Word on the radio was that ID cards would be issued and anyone not complying faced arrest. Elderly, adults, small children; Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, haole; no one was exempt. Obviously, Mochi couldn’t go, but what about Benji?
“Can’t we tell them that you adopted him, too?” Coco asked at the breakfast table.
“Or you run an orphanage,” Marie suggested.
It almost felt that way. Maybe it was something to look into—a volcano orphanage. There were likely to be others with imprisoned parents all throughout the islands. Where would those children end up? The thought filled Lana with something close to despair.
“I would still need to show birth certificates,” Lana said.
Mochi set down his teacup. “Not if you tell them all their paperwork is on O‘ahu.”
The thought of going in there made her nervous. People in Hilo had to know about the so-called kidnapped Wagner girls. But without photos, no one had any proof. If she and the girls acted perfectly normal, there should be no cause for alarm. In the end, it would be safer than not having ID cards.
“It would work for the girls, but I already told Grant that Benji lives here and is just a neighbor. And what about you? If this war drags on, how will you explain your lack of ID card?”
Mochi was still frail, but the volcano air seemed to be doing him well, cold as it was. “I can only take each day as it comes,” he said.
He might be spiritually advanced, as Jack used to say, but sometimes his lackadaisical attitude annoyed her. “That might be fine for you, but Benji?”
“I can make us cards. See if you can grab some blank ones,” Mochi said.
Lana fumed. “That’s a stupid idea. If I go to jail, then what? You’re not in any shape to take care of these kids.”
“I meant only if the opportunity arises.”
“Fine.”
Coco had already woken up on the wrong side of the bed after a fitful night of bad dreams. She was solemn and puffy eyed, and she picked at her porridge. Going to get fingerprinted was not helping matters. To cheer her up, Lana suggested they go find a Christmas tree afterward.
On the way to Volcano House, they rehearsed their story again. The girls were not to speak unless spoken to, and if asked, they had flown over to see Grandpa Jack Spalding on Saturday, the day before the attack. She imprinted their birthdays front and center in her memory. Lana wanted to get there early, before any crowd.
Gray skies and a light drizzle spread over the mountain. There were a couple of cars in the parking lot, but not hordes of people like she had been worried about. They’d brought Sailor along for the ride, but Lana insisted they leave her in the back of the truck. Inside, next to the fireplace, two tables had been set up, one with rows of cards and ink and pens, the other with gas masks. A small man in a big hat sat at the table.
“Good morning. We’re here for identification cards,” Lana said, herding the girls over.
The man put on a thick pair of spectacles and examined them as though they were a small herd of cattle. Without even saying hello, he launched into a monologue about keeping the cards on their persons at all times and about curfew and blackout and rations. Clearly, he had worked to memorize this little speech.
“How old is this one?” he asked.
“Eight,” Lana said at the same time Coco did.
Lana shot her a look. Coco shrunk back.
“I’ll need your birth certificates.”
Lana glanced at his name tag. Dick Jones. “Mr. Jones, we came over from Honolulu to see my ailing father on December 6. Needless to say, we are stranded here until further notice, and all our paperwork is over there.”
His whole face pinched into a frown, giving him a ratlike appearance. All he needed was a set of whiskers. “This is highly unusual,” he said.
“I have my driver’s license,” she offered.
“You are supposed to report to your voting precinct to register,” he said.
“That’s not possible.”
“Then I’m going to have to call this in,” he said.
Wherever had they found this unpleasant man? “Call it in to whom?”
“That is no concern of yours, ma’am. Procedures must be followed.” Dick shoved three papers her way. “Fill these out, please.”
Lana leafed through her wallet for her license while the two girls stood mute behind her. She could feel their discomfort at being here, which made her angry.
Dick set the pad of ink in front of her and sat down at a typewriter. “Your full name, please,” he said.
“Lana Hitchcock,” she said, hoping for once that her name would carry some clout. Upon hearing her name, he stared at her for an extra beat. One way or another, he had heard it before.
“Spell it.”
He asked her height, weight and age, which she had written on the paper but wasn’t about to point out. He then smashed her thumb into the ink and set her card aside to dry. When it came to the girls, he studied them again for a moment. Studied her.
“Are these your biological children?”
There was no way around more lying. She had told everyone else they were adopted, but to say that now would likely send him down a long road of questions. She was banking on Mr. Jones leaving as soon as he finished his business.
“They are,” she said, looking him in the eye.
“Where is your husband?”
“On O‘ahu.”
He must have believed her because he started clacking away on his typewriter again, asking for names and stats. Then, out of the blue, he said to Marie, “You must take after your father. What’s his background?”
Lana wanted to keel over and was about to give an answer, when Marie calmly said, “My father was born and raised on O‘ahu. His family is English and Dutch.”
Jones considered this. “Well, then.”
Lana almost cheered, and just like that, Coco and Marie Wagner officially became Coco and Marie Hitchcock. Lana turned to go.
“Not so fast, Mrs. Hitchcock. Two things you need to know. One is how to use your gas masks and the other is that all civilians are required to build a bomb shelter at their residence.”
She was so eager to leave that she’d forgotten about the gas masks. He motioned them over to the table with masks of assorted sizes. The contraptions were heavy, with a partial helmet that went over the head and face and a canister hanging down in front of the chest. Jones had them each try several on for fit and showed them how to adjust the straps, but none were small enough to fit Coco’s head. Coco was near tears.
“I’m going to be poisoned,” she said to Lana.
“No, you’re not. I bet Major Bailey can find us one.”
Jones added, “We’re still waiting on the kid ones, unfortunately.”
He then explained how to construct a bomb shelter. It was easy, he told her; they just needed to dig through six feet of solid lava and have a hundred sandbags on hand. That way, they would be immune to flying objects and fire. Lana noticed Coco staring at the masks, clearly working something out in her head. Please, don’t say anything. Jones was searching through a crate under the table for something when Coco said, “Excuse me, mister, but we need one for our dog, too.”
That got a laugh. “Sorry, but the masks are only for humans,” he said.
“Why not dogs?”
At that very moment, Lana heard voices behind them. An older Japanese couple and Auntie had walked in. Lana said hello, grabbed their masks and ushered the girls out the door. She let out a huge sigh. It felt as though she had been holding her breath the whole time they’d been in there. When they sat down inside the truck, Coco pulled something out of her pocket and held her hand open.
Blank identification cards.
Lana felt unhinged at the thought of Coco stealing these and the possibility of getting caught. “How did you get those?”
“Easy. Mr. Dick wasn’t looking.”
“But how did I not see?”
Coco shrugged. “People see what they want.”
Back in the truck, Marie and Coco wanted to talk about bomb shelters and the secret room under the house, and they all reasoned that if indeed it was there, that was its purpose.
“When the Japanese planes come back, do you think they will see our house?” Coco asked.
Lana noticed she held the wooden horse from Grant in her lap. The poor horse was in a death grip.
“Our military won’t let them come back. And if they did, no planes will be flying out here in the boondocks. They go for the big military bases and boat harbors,” Lana said.
“Our parents are in Hilo,” Marie said.
Lana had already done enough lying for the day and the residue left her feeling tainted. The girls deserved to know.
She took a deep breath. “About that. I just learned something about your parents and I was waiting to find out more details before I told you, but I haven’t had a chance. Your folks have been transferred to the camp up here.”
Lana was hit with a blast of questions: “How do you know?” “What kind of camp?” “Can we see them?” “Do they know where we are?” “How come you didn’t tell us?” “When are they getting out?”
“The Kīlauea Military Camp. Mrs. Kano saw them driving past, and Major Bailey confirmed that a German couple from Hilo had been brought in. I’ve been trying to find out more without telling him who you are, but I think I’ll just have to come out with the truth,” Lana said.
Coco started quivering. “They aren’t getting out, are they?”
“Don’t say that!” Marie said.
Lana patted Coco’s leg. “The good news is they are close, and we know someone at the camp who might be able to help us,” Lana said, praying that Coco was wrong.
“Why do they call it a camp if they keep prisoners there?”
They rounded a bend in the road and passed the sulfur banks and steam vents, where clouds rose out of holes and cracks in the ground.
“It used to be for military to come on holiday. The name stuck. In fact we’ll be passing by it on the right soon.”
She wanted to slow the truck, but thought the better of it. Now that it was a military installation, guards were likely to be on the watch for anything suspicious. Not that a truck of women and a dog was a threat, but one never knew. Marie rolled down the window, and the smell of burning kiawe wood wafted into the truck. Since Lana’s last visit, a barbed-wire fence had been set up around the perimeter. Same stone buildings, new occupants.
As they passed, Coco was on the edge of her seat staring out over Marie’s shoulder. “Do you think they let them play cards? My parents love to play cribbage,” she said.
“Maybe we could find out,” Lana said.
She could feel the longing in both girls as sure as the vibration of the engine on the back of her thighs. To have their parents just on the other side of a fence and not be able to see their faces or hug them was unthinkable.
“We’ll find a way in. I promise,” Lana said.
Thank heavens for the Christmas tree search. Mrs. Kano had told Lana there was a small grove of Norfolk pines out near the golf course. Both girls were distracted by not only the trees but the sheer number of blackberry brambles loaded with dark, juicy fruit. It was a bit late in the season, but at Volcano, nothing was ever certain. Bees made honey on their own sweet time, berries came and went depending on the rain and sun, and ‘ohi‘a lehua bloomed haphazardly.
“Benji told us the Japanese submarines torpedoed the boat that brings the trees,” Coco said as they walked through the forest.
Mochi had mentioned hearing that on the radio. Though another account was that the freighter was sunk by angry seas off Oregon. Lana didn’t know what to believe. The newspaper that day had declared “Maui Shelled by Japanese Submarine. General Short and Admiral Kimmel Relieved of Duty.”
“Most likely rumors. The thing is people start talking about what they think happened, and they tell a friend, who then passes it on to a neighbor, and pretty soon that idea has become fact. So we have to be careful what we believe.”
“I wish Benji was with us,” Marie said. “I feel bad for him having to stay home all the time.”
“Once he has an ID, we can bring him with us.”
“But then Mochi has to stay alone,” Coco said.
Lana was touched by their concern. “We’ll sort it out. Mochi doesn’t mind being alone some of the time. He needs to rest.”
“Is he going to die?”
“I don’t know. It all depends on if it’s his time or not. Sometimes people stay alive against all odds, and others surprise us by dying suddenly. Only God knows the answers,” Lana said.
“Like what happened to your father,” Marie said.
“Exactly.”
Coco had on her contemplative face. “I want Mochi to live.”
“We all do, honey.”
When all was said and done, they left with a bucketful of berries, purple smudges covering mouths and hands, and a lopsided but perky tree. Even Sailor was stained red and purple. It took the three of them to haul the tree into the back of the truck.
“Can I make a star for the top?” Coco asked.
“You betcha.”
No one was going to take Christmas away from them.
When they reached the road to the house, once again there was something hanging over the middle of the road, same tree branch.
“What is that?” Coco said, instantly alert.
“I think I know,” Lana said.
This time it was a sardine tin. Lana let Coco open it. Inside was a note. Saturday 1600 hours. Your place. GB.
“We can tell him to let our parents out!”
“First we have to tell him they’re your parents, remember? But let me do it. It’s a touchy subject. Promise me you won’t say anything, okay?”
Marie sounded angry. “Our parents are not Nazis. You think they are, don’t you?”
Lana was taken aback by the force of her words. “I never said that. But right now, Major Bailey believes I adopted you long ago, so I need to be able to explain why I lied to him. People don’t like being lied to.”
It was going to be an uncomfortable conversation, but he seemed so reasonable and levelheaded. And teachable. She was banking on that.
“So why did you lie?”
Lana grew defensive. “You saw how it’s been. No one knows who to trust and everyone’s scared of being arrested—or worse. It seemed right at the time. I had no idea that Major Bailey would become friends with us.”
That night they made grilled tuna sandwiches with fresh tomatoes from Kano Store, and sautéed wild spinach. Coco complained about having tuna again, but they had run out of peanut butter and no one could say when the next shipment would come in. The girls had told Mochi and Benji all about the day, and after eating, Coco produced her contraband for them, along with the ink they had borrowed from Mrs. Kano. There had been none left on the shelves, but Lana promised to return it the next day. Mrs. Kano didn’t ask what it was for.
“What about a typewriter...you got one of those on hand?” Mochi said.
Lana leaned in. “No, but Mrs. Kano said I can use the one at the store tomorrow.”
After fingerprinting Mochi and Benji and deciding on the new last name Hamada, the kids set off examining every inch of the kitchen again for a way into the hidden room. Lana busied herself with a crust for a blackberry pie. Earlier, a program on the radio had played Christmas music, and now she couldn’t get the tunes out of her head.
When she went to wash the berries, someone had thrown part of the stem in and she pricked her finger. She rinsed the blood away and kept working. Before she knew it, she was lost in a daydream about Grant and the way he had touched her. Everything about him felt magnified.
Coco brought her back to the kitchen when she said, “I found something!”
She had wedged herself in the pantry. Everyone crowded around to look. On the bottom of the wall with no shelves, behind bags of rice, there was a long crack. With her scrawny arms, Coco moved the rice to the other side, no problem.
“Let me have a look,” Lana said.
Coco came out and Lana went in. She ran her fingers along the edges of the wall, and right next to the door frame, something stopped her hand. She pressed on a small lever. Nothing happened. Then she pressed again, the other way, and the wall sprung open.
“A door!” Coco screamed.
Narrow wooden steps led down into a pool of darkness.
“Who’s going to go first?” Marie said.
“Me,” Benji offered.
“Grab the flashlight.”
Lana followed Benji, with Coco holding on to her shirt. Mochi said he’d stay and keep Sailor company. The wood was unfinished and wall studs were exposed. Benji stopped at the bottom and shone the beam around. About ten feet long and twenty feet wide, a room stretched underground. One wall was lined with rifles and gas masks, the other had a desk with a tangle of radio equipment and wires and stacks of legal pads. The third had shelves of rice, flour, lard, food cans and empty jars.
“Whoa,” Benji said.
“I guess we don’t need to dig a bomb shelter,” Marie said.
“Look at all this food!” Lana said, thrilled at the thought of having extra everything, since no one knew when the next shipments would arrive. And the jars would come in handy for the honey.
She inhaled. Along with the mustiness, the room smelled faintly of her father and his trusty Barbasol shaving cream. She took the flashlight from Benji and walked over to the desk, curious what was on the papers. Illegible scribbles and sketches filled the legal pads. A framed picture of a young Lana and Jack standing at the edge of the crater hung on the wall over the desk. A plume of smoke lifted up behind them.
Marie leaned in. “That’s you.”
“It is.”
“You look so young.”
“Getting older happens to the best of us.”
Right then, the brunt of missing her father slammed Lana full force. The amount of love he held for her, even with her refusing to return, caused a rush of tears. He had refused to give up on her. Some small part of her believed he would always be there, and that when she was ready, she could go back. It was a risky way to live, she realized.
“Are you okay?” Marie asked.
She felt choked up. “I just miss my father.”
A small hand grabbed onto hers. “Don’t be sad, Aunt Lana. Jack said he knew you loved him and that you’d be coming back one of these days.”
It took a moment to register that Coco was holding her hand. “He told you that?”
Coco nodded. “He also said I reminded him of you, and that made him happy.”
That warmed her insides. “Sounds like the two of you were close.”
“He was around more than Daddy because Daddy was always working. And now I miss them both,” Coco said.
“I’ll tell you what, girls, and this goes for you, too, Benji. If you have a disagreement with someone you love, never, ever put off making things right. It could be a big disagreement or it could be tiny. But the worst thing is to go through life wishing you had done things differently. Love deserves more.”
Coco tugged on her hand. “The morning Papa got taken away, I told him he was bossy and mean, and now he’s gone. I want him to know I won’t bring caterpillars and lizards into my room anymore, and how sorry I am.”
“You’ll get to tell him,” Lana said.
Marie confessed, “Mama was mad at me because I’ve been walking home with Bobby Kanuha and I never told her.”
Benji surprised Lana by adding, “I hardly remember my parents, and I feel bad about it almost every day.”
Lana drew them in for a group hug. Marie felt so strong and sturdy, and Coco was a pack of bones. Benji went rigid at first, but none of them pulled away, and she felt a big helping of love surround them. For a moment she swore her father was in the room, too.
When they came apart, Coco was staring at the wall. “Why so many guns?”
All the guns gave Lana an uncomfortable feeling, too. “For protection. Remember, he was counting on an invasion. He wanted to be prepared. Promise me you won’t touch them, okay?”
“He must have started building this a long time ago, though,” Benji said.
“My father might have seemed eccentric, but he was always one step ahead of everyone else.”
“But how would he have known so long ago?”
Lana thought back on events over the past few years. The Japanese attack on USS Panay, the Nanking Massacre and their invasion of French Indochina. Then in 1940, when Roosevelt ordered the Pacific Fleet from San Diego to Hawaii, she could imagine the workings in her father’s mind. He picked up on patterns that others missed. He probably started the house before hearing from General Short.
“The signs were there, I suppose. You just had to know where to look,” Lana said.
She would be curious to read through his notes and see what he’d been doing with all the radio equipment. Now all civilians had been strictly ordered to suspend operations.
Marie asked, “Should we see what’s behind that door?”
There was another door on the far wall. Lana walked over and opened it. On the other side, a long tunnel led off into the dark.
Coco shrunk back. “It looks scary.”
“It’s a lava tube,” Lana said, shining the light down the corridor. “We’ll see where it leads in the morning.”
“I’m not going,” Marie announced.
“Main thing is we know how to get down here now,” Lana said. In case we need it.
As soon as the sun was up, Lana, Coco and Benji headed back downstairs. She wanted to find the tunnel’s end before Grant came. The lava tube was high enough to stand up in, and Lana stepped in. “Who’s coming?”
Benji and Coco looked at each other and then followed. The floor was uneven, with fallen rocks scattered about. One was a large boulder. As long as there were no earthquakes, they should be fine. Farther along, a section of roots hung down, dripping moisture onto the ground. Lana could hear her breath and imagined fleeing soldiers along this same path. She prayed with all her might that it never happened.
“It’s creepy,” Coco said, reaching for Lana once again.
Lana grabbed her hand. “This is an escape route, should we ever need to flee. Don’t you want to know where it ends up?”
“Not really.”
After what felt like an hour of walking but was more likely five minutes, the tunnel made a turn. Up ahead, light shone from above. A skylight. A whole section of the roof had caved in, and Jack had bolted a sturdy wooden ladder to the rock wall. Benji went up first. Grass and lantana spilled over the sides.
“We’re by the pasture,” he called down.
Coco went next, and Lana followed. Sure enough, they were in a small clearing just off the closest horse pasture. Golden morning rays lit up the dew. Once again, Lana was struck by her father’s ingenuity and how much thought went into his hideaway. If anyone stood a chance of surviving, it should have been him.