Four

The stopover in Hawaii had been brief, too brief. For in that peaceful paradise it seemed Imogene and Jimmy’s fondness for one another grew more intense with each wave that washed the pristine shore. In tacit agreement, neither had spoken of Miss Yoder’s announcement, protecting themselves in a cocoon spun of their devotion and dreams. But the memory of her words wafted around them as persistent as the plumeria-scented breeze.

As the SS Calvin Coolidge navigated out of Pearl Harbor, Imogene gazed up at the battleships looming on either side, and reality slapped her with a force that made her shudder.

Jimmy drew her close. But his embrace could not warm her chilled heart. All that Imogene had taken for granted—freedom, justice, love—seemed suddenly in jeopardy.

Gloom, dense as a coastal fog, fell on the entire ship the closer they came to Japan. And nowhere was it more evident than in the ship’s dining room. It muffled the clink of cutlery and conversation and the brief, jarring spurts of unexpected laughter.

Even Raymond Diller was subdued.

“I miss Mrs. Nickleson,” Miss Yoder murmured, glancing at the vacant seat. “She was a most congenial person.”

Mrs. Duke agreed. “A very genteel lady.” She swallowed a bite of the rich pot d’creme dessert.

“But I’m glad for her. The holidays are so much happier when spent with one’s family,” Miss Yoder said. “Her son is an officer on the Arizona, you know.”

“So she said.” Mrs. Duke patted her lips with the corner of her napkin. “Hawaii is lovely, but for lush, tropical beauty, there’s nothing like the Philippines. By the time we get home, the servants will have the decorations up for Christmas.” She sighed. “I can hardly wait.”

Imogene would have been just as eager to get home had she not met Jimmy. But now, as the days moved toward that inevitable moment of their separation when they would dock in Yokohama, the thought of being apart from him, no matter how happy the homecoming, was almost unbearable.

“We still have the equator to cross,” Miss Yoder reminded Mrs. Duke. “Then Hong Kong.”

“And Yokohama,” Raymond Diller said. “The last stop before the Philippines.” He shoveled a large spoonful of dessert into his mouth. “If the U.S. government is warning us to stay out of Japan, I’ll lay odds they’ll be encouraging the Japs to go back where they belong—and good riddance,” he added under his breath.

There was a beat of embarrassed silence and the inevitable furtive glance in Jimmy’s direction.

Imogene felt her face grow hot as she struggled, once again, for self-control. Please, God, help me to remember that “a soft answer turneth away wrath.” But as she looked at the ruddy, mean face of Raymond Diller, not one soft word came to mind.

She put down her fork. She’d lost her appetite. Even for chocolate.

“You’re not touching your dessert.” Mrs. Duke glanced at Imogene’s bowl as she delicately scraped up the last remaining morsel from her own. “I can’t say that I blame you. It doesn’t compare with the pot d’creme they serve at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.”

“Chocolate pudding is chocolate pudding.” Mr Diller, having polished off his own portion, was now tackling his wife’s.

No wonder poor Mrs. Diller was such a thin little waif.

“I will also be disembarking in Japan,” Miss Yoder said.

Jimmy leaned forward. “Where will you be staying, Miss Yoder?”

“I have a reservation in a little hotel in Yokohama the first night. The next day some friends are picking me up to take me back to the mission.”

“There’ll be a limousine waiting for me at the dock. You must let me drop you off at your hotel.”

“If it’s not too much trouble—that would be lovely.”

“And if you don’t have other plans, I’d be honored to have you join me and my family for dinner. My mother would especially enjoy learning about your mission.”

Miss Yoder smiled. “Why, Jimmu, how kind. I would be delighted.”

Clearly, the dear lady was pleased with the prospect of being invited by such a handsome, intelligent, sensitive young man to share a meal with his family.

Any woman would be.

As Imogene contemplated being invited home to meet Jimmy’s parents, he suddenly turned, rewarding her with a flashing grin. “I hope you’re just a little jealous,” he whispered.

“Rest assured I am.” She smiled back.

❧

On the night before they would reach Japan, Imogene and Jimmy sat alone on a small couch in the farthest corner of the lounge. Imogene had so much she wanted to say to him, so much she needed to hear. So little time.

Jimmy reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers with a gentle, persuasive pressure. “I love you, Imogene Pennington. No matter what happens, no matter what the future holds, I want you to know that.” His dark eyes burned into hers.

“Oh, Jimmy—” Emotion clogged Imogene’s throat. “I—”

“I see you two, hiding behind that potted palm.” Mrs. Duke’s strident voice rang out across the lounge. “Come along—we need another couple to complete the third table for bridge.”

By the time Imogene had collected herself enough to protest, Mrs. Duke had dragged her across the lounge and pushed her down into the empty chair opposite her son, Angier.

Jimmy strode after them, obviously not pleased.

“Don’t be a bad sport, Jimmu.” Mrs. Duke sat down across from a stout English gentleman, motioning Jimmy to the chair opposite his henna-haired wife. She picked up her cards. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time for your”—her lips pursed as she gave Imogene a disapproving glance—“good-byes.”

It was well after midnight by the time the bridge game finished.

Imogene and Jimmy were finally alone.

“I still have to pack,” Jimmy said as they walked down the corridor to Imogene’s stateroom. “I waited until the last minute”—he gave her a rueful smile—“maybe because I was hoping the last minute would never come.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” Imogene blinked back tears as she felt his strong arms wrap around her. “I’m so afraid you’re going to forget me.”

“Impossible! How could I forget the sweetest, happiest memory of the most wonderful girl in the world?”

“Don’t say just a memory, Jimmy. That sounds too final.” She leaned away from him. “We’ll see each other again—we must.”

“And we will, my darling girl.” He hugged her to him, nestling her head in the curve of his shoulder. “I’ll come to the Philippines as soon as I can.”

“But when? I’m returning to the States in January.”

“Then I’ll find you there.” Jimmy stroked her hair. “The important thing is to keep in touch. Never lose touch.”

❧

The next morning, their last, Imogene and Jimmy huddled at the rail as the ship pulled into Tokyo Bay and crept up the channel that led to Yokohama. The fog reflected their gloom.

Imogene pointed to a strange little island of concrete blocks in the middle of the bay. “What’s that?”

“Fortifications,” Jimmy said and turned away.

At that moment a customs boat pulled alongside. A Japanese officer in a crisp white uniform boarded.

Without ceremony, the officer demanded that all the passengers line up, and he began a brisk, methodical check of each passport, carefully comparing it to the passenger in front of him. Extra attention was given Miss Yoder, presumably because she would be disembarking. The exchange was in Japanese, the officer’s voice brusque, Miss Yoder’s gently pleading.

The officer shook his head. He snapped the passport back into her hand and moved to the next in line.

Imogene glanced up at Jimmy. “What did he say?” she whispered.

“He’s not letting her leave the ship.” Jimmy’s expression betrayed nothing, but Imogene sensed his tension by the grip of his hand.

As the officer advanced up the line, with every booted step, her foreboding increased. Now he stood in front of her.

He snatched the passport and proceeded to study her, scanning her from head to toe with an expression of belligerent disdain. Finally, apparently satisfied, he thrust the document back into her hand and turned to Jimmy.

He glanced at Jimmy’s passport. “Ah, Jimmu Yamashida. Sakamoto Yamashida?”

Jimmy nodded.

The officer bowed stiffly from the waist as he immediately offered the passport.

Jimmy returned the courtesy with a perfunctory bow and stepped out of line. A short conversation in Japanese ensued.

Until now Imogene had seen Jimmy as a young man who spoke her language and shared her heart. For the first time she saw him as a Japanese.

It was as if a fist had hit her in the stomach. In that moment she knew the abyss that lay between them was an abyss wider than the ocean they’d just crossed. It was one of culture and language and, likely, even values.

The sudden realization made her feel the futility of ever trying to bridge it. How could she have been so naive as to think otherwise?

Jimmy abruptly followed the officer down the deck along the line of passengers. Another man stepped forward as he passed, the man who had accosted Jimmy on the dance floor, the one who had traded his seat for Imogene’s. The man who, Imogene had come to realize, was Jimmy’s bodyguard.

At the bulwark Jimmy paused. For an uncertain moment his eyes met Imogene’s.

Even from that distance—across that abyss—she felt his anguish, too.

He turned then and, catching hold of the ladder, descended down into the blunt-nosed customs boat that bobbed on the waves below.

Without a single word he was gone.

She ran to the rail and watched as the small motorboat carried him from her.