Island Of Sweet Pies And Soldiers: A powerful story of loss and love
“Honey, I’ve got a feeling we aren’t in Minnesota anymore,” Jean said.
Ella giggled. Jean wished she was Judy Garland and was the first to admit it. Ella had joined her on the bandwagon.
“You’ve never even been to Minnesota,” Violet said.
“California, then.”
On a small patch of land at the two-thousand-foot elevation, Herman had planted potato, corn, peas, cucumber and watermelon. At first Violet had shied away from anything to do with farming, after the disintegration of her family farm in Minnesota and the unraveling of her father. But here in Hawaii, there was no dust or frozen winters and everything grew with a vengeance. Over and over, in a silent mantra, Violet had reminded herself that Herman was not her father.
Violet renewed the lease after Herman’s disappearance. Some weeks, there was enough overflow that she and Jean brought bushels into town to sell.
Not only that, but Violet swore that the minute Ella stuck her hands in the dirt, whatever gave life to those plants gave life to Ella. Just add water and a touch of sun.
They rode in silence for a while, which meant Jean was stewing over something. “I want to fix those boys something special tonight. Fatten them up and keep them coming back for more,” Jean said.
Violet had to keep her eyes on the rutted road. “Even if you served Spam, they’d want to come back.”
After Zach’s call, Jean had flown around the house in a flurry, dusting cobwebs and wiping down lizard poop. Violet was more reserved about having a house full of soldiers, but maybe they would bring some cheer. It sure seemed that this group of marines was more prone to smile than the last. There had been piles of them spilling out of buses and into the bars in town. The military had made an arrangement to let them hitch rides on the school buses. Many of them looked no older than her own students, and when they stepped onto the street in their uniforms, some of them could have been playing dress-up. But these boys were about to step into the blood-seeped battlefield of the Pacific. Her heart stung for them, and their mothers back home, who no doubt had a love-hate relationship with the telephone and the mailman.
Jean slipped on her purple gardening gloves and busied herself singing “Mairzy Doats.” When the song had first come out, Violet had wondered what kind of nonsense they were singing.
“What on earth is a Mairzy Doat?” she had asked Jean.
Jean quickly set her straight. “He’s saying mares eat oats. Listen carefully.”
Sure enough, Jean was right and the song soon became one of Ella’s favorites. Now the two of them belted it out.
Jean rolled down the window, letting in a burst of lemony eucalyptus air. Even while watching the road, Violet could see Jean’s foot tapping on the floor. Her hand fidgeted with an unraveling thread on the seat.
“What?” Violet asked.
“Say, I was just thinking. Maybe you should finish off the Limburger before the boys come. Or store it at Setsuko’s for the night.”
“It took me months to get that cheese. You know that.”
The cheese had been a splurge, a comfort that reminded her of home. Jean once said it smelled like a dirty soldier’s feet. Herman had tolerated it. Barely.
Jean sighed. “Do you think the boys might have heard anything about Bud’s division? Or where they’ve sailed off to?”
“Probably, but you know what they say.”
As if on cue, Ella answered, “Loose lips sink ships.”
Jean turned around. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”
When they arrived at the plot, Violet parked under an enormous ohia tree with sun-kissed red blossoms. She let herself out and opened Ella’s door, since the inside handle had broken off and there was no money to fix it.
The minute Ella climbed out, she pointed. “What is that?”
On the other side of the tree, a whole mess of rust-colored feathers was strewn on the ground. It reminded Violet of a feather blizzard.
Ella bolted.
“Honey, wait!”
The tree trunk blocked any view of whatever disaster had transpired. Ella’s voice was shrill. “It’s still alive. Hurry!”
Alive was a generous term, she saw when she reached the scene. Large chunks of feathers were missing, including all tail feathers, and half a wing hung limp. Violet hated for Ella to see the carnage, but as a girl growing up on a Minnesota farm, she herself had seen a whole lot worse than injured or headless chickens.
The hen squawked. “Mrs. Chicken, we’re here to save you,” Ella said.
Huddled on the bare ground, the hen cocked her head to the side and stared warily at them with one blinking eye. She ruffled what few feathers she had left and tried to settle into the dirt and leaves.
Jean stood back. “I hate to say this, but I’m not sure she can be saved.”
Ella ignored her and ran to the car for a burlap sack. “Mama, can you help me?”
Violet hesitated, knowing that once they went down this chicken-saving road, there would be no turning back. Ella would fall in love and there would be another mouth in the house, another soul to worry about. If it lived. Yet she had lost the ability to say no to her daughter. Without waiting, Ella scooped the hen up and cradled it in her arms. The injured bird hardly put up a struggle and let out a few soft clucks.
That was how they ended up with a featherless chicken.
Chapter Eight
Ella
At three o’clock, when Mama was poking around in the closet for linens and Jean was swaying like she always did in the kitchen to Louis Jordan singing the “G.I. Jive,” I decided to post up near the window to keep an eye out for our visitors. High swirly clouds floated in the sky and a group of mynah birds were in the grass, fighting over what was probably a bug carcass. From a built-in cushion area right next to the screen, you can see the whole lay of the land. Who’s coming up the driveway, the other teacher cottages on our lane, and even the rusty tin roofs of houses below the school.
Our new chicken was still alive and wrapped in an old blanket next to me. The whole way home in the car, I rubbed just under her eye. Mr. Manabat, who lives out near our land and sells eggs, said that’s how to hypnotize a chicken. I thought maybe it would cheer her up. Mama agreed that we could call her Brownie, which I came up with all on my own.
For some reason, I was curious about Zach. He was nice, even if he thought my butterfly was a buttercat. And I didn’t want to disappoint him by telling him that no such thing existed. I decided to draw another butterfly that looked more like a real one, with orange-and-black lacy wings. I wanted him to see it. I got the crazy idea that if I got on the soldiers’ good side, they could help me sort out my problems. Maybe we could teach God a thing or two. I had been asking God repeatedly to tell me what to do about this horrible knowledge inside of me, but for some reason He never answered. I was beginning to wonder if at some point in my short life I did something to upset Him, or if He was just too busy with the war going on and all the new prayers to answer.
The problem is, I don’t know who to trust outside the house—besides the Hamasus and Irene Ferreira. Not talking to strangers is getting harder with so many strangers around. I am pretty sure I can trust Zach, though, since he is Jean’s brother and he has honest eyes and one of those faces that smile from the inside out. I call them trust faces.
Did you know that about people? You can tell a lot about them by the way they look at you. Take Miss Irene Ferreira, our telephone operator. Her eyes are huge and chocolaty and clear. They’re always so open that you would know right away if she was hiding something. She is simply unable to keep a secret by manner of those big eyes.
Old people also have interesting eyes. It seems like their eyes know so much that they hardly have to say anything. Mr. Hayashi is like that. He sits in the back of the store, carving things out of wood. I’m not sure he can even see, but that doesn’t stop him. He still has all his teeth, which is rare for old people, and he shows them off when I sit down on the stool next to him. Mama takes her ration tickets there, and while she picks out flour and rice and things for the kitchen, I sit with him. He used to carve Japanese characters onto small blocks of wood, but now he sticks to American letters, or stars or animals. Even though his eyes are milky, it seems like he can see right through me.
Sometimes that makes me nervous. I don’t want anyone to see into my head. It’s bad enough that I’m in danger and scared of my own shadow, but I don’t want anyone else to know what I know. Then they could be, too.
Chapter Nine
Violet
“Lateness is rudeness,” so her mother always said, but Violet wanted to give Zach the benefit of the doubt. Jean paced on the porch, as her lips moved with the words playing on the radio. A picture of lovely, she wore a red pleated skirt and a white blouse. As always, the fire-engine-red lipstick set off the gold in her hair. Violet had stuck with a plain blue dress with red buttons. She had sewn them on herself one night while feeling patriotic.
“I’m sure he has a good reason. Once you’re in the military, your time is not your own,” Violet said.
“Zach never was good with time. I should have guessed he’d be late.”
No sooner had she spoken the words than a military jeep rattled into the driveway. Three men hung halfway out the windows, waving. Singing must have run in the family, because Zach and a redhead were hollering like fools. By the time they arrived at the front door, it was obvious why they’d been late.
“Alma Jean Quinlan, are you ready to dance?” Zach called from the steps as they filed up.
Jean shot Violet a look before answering. “Where have you boys been?”
All three of them stood in varying degrees of leaning and swaying, and removed their hats. Her cheeks heated up. If late was rude, late and sauced was inexcusable.
Zach’s smile must have been a mile wide. “Ladies, I believe you’ve met Parker, and this here is Tommy O’Brien, the fastest man this side of the Pacific Ocean. I apologize for our lateness, but we had to meet up with a few members of our company at the hotel.”
Violet stood on the front porch, deciding whether to say anything. But since she had nothing nice to say, she kept quiet. Jean ushered them into the living room, where Ella still sat by the window, only now she was drawing rather than watching.
“Where’s my talented little friend Ella?” Zach said.
“Ella, honey, please greet our guests. These are very important men, so we need to treat them with respect,” she said, wondering if Ella would pick up on their drunkenness.
Ella waved at the men and said, “Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” And immediately went back to her paper. The hen began clucking at the intrusion.
“What do you have here?” Zach said. In two strides, he was at Ella’s side.
“Why don’t you tell them how we got it,” Violet said.
Everyone crowded around the chicken in the blanket, whose clucking had taken on a frantic tone.
Parker bent down for a closer look. “She’s just about in tune with the radio. This little lady yours?”
Ella nodded.
“Looks like she got in a fight with a lawn mower. What happened?” he asked.
Ella pinched her lips together and without a word climbed down and started rubbing under Brownie’s eye. Violet was impressed at the tenderness of her touch. How her small fingers were so precise, delivering just the right dose of love. Not more than a minute later, the hen stopped her ruckus. Ella beamed up at them. “She likes that.”
“Where’d you learn that trick?” Parker asked.
“From Mr. Manabat. He knows everything.”
That got a laugh from the men.
“Does he, now? Well, then maybe we should be talking to him about a few things,” Zach said.
Tommy finally spoke up. “Like where on earth we’re headed. All I care to know.”
Ella traded a look with her mom. “I meant he knows everything about chickens. He wouldn’t know about that stuff. But you could ask.”
“Good advice. I just might do that,” Tommy said.
Jean disappeared and came back with trays full of peanuts and Saloon Pilot crackers with chunks of salted codfish. She set them out on the card table. Violet realized that this was the first group of adults she had entertained since Herman’s disappearance. Sure, the Hamasus came over often, but they were like family. These were men, and even though it was only Jean’s little brother, she suddenly wished she had worn something prettier.
Zach’s voice was several notches louder than the other night, and he scooped up almost the entire batch of peanuts in one hand. “Lord, it’s nice to get out of that wind-blasted tent city for a change. You ladies been up to Camp Tarawa much?”
“Now and then. We go to sell vegetables if we have too many,” Violet said. “Waimea is not always like that. Just you wait. It’s about the loveliest place on earth when the weather’s right. With all those pastures, the sky always seems bigger up there.”
Tommy laughed, revealing a missing tooth to one side. “You mean to tell me there’s a sky up there? I haven’t seen anything but that crazy sideways rain and heaps of clouds. It’s enough to drive anyone mad.”
“Once the weather turns, you won’t want to leave,” Violet said.
The words had already come out when she realized her error. As if they had any choice in the matter. Parker nodded as if considering the implications.
“Speaking of Camp Tarawa, guess what?” Jean said, clasping her hands together.
“What?” all three men said in unison.
“We’re going to be setting up a pie stand outside the USO on Saturdays pretty soon, so that should cheer you up!”
The pie-selling plan had come about after driving into Waimea one day to sell greens and sweet potato with Takeo. Jean took one look at all the soldiers milling about and a light bulb flashed on.
“These boys need some home-baked love,” she had said and then continued, “We’ll make them pies and end up with change in our pockets and a whole new set of handsome friends. And we will be doing something important in the war effort.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Violet had questioned.
“Somehow having Zach here has made me feel more protective of these soldiers. Instead of a big horde of smelly men in uniforms, I see them like brothers, sons, husbands,” Jean had said.
“I suppose it might not be a bad idea. But we’d need to work on boosting our gas rations.”
Jean had stood with her hands on her hips. “Of course it will work. Boosting morale, fattening them up. In my eyes, comfort food is better than any pill.”
“Well, I guess it’s settled, then.”
Zach now slapped his forehead and fell back. “Fellas, once you taste a Jean Quinlan apple pie, you may just want to up and marry her. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Jean’s cheeks reddened, but she loved this kind of thing. “Oh please! No apple here, but we’ll have Okinawan sweet potato or chocolate honeycomb.”
Tommy’s nostrils flared and he stiffened. “You ladies selling Jap pies to the soldiers?”
“The potatoes aren’t Japanese,” Violet said. “They come straight from our garden, and I get the starters from Mr. Otake, who has lived here for a hundred years or more.”
“That may be the case, but you ought to rethink what you call your pies if you want to sell any,” Tommy said.
“Mr. O’Brien, I see your point, but let’s get one thing straight. Here in Hawaii, there are far more Japanese than haole. And as far as any of us are concerned, most of them are just as loyal to America as you or me. These are not the same people we are fighting,” Violet said, feeling her cheeks burn.
His voice was taut. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we may have to agree to disagree.”
Jean gave her a halting look, and then trained it on Tommy. “Let’s talk about something else, please? Remember we have a young lady in our midst.”
That was how they learned Tommy O’Brien was from a big family in New York, and he was a Yankee to the bone. Also, given the chance, he would talk himself to death. Halfway through his monologue, Violet left to check on the creamed corn and beef stew. Ella followed.
“Are you going to show Zach your new butterfly watercolor?” Violet said.
Ella shrugged and fiddled with one of the scabs on her arm.
“I could use your help filling up these glasses with water.” It appeared they had consumed enough alcohol already, and she kept the beer in the icebox.
A few moments later, the volume on the radio shot up. It was Bing Crosby, only now he had company. “Swinging on a Star” also happened to be Ella’s favorite song, and she knew every word. She pushed the kitchen door open just a sliver and peeked out.
“It’s the dark-haired one,” she whispered.
Violet came over for a look. Parker was leaning up against the radio and snapping his fingers. His moves were fluid, but there was nothing fluid about his voice. It was like sandpaper on a chalkboard. On the next verse, Tommy and Zach both joined in. How could this be happening? The house had become a concert hall for drunken soldiers, and yet she couldn’t draw her eyes away. The way they were singing with every ounce of heart made her dense with longing.
When the song ended, Parker caught Ella’s eye and winked. She jumped back. Then he nodded at Violet. She felt her cheeks flush, and she let the door close.
“They’re funny,” Ella volunteered.
“I think we’re going to like them.”
* * *
Before supper, they bowed their heads and Jean gave God an extrastrong thank-you for bringing her brother to town. Even after scarfing down the peanuts and dried fish, the men tore into the food as though this was their last chance to eat. The table was drowning under mounds of beef stew, creamed corn and white rice. Violet sat at the head of the table with Parker to her left and Ella to her right.
“So, Ella, have you ever been to a zoo?” Parker asked.
Ella glanced up at him as if deciding if he was worthy of an answer. She looked to Violet, who answered for her. “We don’t have a zoo here, and Ella’s never been to the mainland.”
“I used to work in a zoo,” he said, again to Ella. “We had lions and monkeys, crocodiles, even hippos. And I learned a thing or two about animals while I was there. I could look over your hen if you’d like, after dinner.”
Ella brightened.
Violet wondered at their good fortune. “That would be nice. Thank you. How did you get involved in a zoo?”
It was easy to forget that the soldiers had lives back home before this whole war started up. That they had left education, careers and families to come here. Inside those uniforms you could find the same measure of love, fear and hope as in anyone else. Often more.
“I’ve wanted to be a vet as long as I can remember. Left the ranch up north for school in San Diego, and I was halfway through premed when the war broke out.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Jean said.
Jean had been caught up in conversation with Zach and Tommy on the other end of the table, but now turned her eyes on Parker. It had only been a matter of time. Jean would flirt with the Pope given the opportunity. Violet felt a lump of jealousy form just below her ribs. What on earth?
Parker continued, still focusing on Ella and Violet. “I was the lucky one that got the buckets of slop ready for the animals. That’s about all you want to hear, trust me.”
Jean flashed her most irresistible smile, dimples and all. “Tell us more about home. Do you have a family waiting for you?”
“My folks and my little sis, Alice. And then there’s Bella.”
Jean wilted. “She your sweetheart?”
He wore no ring.
“My dog. Black as midnight and truer than the Bible,” he said, grinning.
His smile was straight across, with only the sides turning up. He had olive skin that was too dark to be from the sun and smooth like a baby’s bottom. Then there were the broad shoulders and tapered waist. All things considered, he had the kind of looks that could only lead to heartache. And no doubt he knew it.
“Surely you must have a woman back home?” Jean persisted. Lord, she could be pushy.
“When I first enlisted, I was with the Paramarines. It was a tough unit to get in with, but they had a rule you couldn’t be married,” he said.
Tommy laughed. “Sergeant Stone, married?” His mouth was full and he nearly choked on his bite.
Zach slapped his knee, which was almost level with the tabletop, and laughed out loud.
“Fellas, cut me some slack here,” Parker said.
“He’s on his best behavior here, but...”
Parker cut Zach off. “But nothing. Am I going to have to make you do an extra hundred push-ups tomorrow?”
Violet turned to Ella, who had finished eating and was watching the men’s banter with her mouth hanging open. Surely there had been nothing like this in their house before. Herman had been a straitlaced family man. Once in a while, he and Luther would have a few beers on a Saturday, but there was never this kind of loose conversation and maleness.
Out of the blue, Ella spoke. “Do you think the Japanese are going to bomb your zoo?”
“The Japanese will never get close enough to bomb my zoo. Rest easy. We’ll be taking care of them long before they ever get near California.”
“What about here? Miss Ferreira says that you guys are here because the Japanese submarines are sneaking up on us. And we should move back to the mainland before it’s too late,” Ella said.
Where had Ella gotten this information? “Darling, you know not to believe everything Miss Ferreira says. She tends to exaggerate.” Violet would have to have a word with Miss Ferreira, sooner rather than later.
Zach cleared his throat and Tommy stared at his corn, but Parker addressed her concern. “You bring up a good point. A lot of unexpected things happen during war. But I can promise you this—the animals are safe, and you’re safe, so quit your fretting.”
Over Ella’s head, he winked at Violet.
“I wouldn’t want to leave anyway,” Ella said. “Without my papa.”
Silence dropped onto the table. Jean had probably mentioned Herman to Zach, but Violet had no idea what the others knew. Everyone in town knew the story, so she never had to explain it.
“Nor should you have to,” Parker said.
Jean mouthed the word “Sorry.”
“Thank you for your confidence in our safety, Sergeant. You may or may not be aware that my husband disappeared a year ago,” Violet said.
Ella folded her arms and looked into her lap. There was that word again. Disappear. Violet was conscious of the difference between disappeared and died. And how she always chose the former. The likelihood of Herman coming back was slim to none. That much she knew. But without a body, would she ever be able to draw the line? Would she grow old wondering with an ache in her soul? There was no easy way to talk about it, but people needed to know. These men especially, if they were to be sharing meals with them.
The truth was the truth, and the sooner everyone knew it, the better.
“Did it have anything to do with the war?” Tommy asked.
“Unfortunately, we don’t know. There was a search and an investigation, but they turned up nothing.” Violet told them her practiced version of the story while she rubbed Ella’s shoulder, at the same time tasting bile in her throat. Talking about this had that effect. Maybe having the men over hadn’t been such a good idea.
Parker didn’t seem to have a problem talking about it. “Either way, I’m sure that you loved him and he loved you. And that will never go away. Not knowing’s got to be hard.”
She nodded. By now, the whole house smelled like baked coconut and Violet excused herself to check on the pie. “Ella, I could use your help.”
Ella scooted in with her. The pie still had another minute or two before browning. She sat Ella down at the table and looked into her eyes. “Sweetie, we both want your father to still be alive. More than anything. But we’ve been over this before.”