“I’m happy to see you too,” she said. “Look how tall you are! Peggy, you’re almost as tall as your brother!”
“She gets that from me—you and me,” Ruth said. “But unlike me, she’s very coordinated and athletic. She plays point guard in girls’ basketball.”
Donnie was not to be outdone: “I won the class swim meet this year!”
“Really? Well, you’re going to be another Duke Kahanamoku!”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s an Olympic swimming champion, and he’s Hawaiian, like me.”
Frank and Etsuko greeted Rachel with more hugs. Frank carried her bags upstairs and as soon as she was settled sharing Etsuko’s room, Rachel was shanghaied into a game of Parcheesi with the keiki. Throughout the game they chattered away nonstop—Peggy about sports, Donnie about his favorite TV program, Space Patrol—and Rachel happily listened to every word.
For dinner the family was joined by Ralph—now a cub reporter for the Oakland Tribune—his wife, Carol, and their two-year-old son, John Taizo Watanabe, or “John T.” as his father sometimes called him. Even Rachel was touched by this quiet tribute to a man she had never met.
Frank cooked a delicious dinner of chicken and dumplings and Ruth baked, in honor of Rachel’s visit, a pineapple upside-down cake.
“So you don’t live in Honolulu anymore?” Ralph asked Rachel.
“No, I’m living with my sister, Sarah, on Maui now,” Rachel said. “I would never have imagined this happening—Sarah and I were always at each other’s throats as children. When I tracked her down in Lahaina, she fainted dead away because she thought I’d died long ago. But she welcomed me into her home and invited me to share it with her.”
“That was lovely of her,” Carol said, smiling.
“Yes. And my brother Ben also lives on Maui, in Hana. When I left Kalaupapa I was afraid my 'ohana—my family—was either gone or wouldn’t want to see me because I had leprosy. I never dreamed I’d be reunited with my sister and brother, or get to meet my nieces and nephews.” She looked around the table and smiled. “Or all of you. My California 'ohana.”
Her eyes misted over, as did those of a few others at the table.
After dinner the adults shared coffee in the living room, chatted about John T. and Ralph’s new job with the Tribune. “I read your story about the Korean peace talks,” Frank said. “You think they’re going anywhere?”
“It’s still early. I hope so.”
“Lowering the draft age to eighteen doesn’t show much faith in the negotiations,” Ruth noted.
There was a sharpness in her tone Rachel had heard only once before.
“I think the Army just wants to be prepared, Sis.”
But this only seemed to raise Ruth’s hackles.
“Eighteen years old, Ralph?” she said. “Horace’s son Jack is nineteen, he could be drafted tomorrow—you think he’s ready for that?”
Gingerly Ralph replied, “There were guys in the 442nd who were only eighteen, nineteen years old, and they served with distinction.”
Ruth countered, “‘Served’ or ‘died’?”
Ralph frowned. “Both.”
“So they’re too young to drink but not too young to—”
“Dai,” Etsuko said gently, “Rachel did not come all this way just to hear you and Ryuu argue about politics.”
Ruth was suddenly embarrassed by this very un-Japanese breach of decorum in front of a guest.
“You’re right, Okāsan,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Rachel … Ralph. I just … worry about Jack, you know? All the nephews.”
“So do I, Sis. So do I.”
Rachel admired Etsuko’s graceful handling of the situation, even as she made a mental note that despite what Ruth had told her, her daughter was clearly not “over” all the wounds the war had inflicted on her family.
* * *
The next day, in a quiet moment together in the living room, Ruth asked her makuahine whether she had done any traveling other than these trips to California. “Just back to Moloka'i. For a visit,” Rachel said, trying to keep her sadness over Catherine’s death out of her voice. “But Sarah and I are taking a cruise to Hong Kong next year. I’ve wanted to see China ever since my father brought me a pair of Mission dolls when I was four.”
Rachel reached for her purse, took out an envelope. “You asked me in your last letter if I had any photos of my Kalaupapa family.”
“Oh yes, I’d love to see them!”
Rachel took out a handful of old, sepia-toned photographs. She handed one to Ruth. “This is my father, Henry, at my wedding.”
Ruth gazed into the smiling eyes of a tanned Hawaiian man in his fifties, his broad face aglow with pleasure. Beside him was Rachel, young and beautiful in her hand-sewn wedding dress, and her groom, Kenji, in a dark suit. Henry Kalama looked like a good man, a loving man; Ruth wished she could have met her grandfather. “He looks almost as happy as you do.”
Rachel smiled seeing her father’s face. “Papa was very happy I’d found someone. He loved me so much, and I adored him. When the Board of Health put me on the boat to Moloka'i, I thought I would die at the thought of never seeing Papa again. But he visited me at Kalaupapa, even though the trip back then wasn’t easy or cheap. He would have lived there if the authorities had allowed it.” Her smile faded. “This was the last time I saw him.”
“I see a lot of him in you,” Ruth noted.
“Thank you. I like to think that’s so.” Rachel handed her daughter another photo. “You’ll enjoy this one.”
Ruth laughed as she took in a snapshot of two terriers looking eagerly up at the camera, big dog-smiles on their scruffy faces. This was a later, color photo, and Ruth could see their markings—one was mottled black and white, the other mixed with a light brown—and their big brown eyes.
“The salt-and-pepper one is Setsu, the tricolor is Hōku,” Rachel said.
“Do they have some beagle in them?” Ruth asked.
“Yes, they were the product of a mixed marriage.” Ruth laughed at that. “They brought us such joy,” Rachel said wistfully. “So much spirit and energy. And digging! I could never plant a garden because they’d dig a hole to China before anything even sprouted. But they were so loving and loyal. At the wake, Hōku never left Kenji’s casket, guarding him to the very end.”
“They’re adorable.”
“I still think of them every day.” She took out another photo. “And these are my Bishop Home friends. I think I was sixteen here.”
This was a formal, posed photo of young Rachel, as yet showing no signs of leprosy, standing amid three rows of girls, in uniform dresses, ranging in age from eight to eighteen. Many smiled despite open sores on their faces. Rachel had forgotten that Catherine was in this picture too, she and Sister Leopoldina flanking their young charges. Rachel felt another pang of grief but fought it, trying to keep her tone light:
“That’s me, right here. Beside me is my best friend, Francine.” Ruth saw a short Hawaiian girl with black, pixie-cut hair and a mischievous grin. Her left hand was contracted into a claw, as Rachel’s right hand was today. “She was a jockey in horse races after Kalaupapa got a racetrack.”
“You had a racetrack?” Ruth said, amazed.
“Yes, Mr. McVeigh had it built after he became superintendent. He believed we should live and enjoy life, not just wait for death. He did more for Kalaupapa than any man since Father Damien.” Rachel pointed out a half-Chinese, half-Hawaiian girl with long black hair: “This is Emily, and behind her, that’s Cecelia”—Ruth saw a bright-eyed Filipino girl—“and this is Hina. She was from ‘topside’ Moloka'i, and one Saturday night she led us all on a … well, ‘jailbreak’ is the only word for it.”