Six

Finally, on the sixth day in port, the SS Calvin Coolidge was given permission to sail.

Imogene stood at the rail, hoping against hope to see Jimmy running up the gangplank to join her, but the ship steamed out of Yokohama Bay without him. To make matters worse, it was her sister’s wedding day. Becky would be married without her maid of honor. The letter from Jimmy, the pendant, and the love they represented served as her only consolation.

Five days later she caught her first glimpse of the gilded tips of the Horns of Negros rising above the tinted clouds, and she knew she would soon be home.

As the ship sailed into port at Dumaguete, the capital of the Philippine island of Negros, her heart swelled at the thought of seeing her father again after almost two years. She stood on deck and grasped Miss Yoder’s hand, searching the crowded pier for his dear face.

“There he is. There he is.” Bobbing up and down on her toes, she pointed. “He’s the tall one, the one with the glasses.”

Will Pennington was hard to miss. Bronzed and rangy, with the sinewy body of an outdoorsman, at six-foot-four he stood head and shoulders above everyone else on the dock. Although Imogene guessed he was Miss Yoder’s contemporary, his thinning gray hair was the only clue to his sixty-five years.

“And there’s Becky. She’s that tall, dark-haired girl next to him—what’s she doing here? She should be in Manila with David.” Imogene’s excitement was momentarily tainted by concern. But then she saw the smile on her sister’s face, and her heart lifted.

The first to run down the gangplank, she hurtled into her father’s arms, sprinkling kisses over his craggy face. “Ooh, I love you—it’s so good to see you.” Then she hugged and kissed her sister with equal enthusiasm. “Where’s David? I was desolate at missing the wedding. I want to hear every detail. There’s so much—oh dear, I almost forgot.” She rushed back and pulled Miss Yoder into the fold of her family’s welcome. “This is my friend, Miss Yoder. She was supposed to disembark in Japan, but they wouldn’t let her off the ship, and she had no place to go.” The words all came out in one breath. “So I invited her to stay with us.”

Her father’s face reflected only momentary surprise. He shook his head, broke into a grin, and grasped the plump little lady’s small hand in his. “Welcome to the Philippines, Miss Yoder.”

Miss Yoder treated him to a dimpled smile. “Please call me Goldie. That goes for you girls, too.”

Imogene gave her a hug. “Very well, from now on, Miss Goldie it will be.”

“Goldie Yoder,” Imogene’s father mused. “What a remarkably charming name.”

Breathless questions flew between the two sisters, neither taking time for answers, as their father crammed Imogene’s luggage in the car’s generous trunk and tucked Miss Goldie’s small suitcase into the backseat.

“Will Pennington.” A voice rang out behind them. Mrs. Duke swept forward on her long, sturdy legs, her hand extended. “Agatha Duke, Babcock Duke’s wife. We met at the Governor’s Ball two years ago. You remember my son, Angier.”

Angier dipped his head, a hank of dark hair flopping over his brow. His twitching eye focused on the older man’s left ear.

Imogene’s father gave a slight bow over Mrs. Duke’s proffered hand. “A pleasure to see you both again. This is my daughter Rebecca Spaneas and—”

“You don’t have to introduce us to Imogene,” the woman interrupted. “We’ve become great friends—”

That will be the day.

“And, of course, I’m acquainted with Miss Yoder, too.”

Angier pulled at his mother’s sleeve. “I think Father’s trying to get your attention.”

“They must have finished loading our luggage.” Agatha Duke turned back to Imogene’s father. “We’ll have to get together for bridge one evening. Your daughter Imogene is quite a master. I was disappointed we could never induce her to play after her partner, Jim-mu Ya-ma-shi-da”—she articulated each syllable separately—“left us in Yokohama.” The woman pursed her lips into a tight smile. “Maybe you’ll have better luck convincing her.” With a slight wave, Mrs. Duke turned. “We’ll be in touch soon. Lovely meeting you, Rebecca.” And she sailed off, Angier in tow.

It was clear Mrs. Duke hoped that by mentioning Jimmy’s name that she had dropped a bomb in the middle of the Pennington family.

Well, she was out of luck. Imogene’s was a cosmopolitan upbringing, devoid of prejudice or cultural rancor. But still, given the state of the world, the fact that Jimmy was Japanese might cause her father a moment’s pause.

He helped Miss Goldie into the front seat while Imogene and Becky squeezed into the back with Miss Goldie’s luggage. And then they were off.

“So who is this Yamashida?” her father asked almost at once.

Oh, oh. Imogene stared down at her clasped hands. She could feel his gaze boring into her in the rearview mirror and Becky’s curious look. “A—a friend.”

“You’re nose is growing, little sister,” Becky whispered, her dark eyes glittering.

Imogene shot her a warning glance.

The truth was, Imogene wanted to tell her father about Jimmy, announce everything. She wanted to roll down the car window and shout to the passing palm trees and the water buffalo cooling in the mud by the side of the road and the white herons perched on their mud-covered backs and the stevedores and the villagers: “I love Jimmy Yamashida! I love him, and what’s more, he loves me, and I have this to prove it.” She touched the collar of her blouse, under which the heart-shaped pendant hid.

But for the first time with her beloved father, she felt shy and fearful. She’d seen how Jimmy was treated on the ship by Raymond Diller, how the Japanese customs officer had behaved toward Miss Goldie. And she realized how quick her father was to question her.

Did it make a difference to him, after all, that Jimmy was Japanese?

“Is this Jimmu Yamashida any relation to the Japanese shipbuilder by that name?” her father asked.

Imogene glanced at Miss Goldie. “So I’m told.”

He frowned. “Are you aware of his father’s reputation?”

“I’ve heard.”

“Just remember—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“So you always say. But you’re making assumptions on someone you’ve never met, Daddy.”

Miss Goldie cleared her throat. “If I may,” she said gently, “I think Jimmy may be the exception to the rule, Mr. Pennington. In the short time I’ve known him, I have found him to be a fine, Christian young man, with the highest values and principles.”

“I hope you’re right.” Mr. Pennington veered to avoid a cart being drawn by a water buffalo meandering down the center of the road. “I suppose it’s a moot point anyway. Given the present situation, I doubt Imogene will be socializing with him or any other Japanese in the foreseeable future.”

“Oh, Daddy, don’t say that.”

“I’m on Imo’s side, Daddy. There’s no need to be so pessimistic. Before we make up our minds, I think we should wait until we know more about him. You don’t want Miss Goldie to get the impression you’re prejudiced or rush to judge.”

Imogene mouthed, “Thank you,” to her sister.

“Oh, I would never think so, Mr. Pennington,” Miss Goldie said.

“Will, please.”

“Will.”

“Thank you, Miss Goldie.” He cast her a bemused smile. “As you can see, if I get out of line, I can always count on my daughters to whip me back into shape.”

He caught Imogene’s gaze again in the rearview mirror, and she knew this was only a momentary reprieve, not an end to the discussion.

In the meantime, her father turned his attention to Miss Goldie. He pointed out places of interest, entertaining her with bits of history, as they cruised on the crushed coral road through groves of coconut palms, past lush green rice fields, and through towns shaded by acacias and flame trees.

Imogene gave Becky a sidelong look. “So you got married without your little sister to supervise.”

“You have no idea how disappointed I was. David, too.”

“If you’d been that disappointed, you could have cancelled the caterers, returned the gifts, and rescheduled at a time more convenient for me.”

“Oh, you.” Becky gave her a fierce hug.

“Why isn’t he here?”

“He wanted to wait and see you, but he had to get back early to the university. They hired two new professors from Germany—Jews. Sometimes, with the promise of a job, they’re allowed to leave. The Adamsons have been able to get quite a number of teachers out that way.”

“That’s wonderful. But I’m surprised this once they couldn’t get someone else to greet them. After all, David is still on his honeymoon.”

Becky smiled. “Unfortunately, as head of the department, it’s his job to orient the new faculty. Besides”—her smile broadened—“I kind of wanted to have my baby sister all to myself for a few days. I have a whole lifetime ahead of me to be with David.”

Imogene was touched by a tranquility reflected in her sister’s face that she’d never seen there before.

“I hope my being here is not going to create a problem,” Miss Goldie said to the girls’ father. “I’m sure I’d have no trouble finding other accommodations.”

“We wouldn’t hear of it,” he said. “Becky leaves for Manila on Monday. You shall have her room, and she can share Imogene’s. They’ll be up all night gossiping anyway.”

“I wouldn’t want to put Rebecca out.”

“You won’t,” Becky said. “I’m very glad you’re here. You can keep Daddy occupied while I get the straight scoop on my baby sister’s love life—and other things, of course.”

“We’re used to Imogene’s unexpected guests,” her father said, grinning into the mirror.

“We’re just grateful she’s brought one of the human species home this time,” Becky said. “When she was a little girl, it was usually the four-legged variety.”

“Not always,” Imogene said. “Remember the three-legged dog I picked up at the beach?”

“Imogene!” her father admonished, in mock horror. “You’re certainly not putting our lovely guest, Miss Goldie, in the same category as a three-legged dog?”

“It’s no insult, Daddy. I loved that dog.” Imogene laughed and patted Miss Goldie affectionately on the shoulder.

On the beach side of the road, they were passing thatched houses on bamboo stilts, nestled among areca palms and clumps of banana trees. Closer to the water, outriggers and dugout canoes were pulled up along the sand.

“Look out there.” Her father pointed at the little ferry crossing the calm, blue water of Tañon Strait toward the nearby island of Cebu.

“Beautiful.” Miss Goldie sighed.

They turned inland, and their plantation spread before them in waves of green that rolled across the valley to meet the jungle-covered mountain.

It was Saturday, December 6, 1941, and Imogene was home at last.

Hibiscus, large yellow bells in full bloom, and bougainvillea banked the house and splashed onto the freshly mowed lawn. As the car pulled into the silong, the space beneath the ground and the first floor, the servant girls, Bertha and Lupe, ran down the front stairs to greet Imogene. The three exchanged warm hugs while her father and Pedro, the plantation foreman, collected the luggage.

Imogene was relieved to see that the white orchids still blossomed in profusion along the open gallery that led to the kitchen and that Caruso, her canary, still warbled his welcome from the large screen cage.

Upstairs it seemed nothing had changed. The Philippine mahogany walls and floor were burnished to a dull luster, and a soft breeze carried its fragrance through the latticed airspace between the top of the wall and the roof’s thatch.

She tossed her hat into the peacock chair and danced around the room breathing in the perfumed air. “It’s so good to be home.” Grabbing Becky’s hand, she pulled her down the hall. “Come on—while I unpack, you can tell me every detail of the wedding.”

The rest of the afternoon Becky spent curled up on the four-poster bed in Imogene’s bright yellow, flowered-chintz room doing just that. “I’ll send you the pictures when they’ve been developed,” Becky said.

Imogene finished folding a white cotton sweater and tucked it into the drawer. “I can hardly wait to see them.”

“I saved you some wedding cake, but I’m afraid it’s pretty dried out by now.” Becky stretched, adjusting the pillow at the small of her back. “Now it’s your turn,” she said and segued into a skill she’d spent their youth perfecting, squeezing out the secrets closest to her younger sister’s heart. “So what about this Jimmu Yamashida?”

It didn’t take much squeezing. Imogene was eager to spill it all, from their first meeting to the pendant at her throat.

❧

Five o’clock Monday morning, Imogene stood in the drive in her bathrobe watching as Becky and her father left for Dumaguete, where her sister would board the ship to Manila and her new husband, David. In the gray light of morning, the last thing she saw as the car disappeared around the curve was her sister’s languid wave out the passenger window.

A sadness filled her heart for the precious days too quickly past. Yet for those few fleeting hours, she and Becky had been able to pretend they were still girls, young, a little foolish, without cares or responsibilities. She knew it would never be the same again. Her sister had a new life, with a new husband to go to.

As she turned back to the house, she wondered when the day would come when she would go to Jimmy.