Chapter Seventeen

My phone calls the next morning netted me in a bureaucratic tangle as I tried to find out why Jamison had been arrested. A clerk needed to check with the captain; the Office of the Military Governor referred me back to the clerk. There was a cool formality to each conversation that made me think of desks that got bigger as each officer’s rank increased, with filing cabinets that got smaller and less organized around files that affected the life and death of real people.

Everyday life had changed in so many ways under martial law. Movie theaters were closed, and newspapers censored to print nothing that might be construed as unfavorable to the military. People could be arrested and held without trial because the writ of habeas corpus was suspended. Our fate was in the hands of army officers who dispensed a harsh and swift justice for everything from murder to parking tickets. The governor I had danced with in such carefree abandon was powerless now that the military had taken command and installed officers in ʻIolani Palace. The historic home of King Kalākaua was ringed with barricades and barbed wire.

I had lain awake the night before agonizing over the difficulties of getting Jamison released, and remembering with eyes shut my last conversation with Auntie, as if it was occurring in a dream. We had eaten dinner without talking much, letting Johnny marvel at the way Mr. Yamamoto had been let go until he, too, grew quiet. Auntie came into my room while I was sitting at my vanity, brushing my hair one hundred strokes before going to bed.

“I wanted to talk to you about the situation with the Japanese, if you’re not too tired,” she said, snapping me out of my weariness.

“I heard the police were watching for traitors, spying, actually.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but my stomach was hollow, recalling Jamison’s warning.

“Your interest in Mr. Sumida has me worried, especially now that we know he’s been arrested. You barely know him.”

“That’s not really true, and besides, I’m sure he’s innocent. Mr. Yamamoto was arrested by mistake and so was Jamison.”

“Jamison?” she said in astonishment.

Auntie sat down on my bed, settling in for a long haul.

I pretended not to notice her reaction, and kept brushing my hair.

“How well do you know him?”

“We’ve been seeing each other, here at the house and at a dinner party at Vivian’s.” I recalled Jamison’s aversion to the term “seeing each other,” and added, “We’ve been sort of dating.”

It appeared that Auntie May needed a minute to digest this information. She picked up Pride and Prejudice from my nightstand and flipped through the pages, pausing with a little frown when the book cracked opened to where the rose had been pressed. Only a vagrant petal or two remained.

“Merrylei, I don’t want to interfere. He’s too old for you and not quite… Why not date someone like Jerry who knows the Wentworth family?”

“I’m not interested in Jerry.”

“Someone else, then. From the Charity Ball?”

“Anyway, Jamison knows the Wentworth family better than anyone,” I corrected, not wanting to elaborate at the moment. “He helped with the renovations to Makani Kai, and he gave me a painting done by my mother that was handed down to him.” Not in quite the way it sounded but I was pressing my case.

“I’m sure you’re very grateful,” she acknowledged and changed course. “That isn’t the same as getting serious about dating him.”

“We know that our upbringing has been different. That’s what dating is all about. Getting to know each other.”

“There’s going to be some raised eyebrows.”

“Because he’s Japanese?”

“That, and some might say you’re lowering your standards.”

“I don’t think the Wentworth family name is quite what it used to be. What did Jerry call me—an innkeeper? Jamison is the one with professional standing. Did you know he graduated from MIT? Maybe people will think I’m the one who’s a gold digger.”

“What does his family have to say about all of this? They must be looking forward to a nice Japanese daughter-in-law.”

“He told me that his mother is getting used to the idea.” I was only stretching the truth a little bit with this one. “Right now my main worry is letting the authorities know that Jamison’s not involved in any sabotage. Don’t you know anyone who could help?”

“Too many years have passed since Dan’s army days. Anyway, we usually socialized with other hospital doctors, not officers.” She set the book back on my nightstand. “The men who’ve been arrested will be cleared soon just like Mr. Yamamoto was. We just have to let justice take its course.”

“That’s not good enough.” I couldn’t stand by, knowing that Jamison was imprisoned without hearing the three words I’d held back.

“You must really care about Mr. Sumida,” she observed.

“I do, Auntie.” I was suddenly desperate to make good on my promise to Jamison. “I love him.” I breathed a big sigh of relief to say the words out loud. Even if it wasn’t to the person who mattered most.

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“Not in so many words. I wish I had.”

“But you’ve considered the difficulties you’d face as a couple.”

“We’ve talked about it. Jamison was worried that I might be implicated in all the talk about Japanese sabotage. That it would go badly for me with some of my friends. He didn’t want ‘doors slammed in my face’ because we were dating. That’s the way he put it.”

“The Japanese community has always stayed with their own kind.”

“I’m not letting that stand in my way. At first I didn’t know what to think about that, but now I do. Just think of you and Edward. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. He’s part Hawaiian, isn’t he? Sometime in the past, his ancestors made a decision to look beyond their skin color and nationality. Would you let something like that come between you?”

Auntie came over and put her arms around my neck, facing the mirror. Our reflections stared back at us, mine hopeful and hers softening. I could see the traces of disapproval easing in her face.

“What are Mr. Sumida’s feelings for you?”

“You can call him Jamison, Auntie.”

“Okay. Jamison.” She pursed her lips and picked up my comb, coaxing a wave across my cheekbone. Waiting for my reaction.

”He loves me and wants us to spend the rest of our lives together,” I said, sensing a change of heart in her touch.

Silence. Auntie took a deep breath and her eyes got wide. Then she blinked several times. “Well, then, we’ll have to see about proving his innocence, won’t we?”

I couldn’t doubt her sincerity, it rang out in every word.

****

Early the next morning, we attempted to drive out to Sand Island but were stopped by the military police before we reached the access bridge.

“We’re the Red Cross,” I announced and pointed to my armband. “We’re here on official business.” Auntie and I had been waved through bigger barriers than this one, so I wasn’t put off by the guard.

He leaned on his rifle to look into my window. “Sorry, ma’am. No one’s allowed in without an identification badge.”

“We were told that our Red Cross status was sufficient,” Auntie said with a militant ring in her voice.

“No, ma’am. This is a restricted area. You’ll need to get a badge from General Short’s secretary at the Provisional Governor’s office. I have my orders.” He walked back to the gate and struck a ramrod straight pose, while I tapped on my gas gauge, hoping to see the needle jump.

“It’s a good thing we only went a couple of blocks out of our way,” I commented. “I’ve barely got enough gas to get us to Queen’s, and the Ford will be getting low, too.”

“You’d better get some gas coupons soon,” Auntie said.

“Do you think Edward can take you home tonight?”

“I can ask. What are you thinking?”

“If I can work a double shift, I’ll stay at the hospital and get in line for coupons first thing in the morning.”

“Oh Merrylei, that will be too much for you.”

“It’s the best way. The Provisional Governor’s office at ʻIolani Palace is right around the corner from City Hall, so I’ll see about getting one of those badges afterwards.”

From the rooftop at Queen’s I had seen a line of people waiting to get gas coupons. It stretched from City Hall to King Street and around the corner down Punchbowl. Military authorities had devised a gas rationing system where the city treasurer’s office gave out coupons that entitled car owners to buy ten gallons of gas each month. It wasn’t much, but between our two cars, Auntie and I could manage.

I muscled the steering wheel hand over hand, as the heavy Nash bounced across the ruts and we turned back toward Honolulu.

“I thought my uniform would get us onto Sand Island,” Auntie said. She was pinning her nurse’s cap with its Red Cross emblem more securely on her curls. “But don’t worry, we’ll find a way to get one of those badges.”

Now she had me almost smiling. I glanced in my rearview mirror to see the metal gate receding in a stir of dust. If I got in line early tomorrow I could avoid wilting in the noonday heat, and secure the paperwork I needed to locate Jamison. It was the lift I needed to start a long day.

A line outside the surgery was already forming when we stepped out of the elevator. Right away I began washing glassware and pushing a little wire stilette through the needles to be sure they were kept clear and open. When I got a spare minute, I arranged to work an extra shift. Bonnie asked around and found a spare bed at the nurses’ residence across the street, so I could sleep for a few hours.

I remember that the day passed uneventfully. Donors continued to pour in and roll up their sleeves. I jotted only two marks on the “medicine” tally sheet because almost everyone complained of feeling faint. Whether that was true or not wasn’t mine to question. I happily gave out paper cups filled with brandy or bourbon, and got “cheers” and “to your health” from a couple of soldiers that I suspected were counting the days until the bars reopened.

Working at night in the blackout was a different experience altogether. I hadn’t seen much of Melba since the day of the bombing. She and I and a nurse named Helen were alone in the laboratory on the fourth floor after the surgery closed. The frantic pace of the Blood Bank had given way to a stillness made more eerie by the contrast. There were dark open-air corridors all around us in the separate wing of the lab that distanced us from the rest of the hospital. A car horn made me jump. The wind rattled at the blinds. No one would hear us if we called for help.

On December 8 the front page headline of the Honolulu Advertiser had screamed, “SABOTEURS LAND HERE!” The story was retracted a day later, but we were all convinced that the island would be invaded any minute. At around ten o’clock, Helen sent me to check on the guard stationed at the top of the stairs, outside the elevator.

“There’s no one there,” I reported breathlessly. I had sprinted back to the lab in the glow of a covered flashlight, irresistibly drawn like a moth to the lighted room.

“What should we do?” Melba’s eyes searched out Helen and me.

“Here’s a bottle of nitric acid—one of us could throw it if we had to,” I offered.

“What about this hammer?” Helen said with a determined grin.

“We might be able to use this sulfuric acid, too,” Melba suggested, seeming to get in the spirit.

We lined up the bottles, hammer, and a couple of knives on the end of the table, then went back to the serology analysis. Helen and Melba were typing blood samples while I filled in the reports.

A little rustle of the papers on my table sent me rushing for the nitric acid bottle as the laboratory door cracked open. Don’t drop this, I warned myself and steadied my aim at the door.

“Hello?” a voice called through the slit. “I’m here to walk you to the nurses’ residence.”

We turned off the lights for a couple of seconds to let the voice enter without violating the blackout. “My god!” A uniformed guard looked over our collection of weapons when the lights were on. “I’d rather face the whole Japanese army than you three American nurses.” Color returned to his face as I finished filling in the last report for the night.

****

I was up early the next morning because I had slept lightly in a strange bed. The tasks ahead of me had jangled my dreams and shaken me awake like an impatient parent on a school day. The other three nurses in the room were still asleep, so I dressed and slipped out before putting on my shoes.

I was grateful to find a place near the front of the line for gas coupons, and occupied my time by reading the front page of the Advertiser over the shoulder of the businessman in front of me; Army planes sank a Japanese battleship, and a holiday concert was being held at the Kawaihae Church. After I got called to the window, I picked up my precious coupons and walked to the Provisional Government offices at ʻIolani Palace where I received encouraging news that applications for badges would be accepted starting next week.

When I got back to the carriage house, I went up to my room to change before walking over to Makani Kai. The blacked-out room dampened my spirits, so I pulled the blanket to the side of the window and fastened it with my favorite belt. I had to laugh a little at the panic that had swept over the three of us in the lab last night, for I was in higher spirits today. The low winter sun hadn’t yet arched above the trees outside my window, so for a minute or two I watched the leaves lazily playing with their own shadows in the breeze.

The grandfather clock didn’t need winding for another two days. Three, if I wanted to chance it. Three days, my heart cheered, and then I would see Jamison again. Today I’d settle for wandering through the vacant rooms saying goodbye to my dreams for the guesthouse. Not goodbye, I corrected myself, but à bientôt until this terrible war was over.

The brass key ring clanged against the front door of Makani Kai as I pushed it open, setting my teeth on edge. How could I possibly explain my sudden wariness? I’d been through too much over the last week to get spooked by a little noise in my own house.

The library door was ajar, and I scolded myself for running out of the house with Johnny the other night without locking it. I sidled through the ornate doorframe to keep the door from creaking, sensing an unfamiliarity in the dimness. The furniture cover was still draped over the window, but as my eyes adjusted, I could see that books had been haphazardly dragged from the shelves and lay scattered on the floor. Some stood on their spines and others were splayed out with crumpled pages.

Blood throbbed in my temple. A dull pain shot across my forehead. I eased back into the hall, ready to dash for the foyer when a haunting sensation stirred behind me.

“Just in time,” a voice whispered in my ear. There was a breathy excitement in the tone that set off a shiver across my shoulders.

I turned to face the intruder, ready to challenge him through clenched teeth.

All that came out was, “What are you doing here?”