Dolls of Hope (4 page)

“My father is a farmer in a village in the mountains.”

Hana said in surprise, “He can afford to send you here?” She added with quick apology, “
Gomen, gomen!
You have said your sister’s husband-to-be is wealthy. All that matters is that you are here.”

Her smile looked as if she meant it, and Chiyo tried not to feel offended as Hana led her along an inner walkway beside a courtyard. She remembered telling Yumi she would not fit in and feared even more that it was true. The tranquil flow of water in a nearby fountain failed to calm the imaginary koi now swimming frantically inside her stomach.

“These are the classrooms,” Hana said, motioning toward the building facing the street. She swept her hand toward a second building on the far side of the courtyard. “There are more classrooms. The dining hall is in the taller building to our right, with the sleeping area above it.” Having given information, she turned to Chiyo with curiosity in her eyes. “Does your father have a very large farm?”

For a brief moment, Chiyo wanted to answer yes, that he had an estate with many men to work on it. She wanted to pretend she belonged with these girls. Fiercely, she told herself that she did belong. Her way was paid and she was one of them. “Our farm is small. Yamada-san arranged for me to come here.”

She drew a deep breath and challenged Hana with the truth. If Hana wanted to end the friendship before it could begin, she could do so. “I am here to model myself after Miyamoto Hoshi.”

Hana clapped one hand over her mouth, then lowered it to demand, “Who wants you to be like Hoshi?”

“Yamada Nori-san.”

“Why? He is not marrying you!”

“No,” Chiyo agreed. “But he is marrying into my family. I am here to learn to behave properly.” She drew her mouth into the rosebud shape she had seen on Miyamoto Hoshi.

Hana looked as if she were trying to decide whether to laugh or scowl. “Does he know Miyamoto Hoshi?”

“He knows of her.”

Hana shook her head. “Hoshi has pretty manners while speaking to adults. If you cross words with her, you will find she is as tough as a clay pot.” The sparkle returned to Hana’s eyes. “Of course, she thinks she is fine china.”

“Still, I, too, must appear to be fine china.” Chiyo struggled to make her expression serene.

Hana crossed her arms over Chiyo’s bundle. “I think you are no more fine china than I am. What did you do to make anyone want you to change?”

Chiyo hesitated, hoping Hana would not carry her words to all the girls in the school. “Um, I sneaked into my sister’s
omiai.”

A delighted shriek burst from Hana. “I like you, Tamura Chiyo! Inside, you are strong. You might even push Hoshi from the pedestal she has built for herself.”

“Push her off!” Chiyo exclaimed. “I’m supposed to be like her! I must be or I cannot go home to Masako’s wedding.” She clasped one hand over the
kokeshi
tucked into her kimono as she added, “I must be there!”

“You will never be like Hoshi.” Hana shifted Chiyo’s bundle under one arm and clasped Chiyo’s hand. “That is a good thing, for even Hoshi should not be like Hoshi.”

She tugged Chiyo forward. “You and I are going to be great friends! And there . . .” She motioned toward a door at the end of the walkway. “There is Hanarai-sensei’s office.”

W
ith the imaginary koi leaping inside her, Chiyo followed Hana to an office at the far side of the classrooms.

Inside, she bowed politely with Hana, glimpsing Hanarai-sensei through her eyelashes. He was a large man, a door she could not pass unless he wished it.

He studied her without smiling. “You are the girl whom Yamada Nori wishes to enroll.”

For a frantic moment, Chiyo thought he was closing the door against her, that his large square body would block her from the school. If she wasn’t accepted here, what would she do? Where would she go?

Softly, she said, “I have promised to work very hard, Hanarai-sensei.”

“We shall see.” He turned to Hana. “Miss Nakata, please take our new student to Mrs. Ogata. See that a uniform is found for her.”

Relief swept through Chiyo. He was letting her stay even though he looked at her as if examining a species of moth he did not wish to add to his collection of butterflies.

She pictured a scale with saucers on each side. One side weighed a good report for Yamada-san. The other side weighed bad reports. She hoped that second side would remain empty, but she could see it was going to take work from her before Headmaster sent a report to the good side.

“Arigatogozaimasu,”
she said, bowing again before following Hana from the office. Relief made the air of the courtyard feel fresher. The scent of unfamiliar flowers smelled sweeter. Silently, Chiyo promised that Headmaster would not regret enrolling her.

“This way,” Hana said, leading her along a pathway to the building she had pointed out earlier. Inside, stairs at one end led to a large open room. Mrs. Ogata, a sturdy woman with a crisp manner, also looked at Chiyo as if she saw a moth.

While Hana hurried away to class, the woman led Chiyo to a closet with a sliding panel. Under Mrs. Ogata’s sharp eye, Chiyo arranged her floor cushion and few belongings on a shelf below the rolled futon that would be hers.

As if reading from a list she no longer needed, Mrs. Ogata explained the rules. “To pay for their stay, boarding girls are expected to rise before daylight and begin their chores. Those will include cleaning not only your own space, but the walls and floors. You will also help with laundry, carry in bathwater, and wash dishes after meals.”

That sounded like a lot to do in addition to schoolwork, but Chiyo was used to rising early and working hard. She was glad she would be busy. She would have less time to miss her family.

As she followed Mrs. Ogata back down the stairs, the courtyard filled with the sounds of girls’ voices and clattering
geta.
Classes had ended for the day. Chiyo glimpsed the town girls on their way home, several wearing heavy silk kimonos. Talking and laughing together, they made their way down the walkways and out of the gates, clearly the butterflies in Hanarai-sensei’s collection. He could be proud of them. Could he be proud of a moth?
Yes,
Chiyo told herself,
for moths are strong and beautiful in their own way.

In the dining area, Hana called her to a space near the end of a long table. Chiyo joined her, glancing around the table. Miyamoto Hoshi was not here, but she could learn from these girls. A delicious aroma rose as a small baked fish was set before her. The moment she began to eat, Mrs. Ogata interrupted. “Miss Tamura, take smaller bites, please. You will never see Miyamoto Hoshi shove an entire fish into her mouth.”

Country girls learned to eat fast so they could be in the fields before dawn and do as much work as possible before school. Chiyo felt her appetite disappear beneath a rush of embarrassment.

“You’ll get used to her,” Hana promised.

Mrs. Ogata exclaimed, “Miss Nakata, Miyamoto Hoshi will never show food in her mouth when she speaks.”

A girl nearby said, “I wonder if we will ever learn manners as perfect as Hoshi’s.”

Hana covered her mouth with her hand while her eyes sparkled. Chiyo could not smile back. Again, she felt out of place.

Hana may laugh, but I will hold my mouth as Hoshi does and eat slowly and learn to walk with quick, tiny steps. When Yamada-san returns, he will be proud of a new Chiyo.

As she carefully separated a small piece of fish with her chopsticks, the effort felt stiff and wrong. Obviously, there was more to learn at Girls’ School than writing kanji characters and learning dance steps.

By the time she relaxed on her futon, Chiyo was happy to have become friends with Hana. She thought the school’s strict policies could never dim Hana’s laughter.

“We are learning a song for the American dolls,” Hana said from the next sleeping mat. “It’s called ‘The Welcome Song.’ Do you know it?”

“No, but I’d like to,” Chiyo said, remembering the dolls Yamada Nori had described.

“I’ll teach you,” Hana assured her. “It begins like this. . . .”

But Mrs. Ogata called for silence and put out the light.

Chiyo turned restlessly. Even the sounds were wrong. She listened for frogs but instead heard occasional footsteps and voices from the street that made her feel unsafe.

She reached into her folded clothing and brought out the
kokeshi
doll her sister had given her. Holding Momo close, smoothing her thumb along the doll’s painted kimono, she thought of home until gradually sleep claimed her.

After chores and breakfast, Chiyo walked to class with Hana and several others. Each carried a cushion, so Chiyo was surprised to see desks and chairs in the classroom. “Why are we bringing cushions?”

“They make the chairs more comfortable,” Hana said with a grin. “And we use them to save a good seat in the room before the town girls take them all.”

Another girl called and Hana went away to talk to her. Chiyo decided on a seat at the front of the room where she could see and hear the teacher. Yamada-san would not be sorry that he was spending so much money to send her to this school.

She placed her cushion on a seat in the front row, then joined another girl who was sharpening her slate pencil at a table in a corner. Raised voices told her that the town girls were arriving for class. As they came in, their confidence took over the room. Most wore school uniforms today, but even in dark skirts and blouses, they dressed more richly than Chiyo in her borrowed uniform.

A question asked in a pleasant voice with a bite beneath it silenced everyone. “Whose cushion is this?”

Before she turned, Chiyo knew the cushion would be hers and that Miyamoto Hoshi would be holding it by one corner as if it were a fish going bad.
I will remember and copy the patience with which she observes the unwanted item.

On the heels of that thought came another, hotter one.
No one told me others might have saved seats ahead of time.
She drew in a breath to answer. “The cushion is mine.”

The stylish town girl looked at her with pity on her perfect face. “You are new, so you do not know you have broken a rule. My name is Miyamoto Hoshi. I sit in this chair. Every day.”

Instead of offering the cushion to Chiyo, she handed it to a girl in the row behind. That girl threw it to a girl in the next row. While Chiyo watched, her face growing hotter, the cushion flew from girl to girl toward the back of the room. Some girls hid smirks, while others looked sympathetic. No one looked surprised.

Across the room, Hana pursed her mouth in the “Hoshi shape” Chiyo had worn when trying to be like Hoshi the day before. Chiyo understood the warning to remain serene. She thought that holding their mouths like rosebuds might quickly become a joke between Hana and herself.

But she didn’t feel like laughing or even smiling. Humiliated and confused, she stood frozen at the front of the room while her cushion sailed from girl to girl.

T
he sensei, Mrs. Kaito, swept into the room and cast a sharp glance over them all. The cushion landed abruptly on the floor at one side. Sensei motioned toward it. “Whose property is this?”

I should have asked where to sit before placing my cushion on a chair,
Chiyo told herself. Feeling her skin grow hot, she said with apology, “
Sumimasen,
Sensei, the cushion is mine.”

“You will retrieve it, please.” The teacher turned to Hoshi. “Miss Tamura has come to us from a country school and will need to catch up with the rest of you. I wish her to sit at the front. Since you are an excellent student, Miss Miyamoto, you will not mind moving to a seat at the back for a time.”

Hoshi’s expression remained as untroubled as a still pool. She flowed to her feet, placed her hands at her waist, and bowed gracefully, first to the teacher, then to Chiyo. When she moved to the rear, she seemed to float rather than walk in the kimono she preferred to wear.

Hoshi acted older than the rest, Chiyo thought. How did she walk as she did, as if a stream carried her instead of her two feet? If she felt annoyed to be told to sit at the back, her face did not show it.