continued. “It is said that more than two million children donated pennies to buy the dolls and send them to us.”
Masako exclaimed, “Why?” and looked down swiftly after her mother’s warning glance.
Yamada Nori did not seem concerned by Masako’s second outburst but answered, “The hope is that friendship will develop between children of our two countries. Perhaps the dolls will prevent us from ever going to war.”
“A beautiful hope,”
Okaasan
said softly.
“I have heard rumblings,” said
Otousan,
“talk of expanding our borders. The hope for peace may be a foolish one.”
He, too, caught a look of concern from
Okaasan
and pinched a bite of sea bream in his chopsticks. “Where are those dolls now?”
“They arrived in Yokohama in mid-January.”
Masako raised her head to look at her mother, probably thinking as Chiyo did that the date could mean bad fortune.
“A sad time,” Yamada-san said, agreeing with their dismay. “The dolls arrived on the day Prince Chichibu returned home from England to mourn the death of our beloved Emperor Taisho. More than two thousand children greeted them for a reception held in a primary school, but they could not be welcomed with the celebration expected.”
Poor dolls,
Chiyo thought.
Taken away from all they have ever known and sent to a strange country, only to arrive on a sad day.
“However, there is happier news.” Yamada-san’s eyes brightened. “The dolls are to enjoy a grand welcome in Tokyo during Hinamatsuri on March third. Afterward, they will be given to schools throughout Japan. One will certainly arrive at the Girls’ School in Tsuchiura.”
Chiyo felt as if she had missed hearing something important. Her mother and sister had been giving her glances that were by turns accusing and concerned. Now they both looked pleased. Everyone did.
What had she missed? Why was he talking about a school in distant Tsuchiura?
“As I said, the school usually accepts only the daughters of military men and high officials,” Yamada-san told them, “but the headmaster is an old friend who owes me a favor. I will arrange for a place to be found for Chiyo.”
They were sending her to Tsuchiura? She had never been there, but she had heard of it. The city sprawled along Lake Kasumigaura, which reached almost to the sea. This was her punishment. She would be so far from home! Would she ever see any of them again?
Yamada-san turned to her parents. “One of the young ladies there is the daughter of General Miyamoto Hiroshi. She is called Hoshi and is highly praised by her teachers for her poise and dignity. Our Chiyo will do well to become friends with Miyamoto Hoshi and follow her example.”
He studied Chiyo while her face grew warm and she put down the piece of preserved peach she had picked up with her fingers. “She will learn proper behavior in the school and put her hill country wildness behind her.”
Chiyo picked up chopsticks, her fingertips whitening with her tight hold. The school might be better than hara-kiri, she told herself, but not by much. In a near whisper, she asked
Otousan,
“When will I be sent to that place?”
She didn’t dare ask how long she must stay away from her home and everyone she loved. She was pretty sure she knew what he would say:
You must stay away until you learn to behave like Miyamoto Hoshi.
Already, she could not like the girl.
“Y amada-san has business in Tsuchiura,”
Otousan
explained during the long ride home from the
omiai.
“In three days, he will take you to the new school in his buggy.”
Chiyo watched the lantern sway with the steps of the ox. Beyond, a full moon rose over the mountains. How could she admire the moon? In three days, she must leave her family and travel many miles down the mountain, a full day’s ride in a horse-drawn buggy. She was to leave her family.
Probably forever!
On the third morning, well before the sun was up, Chiyo stood silently while her mother fastened bundled belongings
Masako exclaimed, “Why?” and looked down swiftly after her mother’s warning glance.
Yamada Nori did not seem concerned by Masako’s second outburst but answered, “The hope is that friendship will develop between children of our two countries. Perhaps the dolls will prevent us from ever going to war.”
“A beautiful hope,”
Okaasan
said softly.
“I have heard rumblings,” said
Otousan,
“talk of expanding our borders. The hope for peace may be a foolish one.”
He, too, caught a look of concern from
Okaasan
and pinched a bite of sea bream in his chopsticks. “Where are those dolls now?”
“They arrived in Yokohama in mid-January.”
Masako raised her head to look at her mother, probably thinking as Chiyo did that the date could mean bad fortune.
“A sad time,” Yamada-san said, agreeing with their dismay. “The dolls arrived on the day Prince Chichibu returned home from England to mourn the death of our beloved Emperor Taisho. More than two thousand children greeted them for a reception held in a primary school, but they could not be welcomed with the celebration expected.”
Poor dolls,
Chiyo thought.
Taken away from all they have ever known and sent to a strange country, only to arrive on a sad day.
“However, there is happier news.” Yamada-san’s eyes brightened. “The dolls are to enjoy a grand welcome in Tokyo during Hinamatsuri on March third. Afterward, they will be given to schools throughout Japan. One will certainly arrive at the Girls’ School in Tsuchiura.”
Chiyo felt as if she had missed hearing something important. Her mother and sister had been giving her glances that were by turns accusing and concerned. Now they both looked pleased. Everyone did.
What had she missed? Why was he talking about a school in distant Tsuchiura?
“As I said, the school usually accepts only the daughters of military men and high officials,” Yamada-san told them, “but the headmaster is an old friend who owes me a favor. I will arrange for a place to be found for Chiyo.”
They were sending her to Tsuchiura? She had never been there, but she had heard of it. The city sprawled along Lake Kasumigaura, which reached almost to the sea. This was her punishment. She would be so far from home! Would she ever see any of them again?
Yamada-san turned to her parents. “One of the young ladies there is the daughter of General Miyamoto Hiroshi. She is called Hoshi and is highly praised by her teachers for her poise and dignity. Our Chiyo will do well to become friends with Miyamoto Hoshi and follow her example.”
He studied Chiyo while her face grew warm and she put down the piece of preserved peach she had picked up with her fingers. “She will learn proper behavior in the school and put her hill country wildness behind her.”
Chiyo picked up chopsticks, her fingertips whitening with her tight hold. The school might be better than hara-kiri, she told herself, but not by much. In a near whisper, she asked
Otousan,
“When will I be sent to that place?”
She didn’t dare ask how long she must stay away from her home and everyone she loved. She was pretty sure she knew what he would say:
You must stay away until you learn to behave like Miyamoto Hoshi.
Already, she could not like the girl.
“Y amada-san has business in Tsuchiura,”
Otousan
explained during the long ride home from the
omiai.
“In three days, he will take you to the new school in his buggy.”
Chiyo watched the lantern sway with the steps of the ox. Beyond, a full moon rose over the mountains. How could she admire the moon? In three days, she must leave her family and travel many miles down the mountain, a full day’s ride in a horse-drawn buggy. She was to leave her family.
Probably forever!
On the third morning, well before the sun was up, Chiyo stood silently while her mother fastened bundled belongings
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