“A beanstalk,” Ted replied. “That way he can climb it.” Then he added under his breath, “Yancha kozo de ne.”
Michiko giggled. Sadie said Ted was just as mischievous when he was a boy.
“For Hiro,” Sadie said walking into the garden, “we can plant an iris.”
“Why?” asked Clarence.
“Our mother was forever trying to grow a Hirohito iris, but it would not bloom.”
“We better plant more than flowers,” Ted muttered in exasperation. “Especially if we have a winter like the last one.”
Ted, Clarence, and Michiko helped Geechan dig and scrape the soil until the rectangular patch of land was full of scalloped edged rows.
“Tomorrow we sow,” Ted announced. “Each person gets to plant a row.” He reached out for the pickaxe from Clarence. “You get to do the potatoes,” he said, ruffling the boy’s bright red hair with his hand.
Clarence waved and headed home. The rest went indoors for lunch. Any other time Clarence would be welcome to stay, but not today. Today the family had important business.
The night before, someone pounding on the shop door had made everyone stop eating in surprise. Michiko watched her father place his napkin at the side of his plate and rise from the dinner table. They all stared at the grey envelope he returned with, wondering what it was, but Sam did not open it. He put it down next to his plate, tapped it lightly, and said, “We wait for Ted.”
Later that night Michiko turned the letter over. The words OPENED BY CENSOR and the examiner number were missing. Michiko hoped it meant they could go back to Vancouver.
Her mother spread the tablecloth and set out the napkins. Eiko always insisted their table be set properly. “It makes the food taste better,” she said many times.
Michiko waited patiently for their lunch to finish.
Finally her father took a knife, slit open the envelope, and handed the letter to Ted.
Ted scanned the letter. Taking a deep breath he read it out loud: “Please be informed that your property, in its course of sale, received a price equal to that placed upon it by an independent appraiser.”
Her mother folded her hands in her lap and said, “I should think so. We painted and installed new furnace pipes.”
Michiko jumped into the conversation. “We had a garden in the back and in the front.” She stopped talking when Sadie looked her in the eye and shook her head.
“Proceeds will not be given to the owners,” Ted continued as his voice grew low, “unless they can prove need.”
Sadie gave a sharp incredulous cry.
Ted lowered the letter to the table. “You don’t want to hear the rest.”
Eiko buried her face in her hands. “What do they mean by need?” she said.
“Let me see that,” Sadie said, snatching up the letter. She scanned it quickly with her eyes, and then read out loud, “Your Ford was sold by the government for thirty-three dollars. Handling charges for the transaction were thirty dollars.” Her voice moved to anger as she shouted out the words: “We will forward you a cheque in the amount of three dollars.”
Sadie waved the letter in front of everyone’s face. “Do you mean to tell me that you can’t get the price of your own house or your own car? All you get is three measly dollars?”
Ted took the letter from her and handed it back to Sam. “You knew the house sold.”
Geechan patted Sam’s arm. “We can never see the sun rise by looking into the west.”
“How can you say that?” Sadie screeched. “First they take your boat, then our radios and cameras.” She stood up, shoving her chair behind her. “They forced Sam into a chain gang,” she exclaimed, “and all you can say is, look the other way?”
Michiko held her breath, expecting her grandfather to rise and rebuke Sadie. But he didn’t.
Sadie threw the letter to the table. “I will never stop looking back.” She strode out of the kitchen, down the stairs, and slammed the back door.
No one at the table moved.
The letter lay in the middle of the table.
Sam planted his elbows on the table, settled his face into his hands, closed his eyes, and gave out a loud sigh.
Chapter Four
NEW TEACHER
Michiko sat outside the drugstore on the wooden walkway, hugging her legs. She waited for the school security truck. Whenever Mr. Sagara drove it, Kiko got an early ride to school.
Before long, she saw it turn the bend and stop in front of the church. The little students got out. Kindergarten was in the church basement.
The truck drove down the street toward her and stopped. Kiko hopped out. She wore what most of the girls in the orchard wore to school. A light beige cardigan covered her pink-and-white-striped cotton blouse tucked into navy slacks. Michiko wore a green corduroy skirt to school today. Matching barrettes held her short, straight black hair behind her ears.
“I wonder what she looks like,” Kiko whispered as they walked beneath the tattered awning of the Hardware Store School. The building sounded as hollow as a drum as they made their way to their partitioned classroom.
Michiko put her notebook on her desk. In the excitement of their letter, she had forgotten all about getting a new teacher.
Kiko lifted the wooden top of her desk and placed a small furoshiki inside. Michiko didn’t have to bring a lunch to school. Her lunch waited for her across the street. On Fridays she brought Kiko home. Kiko eagerly looked forward to steaming miso soup and tamago yaki, made with Mrs. Morrison’s farm-fresh eggs.
“I hoped we would meet her before anyone else,” Kiko whispered.
Michiko looked at the blackboard. There was no date. The bottles of ink were still in a line along the window ledge. The stack of textbooks was missing from the teacher’s desk.
“Are you sure there is school today?” she asked. But before Kiko could reply the clanging of the big brass bell brought the rest of the children running and pushing into the room.
In the bedlam of voices shouting and talking, Michiko covered her ears and sat down.
“Good morning, class,” said a strong voice from behind them. A tall man with a big smile pushed aside the grey government blanket that acted as their classroom door. He strode to the front of the room and perched on top of the teacher’s desk, waiting for the bedlam to subside.
“It’s a man teacher,” Kiko hissed behind her hand.
Michiko rolled her eyes. She could see that as plainly as the others. She put her face on her fists to listen, as the class sized up the bronze-skinned man with short
