Cherry Blossom Baseball Page 10

  “There are three categories to choose from,” Miss Barnhart explained, “legends, fairy tales, or tales from history.” She wrote the titles across the chalkboard. “Each group must have at least one boy or girl.”

  The class groaned.

  “You have the rest of the week to let me know who is in your group.”

  At lunch Michiko suggested Billy be part of their group.

  “Billy?” Carolyn repeated loudly, making him look up from his comic book and stick out his tongue.

  “See,” she said, “he’s so rude.”

  “But he lives close to me,” Michiko said. “I could work with him at my house, while you work with Mary at hers. We can all meet on Saturday at the library.”

  “We have to have a boy,” Mary reminded Carolyn.

  Carolyn stared at Billy’s yellow hair across the room. “It’s bad enough seeing him Monday to Friday. I don’t want to have to look at him on Saturday.”

  “I’ll ask him,” Michiko said as she rose from her seat.

  Annie’s face lit up when she approached.

  “Billy,” Michiko asked, “would you like to work on the project with me?”

  Billy looked up from his comic book and shrugged.

  “Say yes, Billy,” Annie pleaded. “Millie can come to our house. Say yes.”

  “Okay, I guess,” Billy said. “I haven’t thought much about it.”

  That afternoon, Michiko waited at the bus stop, wiggling her toes inside her boots to keep them warm. Billy was throwing snowballs onto the road.

  Carolyn and Mary walked by. “I’m going to ask Richard to join our group,” Carolyn said. “He lives on our street.”

  “You can’t,” Mary replied. “You know Michiko asked Billy.”

  “She can have Billy,” Carolyn said. “You and I can work with Richard and Nancy.”

  Mary stopped walking and said something.

  “I don’t care if she can draw or not,” Carolyn yelled, stamping her foot in the snow. “I’m not going to work with a Jap girl.”

  Michiko climbed onto the bus with a heavy heart. Without Carolyn and Mary, it could leave her and Billy working on their own.

  Oakville library, on the main street of town, had large picture windows, low tables with comfortable chairs, and walls and walls of books. Several groups of children from Mrs. Barnhart’s class were gathered to work on their projects. As it turned out, Mary had stood up to Carolyn and agreed to come and meet with Michiko and Billy after her 4-H Club meeting. Her older brother was to meet her there to drive her home.

  It wasn’t easy deciding on the people they were going to research. Mary wanted to work on fairy tales so she could write about princesses, and Billy wanted legends so he could tell the story of Paul Bunyan. Betty, who had taken Carolyn’s place, couldn’t decide.

  “If we do people from history,” Michiko suggested, “Mary could do an Indian princess and Billy could find all kinds of heroes.”

  When Mary’s brother, Eddie, walked into the library late Saturday afternoon, Michiko immediately recognized him as the boy who had given her a lift home from Applegate College. She pulled her book up over face and slid down in her seat.

  He walked over to Billy and ruffled his hair. Billy looked up with a giant smile.

  “How’s the arm?” Eddie asked in a low voice.

  Billy leapt to his feet to mimic winding up and making a pitch.

  “Hey, sis,” Eddie whispered to Mary as he pulled a paperback novel from his back pocket, “I’ll just read until you’re ready.” He moved to a comfortable chair near the window.

  Michiko lowered the book.

  “My brother is so lucky,” Mary said, putting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. “He doesn’t have to go to school in the springtime.”

  “What do you mean he doesn’t have to go to school?” Michiko asked.

  “The government thought up a plan to help out the farmers,” Mary explained. “If you have straight As first and second term, you don’t have to go to school for the third term. You can work on a farm. It’s called being expect or something like that.”

  “Exempt?” Michiko asked. “Is that what you mean?”

  “That’s it,” Mary said with a sigh. “All he has to do is find a farmer to sign his papers, and he works instead of going to school. He also gets a government certificate for a new bicycle, which is what he really wants.”

  “My dad might sign,” Billy said. “Men are always quitting to work at the basket factory.” He rubbed his head in thought. “I won’t be playing any ball if we don’t get help.”

  At least you get to play ball, Michiko thought. The boys had laughed loudly when she’d said she wanted to play.

  Miss Barnhart handed out the project grades, giving each group a copy of her comments.

  The four of them were very proud of their project, “Little Trails Through History.” Mary’s mother had typed out the stories, and Michiko had done a full-page watercolour for each. Betty had designed the covers with birch bark. Billy hole-punched the covers and the pages, protected them with reinforcements, and put the whole thing together with hinged metal rings.

  “Well chosen stories,” Betty read out to them, “excellent ill­ustrations and fine presentation. Miss Barnhart gave us an A!”

  “We got an A?” Mary asked in disbelief.

  Billy’s eyes shone.

  Betty nodded and turned to Michiko with a smile.

  “This is absolutely amazing,” Mary said, clapping her hands. “I have never had an A in anything in my entire life.” She paused and thought for a moment. “I’ve never even had a B.”

  She closed her eyes and crossed her hands over her chest. “I’ll bet I get a present.”

  “Wait until my father sees this. He won’t believe it!” Billy said. “I’ll get to play ball this summer for sure.”

  Betty folded the paper and handed it to Michiko. “Who wants to stand around in a field of dandelions waiting to get hit on the head?”

  “My parents will be so grateful,” Mary said, grabbing Michiko’s arm as they went out onto the playground. “I always fail arithmetic, and I get Ds in science. They will not believe this!”

  Michiko drew Mary over to the school wall. “I didn’t know you failed arithmetic,” she said in a low voice. No wonder Mary wasn’t in a hurry to take home her report card.

  “Didn’t you know I was a dummy?” Mary said with a casual laugh. “That’s why I get all those other lessons. If I’m not good at school, I gotta be good at something else.”

  “You are not a dummy,” Michiko insisted. “You read ten times more stories than we did.”

  “I love to read,” Mary said, “but I’m pretty dumb at everything else. That’s why I go to this school instead of the other one.”

  “What other school?” Michiko asked.

  “I used to go to a private school, you know, like Applegate, only mine was for girls.”

  “Why did you change?”

  “I had to,” Mary said, dragging Michiko away from the wall. “My dad refused to pay for a fancy school when my marks were so low.” She shrugged. “The teachers were happy to see me leave.”

  “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 han
dles. “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

  Michiko 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 he
r 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.

  It 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.

  Fall 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.