time. Then he returned to his village to marry his childhood sweetheart.”
“Why didn’t you wear a kimono on your wedding day?” Michiko asked.
“I was a modern woman,” her mother responded. She sifted through the papers and brought out the photograph of her wedding day. The edges of it were uneven and jagged.
Michiko remembered this picture in a silver frame, on top of the mantelpiece. “Where is the frame?”
“It was too heavy,” her mother said quietly. “I left it behind.” She took the photograph from Michiko. “I wanted a store-bought hat and coat for my wedding.” She traced the folds of the gown. “But my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted on making my dress.” Her eyes glazed over. “The church at the corner of Powell Street was full. There was even a crowd of children hanging around the doors.”
“That’s because they wanted to see the baseball players. Your father knew everyone on the Asahi team,” Sadie chimed in from the sink. “They were all at the wedding.”
“Were there flowers?”
“Oh yes,” sighed Eiko. “The church was full of them. She turned to her sister. “Do you remember, Sadie? I carried white lilies and scarlet snapdragons.”
Sadie stopped drying the teacups. “I was the maid of honour,” she said. “I wore a yellow dress. My hat had a little short veil at the back. It matched my dress perfectly.” She sighed. “Our mother was a wonderful seamstress.”
Eiko smoothed out a worn piece of newsprint. “Look, Michiko,” she said, “this was what she drew first. Then she made the pattern.” She held a faded pencil sketch of the dress in the photograph.
“That’s where you get your drawing talent,” Sadie remarked. “Your grandmother went to one of the most famous dressmaking schools in Japan.”
Eiko traced the drawing with her finger. “Each sleeve had fourteen lace-covered buttons. Do you remember, Sadie?”
Sadie smiled. “I had to do them up.” She mimicked wiping her brow. “There were thirty of them down the back.”
“The women in your mother’s class talked about that dress forever,” Sadie told Michiko.
“My mother’s class?” Michiko repeated.
Eiko rustled through the papers again and unfolded a rectangular document with a dark green border and a shiny red seal in the corner. “My official certificate,” she announced. “It’s from the Kawano Women’s Sewing School, in Vancouver.”
Michiko peered at it. “Do you have one too?” she asked her aunt.
“We went to different schools,” Sadie said. “I went to dancing school. Look,” she said, “here’s the newspaper article about your mother’s school.” She read from it out loud. “Girls, it is noticed, come from all over the province to take courses in tailoring, dress design and dressmaking.”
Michiko picked up the photograph of her parents’ wedding. “You wore your pearl necklace.”
Her mother’s fingers went to her throat. “Your father gave it to me as a wedding gift,” she whispered. “The pearls came from a very special place.”
“I know,” Michiko cried out in excitement, “I know where your pearls came from.”
“You do?” her mother said. “Where?”
“They came from Pearl Harbor,” Michiko said with a smile. “I heard about Pearl Harbor at school.”
Both women gasped. They looked at each other with wide eyes.
“No,” her mother said crossly. “My pearls were harvested by the lady divers of Mikimoto.” She packed up the box. “Your father had my necklace sent from Japan.”
“Where is it?” Michiko asked. “Can I see it? Can I try it on?”
“No, you can’t.” Her mother looked at the picture in her hands. “It’s gone.”
“Did you lose it?”
Her mother did not answer.
Michiko wanted to know what had happened to the beautiful necklace. “Did someone steal it?” But her mother still did not respond. She placed the basket back on the shelf.
“She sold it,” Sadie said finally. “She sold it along with the piano and everything else of value in the house.”
“You sold your necklace?” Michiko stared at her mother with her mouth open. “Why?”
“I had to,” her mother said. Then she slumped down in her chair and laid her head on her arms.
Sadie turned to finish the dishes. Michiko took one of her mother’s hands and held it. She didn’t know what else to do. There were tears on her mother’s cheeks.
Suddenly Eiko rose and ran out the front door. Michiko went to follow, but Sadie grabbed her and held her back. “Leave her.” She drew Michiko into a hug. “She hasn’t shed a single tear till now.”
Michiko looked into her aunt’s eyes. They were brimming with moisture. “It’s time your mother had a good cry.” Sadie hugged Michiko harder. “It will do her good.”
Michiko didn’t want her mother to cry. She wanted her to wear the pearl necklace. Her eyes filled with tears as well.
Eight
School in Town
Ted showed them a small opening in the bush. “It’s an overgrown trail,” he told them. “The wagons took the apples to market this way.” He pointed into the trees. “Follow it until you reach the road, then turn left.”
Michiko trudged alongside Geechan. The hardboiled egg, nestled inside her tiny furoshiki, bounced against her leg. She had two rice balls and fiddleheads for lunch as well.
They pushed their way along the broken branches and grass. The trees seemed to close in behind them as they walked. Geechan had to duck under the low branches more than once. As they wound their way along the pine-scented path, the wind whispered through the needles. Michiko hoped they wouldn’t meet a bear.
Part of the path followed a stream that trickled over the rocks and boulders. Michiko could smell the rotting marsh grasses. When the rasping call of a blackbird rose from the bullrushes, they waited to see the flash of red on its glossy black wing. The croaking and beeping of the frogs beckoned her to a game of hide-and-seek. She wished they could stop longer and watch for dragonflies.
Finally, they emerged from the bush onto the long stretch of dusty road. Thorny bushes covered with wild roses greeted them from the shallow ditch.
They passed a rutted laneway much like theirs, which led into a pasture dotted with daisies. The sound of hammering drifted up to the road. Michiko saw her grandfather’s eyes drift longingly towards the sound. His hands were always restless. Her mother had once told her this was why he made such a good barber. When he wasn’t cutting
