and one thing only to Michiko: baseball season was not far away.

“Did you want to eat anything special for your birthday this year?” her mother asked at breakfast. “We could put in an order with Mr. Nagasaki.”

Michiko looked at the ceiling, rolled her eyes, and sighed. Her mother wouldn't even think about making peanut butter and jam sandwiches for lunch, so what was the point? There were so many other things that were always out of the question. Michiko couldn't listen to the girls at school for a minute without hearing about something else her mother wouldn't let her have. Mary's mother had even bought her grown-up underwear, and she wouldn't be twelve until July.

“I'll let you know,” was all Michiko said.

Her father sat down with the newspaper folded in half to show them the advertisement Mr. Downey had placed in the newspaper. He was proud his employer had accepted his suggestion for the last line.

For Sale

Registered Stock Gladiola Bulbs

All Colours — Very Large Blooms

Be Quick Before
We
Plant Them

“If you sell all the bulbs,” Michiko said, “you won't have any left to do any work.”

Sam smiled and waggled his teacup from side to side. Michiko rose to get the teapot.

“I hope the boss finds someone to give the apple trees their …” he paused to search for the word he needed in English, “medicine.”

Michiko giggled as she handed him his cup. “What kind of medicine?”

Her mother spoke a few words of Japanese to her husband and then turned to Michiko and smiled. “Fruit trees have to be sprayed for bugs,” she said as Sam shrugged.

“Is it hard to do?” Michiko asked. “Maybe I could do it.”

Both her parents raised their eyebrows.

“I was hoping I could earn some money,” Michiko explained.

“Mr. Downey might let you sell strawberries during the summer,” Eiko said as she struggled to get Hannah out of her high chair. An envelope fell from the pocket of her apron, and Michiko picked it up. She recognized Mrs. Morrison's spider-like scrawl.

“Just give that to me,” her mother said sharply as she passed the baby into Michiko's arms.

“Will he pay me?” Michiko asked, handing her mother the letter.

Her mother took the letter and shoved it into her pocket. “You have to pick them first.”

Michiko bounced her little sister up and down as she thought about the envelope.
Why hasn't Mother said anything about hearing from our ghost town friend?
She lowered her sister into the playpen her father had made. Hannah liked to peek through the fancy curved spindles.

Later, as Michiko chased Hiro about the yard, something white stood out on the grass. Michiko bent to pick up the letter her mother had been trying so hard to keep secret. It must have fallen from her pocket. She looked about the yard and headed for the shed. Her eyes raced across the page.

Dear Eiko,

Ralph is enjoying being back on the farm. Sadie stayed with us for a short time after Kaz left, very unhappy about his departure. She told Ralph she didn't care about her husband's participation in the war. I tried to explain that the war causes us all to make sacrifices. Just look what I went through when Ralph was in the navy and lost at sea. You can imagine my look of surprise when she said that Kaz had left her, so she was going to leave too.

I tried to tell her he would eventually come back, but all she would say was, “He will have to find me.” I asked her what would happen if he didn't, and she said, “Then we won't be married.” She returned to town, and I assumed it was all just talk.

Yesterday a letter from Kaz arrived at our place, and since I was going into town I went to her room at the hotel, but it was empty. Mr. Hayashi told me she went straight to the RCMP with her papers without telling him anything. The rules of the camp are changing daily, so he had no information.

I am so sorry to tell you all this. You may know more than I. If so, please write back to put my mind at ease. These worries travel around my head like a donkey on a stick.

I've enclosed Kaz's letter so that you can forward it on to her. Give everyone my regards. You are all sorely missed.

Edna

P.S. There's a card in the mail for Michiko.

Michiko felt as if a glass of cold water had been thrown in her face. Aunt Sadie had left the ghost town without even telling Mrs. Morrison? Where had she gone? She slipped the folded paper back into its envelope, put it in her pocket, and leaned against the shed wall.

“I was looking for you,” Mr. Downey said, startling her.

“My mother said you might let me sell strawberries,” Michiko said. “I'd like that.”

“Good,” he said, “but I had something else in mind. I heard you had a birthday coming.”

Michiko nodded.

“There's something in here you might like to use.” Mr. Downey reached for a key that lay on top of the doorframe of the shed and turned it in the padlock. They stepped into the dim interior.

Michiko looked around the small building that smelled of dust and rust. What could it be? It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight. At first, all she could see was a couple of wooden crates. Then an object under a canvas tarpaulin came into view.

Mr. Downey tugged at the drape of canvas. “This bicycle has been gathering cobwebs since the Palumbo boy left,” he said. “No point in letting it go to waste. Clean it up, and it will be as good as new.”

Michiko put her hands to her face in disbelief.

“Can you ride?”

“I'll learn,” she replied.

“That's what I thought,” he said with a smile. He pulled a wicker basket from the shelf, fixed it to the handlebars, and wheeled it out into the yard. “I have another job for you as well.”

“Anything,” Michiko said, her eyes widening as she looked at the bike against the tree.

“You are now in charge of picking up all the mail. You will deliver mine to my desk.”

“For sure,” Michiko said, looking at the silver spokes and large rubber wheels, held together by a chain. “Thanks,” she called out to Mr. Downey as he walked away.

I
t can't be all that hard,
Michiko thought as she cleaned the seat off with a rag. Then she took the handlebars and dragged the heavy bike out onto the gravel driveway.

She climbed on to the wide saddle, put her foot on one pedal, and hopped forward, not sure when to lift the other foot off the ground. When she did, the front tire hit a hole and she fell.

F
all down seven times, get up eight,
Michiko said to herself. She stood up, wheeled the bike over to the wooden fence, and used the bottom rail to help herself get back on.

With a push of her foot she sailed off down the lane. It felt wonderful to be moving along so easily, but the bike gained speed as it went toward the road. Michiko decided not to pedal forward anymore and lifted her legs, but the bicycle kept on moving. “How do you stop this thing?” she yelled out. In desperation she put her feet back down and pushed backward. The bicycle shrieked and Michiko lurched forward. Both landed in the ditch by the side of the road.

“Need some help?” Eddie asked as he pulled the bike upright.

Michiko brushed the dirt from the palms of her hands.
Why is he always around when I'm in trouble?

Michiko got up from the ditch and pulled her bike back onto the road.

“Get on,” Eddie said as he leaned his bike against the fence. “I'll help you balance.”

Michiko had no choice but to listen to his instructions.

He ran a short way alongside her, holding on to the thick wire rack that spanned the back fender. The bike jolted along the pebbly drive. She panicked, jammed on the brakes, and landed on the grass.

“Don't be so hard on the brakes,” Eddie said, pulling the frame off of her for a second time. “Before long you'll be cooking with gas! Just keep practising.”

He guided her back up to the road. There, Michiko watched him swing his leg over the bar of his own bike and soar toward Mr. Downey's farmhouse with ease.

The next day, she didn't have to be reminded to pick up the mail. She wobbled down the lane on the bike, stuffed the contents of the mailbox into the basket, and wobbled back. Most of it was for Mr. Downey. There was one letter for the Palumbos, and to her surprise two envelopes for her. Michiko recognized the handwriting on both. One was a birthday card from Mrs. Morrison and the other was in writing she had seen often enough across the top of her test papers at school to know exactly whom it was from. She ripped open the envelope.

No. 17 Platoon, B Company

No. 20 Canadian Infantry Training Camp,

Brantford, Ontario

March 15, 1945

Dear Michiko,

How kind of you to write to me. I was getting the feeling everyone had forgotten me. I know your aunt was not happy with my decision, especially the idea of serving a country that has treated us so badly, but everyone has to do their part to bring an end to this war.

There are fifty-three of us, all from B.C., all in one platoon. We are being drilled and taught how to salute, when to say “Sir,” and how to make a bed “army style.”

I've been fingerprinted, had my picture taken, and been given an ID card. I've also been given a new haircut. You wouldn't believe it.

O
ur day starts at 6:00 a.m. Our beds have to be made and we are to be dressed and ready to go by 7. We start every week with a route march, leaving the camp at 7:30 and getting back at noon. We march the whole time with only two fifteen-minute breaks. Not too many of us have sore feet, which surprised the officers. I guess it's because we have all been without any kind of transportation for so long, we are really used to walking.

Today is my First Aid Test final, which will end that course and give me a bit more free time. Next time, I won't have to race through my letter like a steam engine.

On Tuesdays we visit the rifle range. We also have to know how to keep a rifle clean. I was very surprised to find out how difficult they are to fire. Yesterday after­noon we got to play some baseball. I wondered if the rifle practice would affect my pitching, but it didn't. How's your pitching arm these days?

I guess as your old teacher, I should ask you about school, but I won't. Do you like Ontario? Have you made lots of new friends? I bet Hannah is growing fast, and Hiro has found plenty of trees to climb. Please give my best to the rest of your family and have a Happy Birthday.

Kaz

She leaned back and held the letter to her chest. Michiko could hear her uncle's warm, kind voice behind the words and see the crinkles that appeared in the corners of his chocolate brown eyes when he smiled.
But what will happen to that smile and the shine in his eyes when he finds out Sadie has disappeared?
Michiko remembered her teacher saying soldiers counted on good news from home to lift their spirits.
What should I do?

Michiko wiped her finger across the top of her birthday cake. “Here, Hannah,” she said, putting some of the fluffy icing into the baby's mouth.

H
annah licked her lips and smiled. Then she opened her mouth and her arms wide.

“
See what you have done,” her mother said. “Now Hannah will always want it.”

“
Always want what?” Sam scooped up the little girl with hair that stuck out like the feathers of a baby bird. “What does my little flower want?”

“
Cake,” Hiro said with his hands on his hips.

E
iko opened the drawer and handed Michiko a long knife. “You can serve,” she said.

A
s Michiko slid their pieces onto the plates, the smile pasted on her face hid her real feelings about her birthday. There was no party, as the other girls at school had. Her mother had made her a new skirt, and there was a pair of white knee socks to go with it, but no running shoes.

“
Cake!” Hiro demanded. He picked up his fork and banged it on the table.

“
Cake, please,” Sam said with a smile as he settled his tiny daughter back into her chair. “Happy twelfth birthday, Michiko. Now you can get married.”