All We Left Behind
DANIELLE R. GRAHAM

One More Chapter

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Danielle R. Graham 2020

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

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Danielle R. Graham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780008387150

Ebook Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008387143

Version: 2019-12-05

About This Book

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

About This Book

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Author’s Note

About the Author

About the Publisher

For my nephews, Parker and Declan,

and their Great Grandfather, Ted Tadayuki Kadohama

Based on true events …

Chapter 1
The Italian Campaign, World War II, April 1944

‘Hayden. Wait up.’ Gordie jogged to catch up to me as I made my way from the intelligence tent to the flight strip. Our orders were to escort the bomber squadron to target a train transporting enemy supplies through Italy. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t fly today, pal.’ Gordie matched my stride and thudded his palm against my shoulder.

I couldn’t afford to miss a flight. We were only seventeen more missions from being reassigned and I was determined to do whatever it took to go home. ‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled, then wove against the flow of the night airmen who were headed to the mess tent for a cup of weak coffee and a breakfast of dry egg and toast.

‘Are you sure?’ Gordie asked. ‘You weren’t even paying attention back there. I don’t want to get killed because your head is somewhere else.’

My jaw tightened at the reminder of the curt letter from my father folded in the lining of my breast pocket. The truth was I hadn’t slept or eaten since I received the post. And Gordie was right. I hadn’t listened to anything our commanding officer had said during the briefing, other than noting the location of the advancement line to protect the Allied troops on the ground. I didn’t need to pay attention. I knew the orders by heart. We’d done the same routine hundreds of times in the months we’d been stationed close to the Gustav Line – fly the sortie, avoid flak, and return with everyone in the squadron. ‘I’m fine to fly.’

The tread of my boot gripped the metal of the wing as I climbed up onto my airplane to double-check the airscrew pitch. Gordie hung out next to the rudder and squinted through the glare of the Mediterranean sun to shoot me an uneasy glance. ‘Nobody’s going to question if you sit this one out. It would be safer for all of us if you take some time to grieve, maybe talk to the chaplain.’

‘Time off won’t help. Sitting around here without a distraction would be worse.’ I checked the oxygen and pressure for the gun system, then hopped back down to the tarmac to wait for the siren. ‘And talking about it doesn’t change what happened. The only thing that would have made a difference is if I had been there. And I wasn’t.’

As the ground crew armed his Spitfire, Gordie performed a set of jumping jacks to get the blood flowing. Between breaths and bounces he said, ‘It might have ended in the same result even if you had been there. There’s no way of knowing.’

Annoyed that he was probably right, I forced the buckle on my flotation vest too abruptly and it broke off in my hand. ‘Hey!’ I hollered over to a gangly crewman speeding by on a bicycle. ‘Grab me another Mae West, would you? This one failed.’ The kid thrust his thumb in the air and pedalled harder to fetch a new vest from the supply tent. Gordie transitioned his calisthenics into side bends and hamstring stretches and waited patiently to finish the conversation. A conversation I wanted nothing to do with.

‘You can’t blame yourself, Hayden. There isn’t anything you could have done.’

That was the whole point. It was infuriating that I was powerless to change the outcome from overseas. ‘If I’d had a chance to talk to her—’

Gordie shook his head to disagree and loosened his necktie an extra finger-width. ‘It doesn’t work that way.’

‘No? How does it work then?’

He shrugged and arched to look at the sky to stretch his lower back. ‘All I know is there are certain things nobody can do anything about, and this is one of them.’

More and more it felt like fighting a war was one of those futile things too. What if all my efforts were pointless? And all for nothing? I stretched my leather helmet and goggles over my ears and swallowed back the helplessness of being unable to fix anything. ‘What if everything back home changes so much while we’re here that we don’t recognize it when we get back?’

Gordie thought about it seriously as he forced his beefy hands into his leather gloves. ‘I’m more worried they’ll all be the same and expect me to be the same. The war has changed me. I can’t go back to my old life the way it was.’

‘Yeah, well.’ I exhaled as much useless tension as I could, but an entire war’s worth of fury had taken up a hefty residence inside my chest. ‘I enjoyed my old life. I want it back.’

Gordie cuffed the back of my head in an unsuccessful attempt to bolster my morale. ‘Let’s just worry about getting home alive first. We can decide what we want to do with that life later.’

I nodded in reluctant agreement. The Royal Air Force petrol refuellers linked the hose to my tank and the vapours mixed with the fumes of the freshly painted yellow, blue, white, and red rings of the side roundel of the seven-crew Lancaster heavy night bomber next to us. Gordie headed over to inspect his machine as the crewman on the bike returned with my new flotation device. I squeezed my head through, rearranged the parachute seat pack straps and climbed back up onto the wing of my Spitfire, attempting to push away all thoughts from my mind, except the mission.

High cloud, pleasant spring temperatures – a perfect day to fly.

As I waited for the signal to fire up, I slid out the photo that I kept hidden in the lining of my breast pocket. Some days it felt as if Chidori was glancing back at me with encouragement or adoration, but not this time. Her eyes pleaded with me, trying to tell me something. Unfortunately, I didn’t know what, and the frustration forced tears to well up and blur my vision, so I tucked the photo away next to my father’s letter. I would have given anything to forget the anguishing news from home and focus instead on better thoughts, but it felt as if all the pleasant memories of Mayne Island before the war – Chidori, my family, my Border collie, Patch, and even pleasures as simple as the sticky buns at the fall fair – were eroding, fading farther and farther into the past with every year I was gone. I feared it wouldn’t be long before all of the good memories were lost forever, replaced one by one with increasingly painful memories.

Holding position on the airstrip when the anticipation of a mission was already hammering through my system had always been aggravating. The delays were even more torturous in the irritable state I was in. The mercury rose under the cockpit shield as I was forced to wait. Every single thing that could possibly go wrong on a flight over enemy-occupied territory inched into my awareness and collided with all the other turmoil that was already holding court in my thoughts. The wool collar of my uniform scratched almost unbearably at my neck.

When the green lantern finally flashed, my engine choked, like a kid trying a cigarette for the first time. The tower signalled for the spare Spitfire but after a stutter, my machine roared to life. I should have taken the falter as an omen. Instead, I waved off the spare and taxied out onto the flare path for takeoff.

23 August 1941

Dear Diary,

A moment worthy of contemplation occurred this morning over fresh-baked buttermilk biscuits and homemade strawberry preserves. As Obaasan basked in the sunbeam that angled through our kitchen window, she sipped her matcha tea and then uttered a phrase under her breath in Japanese. It loosely translates into, ‘every encounter happens but once in a lifetime and every meeting ends with a parting’. Concerned that it meant her health was failing, I asked her what she had meant. She seemed surprised I had heard her, as if perhaps she hadn’t intended to voice her reflections aloud.

Kenji chuckled because he believes Grandmother’s ramblings have become confused due to her old age. My brothers don’t make as much concerted effort as I do to be attentive and patient with Grandmother. Surely they appreciate the value of learning as much from her as possible before she is gone and all of her traditional Japanese wisdom is lost on the wind forever, but perhaps they take for granted that she will always be here. I am uneasy about why she is pondering the topic of parting. She seems in good health, though, so hopefully we have nothing to fear. Nevertheless, I will take notice of each encounter I have today and be grateful for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that it presents.

I have to rush off now to complete my chores before the fall fair. (Chores certainly don’t feel like once-in-a-lifetime opportunities to be treasured, more like never-ending, tedious monotony!) I guess I still have much to learn about unconditional acceptance.

Chi

Chapter 2
Mayne Island, British Columbia, August 1941

Chidori’s polished black shoes poked out from beneath the crisp white bed sheets that billowed in the ocean breeze as she meticulously pegged the corners to the clothesline in front of her family’s farmhouse. Full of eager anticipation, I snuck out of the forest of ancient evergreens that bordered their homestead, then crept in stealth through the long grass behind her. When I was close enough to catch a hint of the cherry blossom fragrance of her hair, I reached between the cotton sheets and tickled her waist.

She squealed in delight, unravelled us from the fabric, and slapped my chest. ‘Good golly. Hayden! You startled me half to death. I expected you to be out on the boat. What are you doing here?’

My mouth opened, about to produce a jaunty answer, but the long strands of her hair shimmered in the sun like raven feathers. The loveliness of it distracted me from the dashing quip I had intended to say next.

With delicate precision, Chidori tucked the wisps behind her ears and studied my expression with curiosity. If she knew the reason for my tongue-tied silence, she didn’t acknowledge it with more than a smile before making a second attempt to encourage my participation in the conversation. ‘Did you forget today is Saturday? Why aren’t you out fishing with Uncle Massey and your father?’

I swiped my hand across my mouth so my wily grin wouldn’t prematurely reveal my true ambition. ‘I volunteered to help my ma and the committee ladies set up the craft fair.’

Chidori stepped back to put a distance more fitting for a friendship between us, then glanced over her shoulder and peeked between the sheets to check if anyone from the house had seen us standing so close. ‘It was nice of you to offer to help your mother.’

‘Not entirely. Truth is, I have ulterior motives.’

‘Ah.’ Her eyes glimmered at the admission that I was up to something rascally. ‘What might those motives be?’

My long-anticipated plan was to invite her on a proper date, and if she was agreeable, begin a courtship. I had even rehearsed a heartfelt speech, but I needed to choose a more romantic moment to deliver it than during laundry chores. I stalled by teasing her. ‘Is this yours?’ I bent over and lifted up a silk slip from the laundry basket.

Chidori blushed, snatched the undergarment from me and then pressed her palms against my arms to playfully shove me away. ‘It’s my grandmother’s. Don’t be such a Nosey Ned.’

‘Nosey Ned? Is there even such a thing?’

‘Just keep your peepers and your mitts to yourself.’ She transferred the undergarments to the line behind the sheets to hide them. ‘You haven’t answered the question. What are your ulterior motives for helping your mother at the fair?’

I pressed my index finger to my lips, then whispered, ‘It’s top secret.’

She shook her head at my evasiveness, but the fact I wasn’t myself seemed to amuse her more than annoy her. ‘You’re acting peculiar, Hayden. If you and Joey are planning some sort of prank, leave me out of it.’

I shot her an impish wink, which made her chuckle.

‘I want no part of whatever mischief you two are scheming to get yourself into.’

‘Hopefully you’ll change your mind once you hear what it is.’

‘Doubtful.’ She smiled to herself before she spun away to peg the corner of another sheet on the line. ‘I had assumed after we graduated that you and Joey would outgrow your schoolboy shenanigans.’

‘Wishful thinking.’

Chidori stopped what she was doing, mused for an extra heartbeat, and then gently shoved my arm to shoo me. ‘I have chores to finish, Mr Monkey Business. And I don’t want to make you late. You should get on and go help your mother. And stay out of trouble.’

‘I won’t be late if I hitch a ride with you and your brothers. Then, after I help my mother, I was thinking you and I could spend some time together. Maybe eat some caramel apples or enter the three-legged race or partake in some other charming country-fair pastime.’

‘Oh.’ She hesitated with a pause that I feared was almost wistful, as it perhaps crossed her mind what my ulterior motive was. Fortunately, after the momentary contemplation, her mood became jovial again. ‘Defending our title in the three-legged race would be fun, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to enjoy the fair. I have to tend to our vegetable stand at the farmers’ market.’

‘One of your brothers could take over for a while.’

‘They can’t. There’s work to do back here in the greenhouses. I’ll be by myself at the market until they pick me up. Besides, won’t you have to help with the fish sales once the boat arrives at the dock?’

I leaned my shoulder against the clothesline post and crossed my arms, watching her peg trousers and trying to come up with a way to convince her that we could balance work and play. ‘This will likely be the last fall fair until the war is over. It might be our last chance for a long time to enjoy the festivities. Maybe if you sell out of your produce quickly, we could at least hang out at the dance with Joey and Donna Mae for a spell.’

When she didn’t immediately respond, I began to worry that my increasing adoration for her was not mutual and would not be reciprocated. Sweat beaded along my hairline and rolled down the side of my neck as I braced for rejection. Eventually she shot me a flicker of a grin. ‘If I sell out early, I’ll find you.’

‘Thank you.’ My fingers curled to tuck a loose wisp of her hair behind her ear.

Chidori’s eyelids lowered and her brow knitted curiously as she watched me withdraw my hand. Perhaps she was taken off-guard by the affectionate gesture of me touching her hair. Or, she noticed how mesmerized I was by the way the silkiness of the strands danced across my skin. Instead of addressing the intimacy, she said, ‘I should probably focus and get this done properly, Hayden.’ She bent to pull a light green dress out of the laundry basket.

Since I had no intention of leaving without her, I helped with the laundry.

With adept speed, she finished hanging everything in the first basket. As I clumsily pegged a pair of trousers cockeyed to the line, her eyes narrowed in mock scorn. ‘The seam of your shirt is torn. How did you manage that?’

‘I caught it on a rivet when I fixed the hay baler yesterday.’ I tugged at the fabric to examine the hole. ‘No matter. Nobody will notice.’

‘Yes, they will. I’ll quickly mend it for you.’ Chidori reached both her hands up to push my suspenders over my shoulders and let them drop to hang at my hip. The fingers of her left hand untucked the bottom hem of my shirt from the waist of my trousers while the fingers of her right hand unfastened the neck button. It wasn’t likely her intention to cause such an effect in me, but my breath caught in my throat as she slowly made her way down, undoing one button at a time until my shirt hung open. Her hands ran over the fabric of my undershirt and then she eased the top shirt down my arms. Whether she meant for it to or not, it made my heart race and goose bumps spread across the surface of my skin.

‘Stay put. I’ll be right back.’ With a perky spin she disappeared between the sheets, leaving me wondering if she was simply being helpful or reciprocating the affection.

I hung the rest of the laundry with a giant grin on my face, hopeful that Chidori’s feelings had also deepened beyond the level of friendship, and that she might accept an invitation to accompany me on a date.

When she returned a few minutes later, she held my shirt by the shoulders so I could slip into it.

‘I appreciate it.’ I chuckled at the thought that she wouldn’t likely be as accommodating if I asked her to mend the missing button on my grey trousers, too. Thankfully, she couldn’t read my mind, but she did seem to sense that whatever I was thinking was cheeky, since she shot me a slightly maternal eyebrow-raise as she guided me by the elbow towards her father’s black stake truck. It was already loaded with wood crates overflowing with a rainbow of vegetables for the farmers’ market. I opened the passenger side door for her, and she climbed in as her brothers emerged from the greenhouse.

‘Not fishing today, Hayden?’ her brother Tosh asked.

‘The fall fair is only one day a year and who knows when we’ll have another one. The fish will still be there tomorrow.’

‘True. Hop on.’ He pointed to the back and slid into the driver’s seat. Chidori’s other brother Kenji and I both jumped up onto the flatbed to sit on the crates.

Toshiro was twenty-one years old and the eldest. Everyone called him Tosh. He was home for the summer after completing an undergraduate degree at the University of British Columbia. He planned to take a year off from studies and then enter law school. Tosh and Chidori were a lot alike. Kenji, on the other hand, was more like me. He was two years older than Chidori and me. He had been a good athlete and student in high school but, like me, didn’t apply to university. Kenji was also an accomplished pianist, but didn’t care much for music, so didn’t accept the offer to play for the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra – much to his mother’s chagrin. Baseball was his only real love – baseball and his sweetheart named Michiko. For the two years after he graduated high school, he lived with Tosh near the university campus in Vancouver and played two seasons with the Asahi championship baseball team. Kenji moved back home to Mayne Island at the beginning of summer when Tosh did, because he had injured his shoulder and couldn’t play baseball any more. He still hadn’t quite gotten over that disappointment and was extra-glum for a while because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do as his career. But his mood improved when he took a job as an accountant’s assistant and he and Michiko started to go steady.

We drove out onto the dirt road that cut across the island. Chidori glanced over her shoulder and returned the smile I was already gleaming at her through the back window. If she had an inkling of what my ulterior motives were, then her amenable mood was a good sign.

A cloud of dust trailed behind us as we approached town, then billowed up to coat the two men on ladders who hoisted the 1941 Mayne Island Fall Fair banner to string it across the road. Chidori and I had both attended every fall fair since we were born. I hoped it wasn’t going to be the last one ever, but the war overseas had already been progressing for two years, with no end in sight. The fall fair tradition would more than likely be suspended once more government rations on staple goods were put in place.

Tosh parked the truck next to the split rail fence that enclosed the area for the farmers’ market, then hopped out of the cab. I jumped off the flatbed and strategically landed right in front of Chidori. Her palm grazed my waist delicately as she manoeuvred around me to lift a crate of tomatoes.

‘Hayden,’ my sister Rosalyn hollered from the porch of the Agricultural Hall. ‘Ma needs your help hauling in the boxes of preserves.’

‘All right. I’ll be right there,’ I shouted as I stacked two vegetable crates and followed Chidori and her brothers to their stand. Their wood setup was one of the bigger ones at the market, constructed like a small shed with angled display shelves along the base of the counter and a shingle shake slanted roof to shade from sun and protect from rain. It stood permanently on the fairgrounds during the growing season, so all they had to do was load up the shelves with the crates or baskets of vegetables and hang the hand-painted Setoguchi Farm sign from the hooks. An instant shop, and they were well known for their quality produce.

‘You should go help your mother,’ Chidori said quietly, not wanting to keep me from what I was supposed to be doing. ‘We can manage from here.’

‘You promise you’ll find me later?’

‘Yes, but if I don’t sell out before you have to leave for the dock, you and I could maybe go for a walk. Together. This afternoon, after the fair.’ She checked my reaction to the invitation briefly, but then, as if she worried she had been too forward, her cheeks blushed and she stepped around me to make another trip to the truck. Her red skirt brushed around her knees and distracted me for a few seconds before I followed after her.

‘Hayden!’ Ma hollered from a window in the Agricultural Hall that overlooked the farmers’ market field. ‘We’re running short on time. I really do need your help with the jars, darling.’

Waving to let her know I was on my way, I trotted after Chidori. The air was fragrant from bushels of lavender, sun-warmed strawberries, and fresh honey that other families displayed at their stands. I dodged a carpenter who carried a chair made of woven cedar branches. I side-stepped between a booth with cinnamon-and-brown-sugar-drizzled baked goods, and a booth with wool-knit baby blankets, then snuck up behind Chidori. She surrendered a smile when I rested my left hand on her waist and leaned over her shoulder to whisper, ‘I accept your invitation for a walk this afternoon, but I’m also really hoping you can find time for at least one dance.’

Her lips pressed together as she pondered. After a worry-rousing hesitation, she said, ‘Maybe. Now, go on and help your mother.’

Satisfied with a maybe, I turned towards the Agricultural Hall with my hands in my pockets and whistled a tune as I swaggered with the confidence of hope and promise.

Rory Bauer and his cousin Fitz stood on the porch, arms crossed in confrontation, to block my way to the door. ‘You didn’t go and get sweet on that Jap girl now, did you?’ Fitz jeered.

Rory chuckled as he lit a cigarette and sat down on a wood-plank bench. They both directed hostile glares at me, waiting for an answer. Not interested in an altercation, I tried to inch past them on the narrow porch. Rory stretched his legs out straight and rested his scuffed boot on the rail.

‘Excuse me, Rory.’

‘Excuse you for what?’ Fitz laughed. ‘Being sweet on a Jap?’

My composure teetered precariously. Chidori didn’t approve of me getting messed up in quarrels, so I checked if she was watching – she was. Instead of confronting the Bauers, I said, ‘Move your ratty feet, Rory, I need to get by.’

Rory stood and blew stale breath and cigarette smoke in my face.

Barely able to contain my temper, I used all of my self-restraint to utter through a tight jaw, ‘Move. My ma’s waiting on me to help her with the displays.’

‘Is your ma a Jap-lover too?’ Fitz asked.

My frame tensed and I inhaled to supress my irritation but fired back, ‘I think you should be more concerned about who your ma’s been loving, Fitz. I heard she’s awful friendly with all the fellas down at the Springwater Lodge.’

‘Shut your filthy mouth,’ Fitz growled.

Rory shoved me in the chest, which launched me against the wood siding. My body made a loud thud and a few people, including my sister, poked their heads out the door to check what the ruckus was about. The only RCMP officer for all the Gulf Islands, Constable Stuart, stepped up onto the porch in his full Red Serge uniform that made him appear seven feet tall. ‘What seems to be the problem, boys?’

‘No problem,’ we all said.

Rory mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear, took another drag from his cigarette, and avoided making eye contact with Constable Stuart. Fitz ran a comb through his overly Brylcreemed hair and shot a greasy wink at Rosalyn, which didn’t impress her in the slightest. Constable Stuart, who must have been stifling in his wool serge, used a hankie to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck and eyeballed us until Rory eventually walked away. Fitz followed. Constable Stuart directed his attention to me. I swallowed hard and focused on his bushy moustache as I waited for him to speak. ‘What was that skirmish all about, Hayden?’

‘Nothing I can’t handle, sir.’

He frowned for a good while before nodding in a cautionary way. ‘Let’s hope so.’ With the tip of his brown felt hat he stepped off the porch and crossed the street to give heck to a boy who wasn’t paying attention to his tethered goat as it chewed up the siding on the two-cell jailhouse.

I glanced across the fairgrounds at Chidori long enough to see the apprehension in her eyes about Rory and Fitz. Then I ducked inside to help my mother.

Chapter 3

The sortie went exactly as planned. The Typhoon bombers we escorted hit all the railway targets and headed back to the airfield to rearm. Gordie and I flew another pass over the Italian foothills and farmers’ fields to conduct reconnaissance. We were always on the lookout for aerodromes that had a large collection of enemy flying machines. Sending bombers in to wipe them all out on the ground was easier than fighting them in the air. Nothing much was going on, though, so we turned to head back to base.

Fifteen minutes out from our landing strip a solo Junkers flew low beneath me – a common decoy of the German Luftwaffe air force. They often sent in a solo airplane to draw us down while hiding their fighter pilots up higher. I didn’t take the bait. Instead, I scanned the airspace above me. Six enemy aircraft were indeed flying above in loose formation. I called Gordie on the RT, but he didn’t confirm receipt so must have had the receiver flipped to transmit. Fortunately, he noticed me tip my wings as a signal and he spotted them too. We split up and I headed for cloud cover. My Spitfire was faster than the Messerschmitts the German fighters flew, so I was confident I could outrun them. But my sureness that we could escape without a battle waned when I emerged from the cloud cover.

Gordie’s airplane was being attacked by two Italian Macchi aircraft. Normally, flying machines from the Italian Regia Aeronautical would be poorly matched against us, but if the squadron of Luftwaffe above backed the Italians up, we were dangerously outnumbered. I feverishly tapped the thumb lever to flash my lights in a Morse code, hoping some friendlies were close enough to see it, then I banked and doubled back to chase behind a machine that was firing on Gordie.

My pulse pounded in my temples with all-out fear and zeal as I wound her up well over four hundred kilometres per hour and gained on them. Breathing deeply didn’t help steady my hands, but there was no time to wait for them to stabilize. I increased the oxygen flow to my mask and then squeezed the ammunition trigger to fire. The tracer bullets sparked out of my wing-mounted machine guns and hit the belly of the enemy Macchi with a satisfying direct blow. My cannon shell caused black smoke to pour out of his fuselage. He went into an uncontrolled dive and I lost visual contact. Gordie rolled as the Luftwaffe enemy machines descended on us to join the fight. Overly wired from my survival instincts kicking in, I yanked and banked at the last possible second, and the burst of turbulence from the passing Messerschmitts jolted my airplane violently as I followed Gordie.

Sucking back oxygen to tame the jitters, we looped around in a tighter radius than their machines were capable of and Gordie fired a cannon, hitting the wing of one of the machines after it flew past us. It lost vertical speed rapidly, then disappeared into the clouds. Gordie gave me a triumphant thumbs up until three machines flew right up on us and opened fire.

Metal dings reverberated through the cockpit as incendiary bullets hit and sparked off my armour and wings, nearly nicking my leg and threatening to ignite my fuel. Every muscle in my body restricted, like iron cables cinching my chest to the point that my lungs couldn’t expand. Gordie peeled off. It was an escape or die situation, so with the control column jammed to the dashboard, I sent my airplane into a dive. Dropping full throttle from thirty thousand feet to one thousand in seconds caused painfully intense compression in my ears, but it was my best option to shake them. I waited until the last possible moment to increase altitude and prayed not to black out from the abrupt change in air pressure as I climbed. A violent shudder and buffeting indicated a wing stall, so I thrust the control column forward again to avoid a spin. Dizzy from the exertion, I levelled the horizon and fired another cannon. It hit one Messerschmitt in the tail, which broke off. His airplane plummeted and the pilot ditched.

Frantically scanning the air space, I searched for Gordie. When I finally spotted him, I sped to saddle up next to his left wing. Before we had a chance to fly out of range, a shell hit the armour plate behind my head. The detonation blast concussed me. After a delayed reaction to recover my wits, I stomped full left rudder and sharply tipped my wings, which regretfully caused Gordie’s airplane to be hit by the next round.

‘Damn it.’

Smoke billowed out of Gordie’s fuselage. Rapid calculations for the best way to help him, while also keeping the enemy off my tail, charged through my brain. The only option was to take down the rest of the airplanes and give Gordie a chance to limp back to the airstrip. Statistically achieving that by myself was highly improbable. But what choice did I have? I refused to abandon him. I climbed higher and looped around. Two more Macchis flew through broken cloud cover below, likely looking for me. With blind determination to save Gordie, I dropped altitude, fired my machine guns, and hit one Italian in the wing. The other one climbed. Before he disappeared into the clouds, he turned so he would be able to sneak up behind me. I slowed down and waited for him to unwittingly fly by. Once he was in front of me, I fired a direct cannon hit. Flames burst out and a projectile of shrapnel from his tail cracked the acrylic of my cockpit canopy.

Gordie glided dangerously low, just above the treetops. Smoke spewed out of every seam and rivet of his damaged rig as the last two Luftwaffe machines positioned on each of his wings. The pilots would definitely report to ground troops to pick Gordie up as a prisoner of war, so with zero sympathy, I used up the last of my ammunition to take down both airplanes. They each hit the ground with a shuddering explosion and ball of flames, which would have felt like a victory if Gordie wasn’t still going down.

‘Come on, Gordie. Keep her off the ground,’ I pleaded under my breath. He glided on no power and slowly lost more altitude. He was going to hit terrain. ‘Come on, Gordie, get out. Get out. Slide the canopy, pal.’ He was too close to the ground to deploy the parachute properly, even if he did eject, but I circled and waited on edge for a glimpse of the ballooning fabric. He didn’t bail. His airplane skidded on its belly across a farmer’s field and erupted into flames.

‘God damn it. No!’ Fraught with remorse, my throat choked for air as I climbed in altitude to race back to base.

Before I could gain top speed, a cannon blew through my left wing and jolted me nearly out of the restraint, then my cockpit filled with gritty black smoke. Blinded by the toxic fumes, my fingers searched and pulled the release lever to slide the cockpit hood. The air cleared enough to see my instruments – temperature hot, oil low, petrol extremely low. My engine sputtered from the hit and then failed, so I yanked the hand pump to inject fuel, then viciously kicked the rudder bar in an attempt to keep speed. It didn’t work. I was dead stick, no control of the airplane. The Sperry horizon indicator tilted sideways and the propellers spun ineffectively in the wind. Only two scenarios remained – go down with the fatally wounded machine or bail out. I didn’t have much choice.

I closed my eyes, said, ‘God forgive me. Have mercy on my soul,’ and crawled out of the cockpit onto the slipstream. At ten thousand feet above the ground, it required complete defiance over every natural human survival instinct to balance on the edge of the wing, but I forced myself to manoeuvre into a crouch, and then jumped.

The drone of my Spitfire engine was replaced with the intense shuddering of the air against my ears as I free-fell. The parachute released from my seat pack but, to my dismay, it suspended above me pitifully like a crumpled wad of wet paper. A strange amalgamation of utter abandonment and sheer terror waged a battle over my emotions as I plummeted through the sky towards the earth. Then, as if it had been playing a cruel joke but knew the gig needed to be up or I’d pancake, the fabric of the parachute snapped like a schooner sail catching the ocean wind. The jarring of the upward deployment nearly dislocated my shoulder joints, but the fact that my body was no longer plunging towards death was a welcome relief. The reprieve was short lived, though, as the harness straps cut across my chest and throat with crushing power. My fingers clutched desperately to fight the opposing forces of flight and gravity that strangled me as I drifted. Gasping for air was futile since I was only sucking in the suffocating black smoke of aviation carnage below. Ten metres from the ground, flames from a downed airplane ignited my parachute. It disintegrated, causing me to fall the rest of the way. I slammed into a cow pasture in the Italian countryside, hard enough to blow the seams of both my boots apart from the impact.

Sprawled out on my back, my smoke-irritated eyes blinked open. Maybe I’d been unconscious for a spell. As my head slowly cleared, I was thrilled to discover my fingers and toes responded to my mental commands to wiggle. Good news, I wasn’t paralysed or shattered. Bad news, I was surrounded by flames. I sat up to remove the parachute harness, then with extreme effort rolled to my knees and stood. Stumbling blindly in socked feet, I assumed the gagging stench of burning flesh was the enemy pilots burning up, but then realized it was my own exposed skin, scorched and already peeling away. My attempt to avoid blistering-hot scraps of metal didn’t go well and the pain became excruciating as my socks melted. I needed to make a run for it but didn’t know which way to go, until a cross wind blew the smoke all in one direction and made my decision for me. I ran through the roaring and crackling flames to where the air was clearer. Eventually, I emerged from the wreckage scene and tumbled to the tufty grass – a meadow that was reminiscent of my acreage back home on Mayne Island, or at least I imagined it was before I passed out.

A child played in the knee-high grass of the Italian field, chasing a white butterfly. His face was Japanese like Chidori’s, but his hair was blond like mine. The butterfly fluttered towards the airplane wreckage and the boy followed with his little hands raised in the air, trying to catch it. He wore a blue sweater and matching blue shoes. I yelled to warn him to stay away from the flames. He didn’t hear me, though. I wanted to get up to save him, but my body couldn’t move. I called to him one more time from where I lay before he disappeared into the wall of fire.

When I looked down at my body to determine why it wouldn’t function, my torso wasn’t actually there. Black, crusty flakes of ash were scattered where my limbs should have been. I cried out for help and a woman emerged from the flames. Her long black hair blew like raven feathers in the breeze. She was dressed all in white. Pure white. There wasn’t even a smudge of soot on her. She held the boy on her hip and the butterfly rested on his finger. She smiled with sympathy, set the boy down on the grass, and whispered something into his ear. He looked over at me and said, ‘Papa.’

Holding the boy’s hand, Chidori walked towards me – only she wasn’t really walking. More like floating.

‘Am I in Heaven?’ My voice was raspy and barely worked.

Chidori knelt next to me, then leaned forward to kiss my forehead.

A four-and-a-half-foot tall, grey-haired, leather-skinned Italian soldier with dirty fingernails rammed the end of his Gewehr rifle against my forehead on the same spot Chidori had kissed. I clenched my eyes shut, swallowed back the whimper that wanted to escape, and waited for the click of the trigger.

A second rifle barrel poked my ribs, prodding me to open my eyes. Rather than black, crusty flakes, I had arms. To my relief, I had legs too. They were burned, but at least I wasn’t a pile of soot like in the dream. I attempted to sit up and the old soldier yelled at me in Italian. I didn’t understand, so I raised my arms in surrender.

The younger soldier, whose narrow face and large eyes were proportioned like a grasshopper’s, searched through what was left of my uniform, looking for my revolver. He pulled it out of my leg pocket, then yelped from the scalding metal and dropped it on the ground.

They nudged me to kneel and link my hands behind my head. Then they discussed my torn-up, bloody, and charred bare feet. The old soldier made impatient hand gestures to get me to stand. I tried, but resting weight on my feet was more agonizing than pouring vinegar on an open wound. I involuntarily moaned from the excruciating pain and fell to the ground. One of them pushed the end of his gun into my back to make me try again. I got up, but only took half a step before I stumbled to my knees. After a rest to wheeze air into my lungs, I hoisted myself up enough to crawl and hoped that wherever they planned to take me to surrender me to the Nazis was not far.

They didn’t follow. They both lit cigarettes and watched me inch slowly. I travelled as far as I could, collapsed, and rolled over to stare up at the sky. High clouds, pleasant spring temperatures – a perfect day to die.

I imagined looking up at the same sky in Canada, half a world away. Maybe a bald eagle soared above, or a tree frog sang to its mate. Surrounded by the peacefulness of the island, nobody back home would have any idea I was about to be shot in the Italian countryside by fascists. I didn’t want to die, and I especially dreaded facing God’s ruling on people like me who took the lives of others in a war. A lot of my squadron mates celebrated every enemy they bagged, foaming at the bit to get back out and kill more. I neither celebrated nor lamented. The truth was, deep down, we all knew the other side was just a bunch of young fellows exactly like us who believed we were the evil ones. Who was to say which side was right? The only thing I knew for certain was there were a lot of us who were going to need to be granted mercy on our souls on judgement day.

Trying to accept my fate with grace, I searched the sky, looking for Heaven. All I saw were more Luftwaffe fighters, flying over in formation.

23 August 1941

Dear Diary,

Hayden gave me quite a startling and melancholy reminder that today’s fall fair might be the last for many years if the war in Europe continues. I wonder if changing traditions is what Obaasan meant about parting. It would be such a shame if the fair and other lovely pastimes were to be cancelled, but there is no denying it is a possibility as we are all asked to tighten our use of nonessentials. Circumstances and attitudes have certainly changed ever since Japan signed on to join forces with Germany and Italy to fight against Great Britain and Canada. Thankfully, hostility is not yet noticeable here on Mayne Island, but I have read in the newspaper that in Vancouver and Victoria the sentiment towards Japanese Canadians has gotten increasingly prejudiced. I pray the war doesn’t ruin everything festive. Or innocent. Or beautiful. But in the regrettable event that it does, I have been making an effort to observe all of the encounters occurring around me.

Speaking of one such observation: I witnessed Hayden in his undershirt this morning. Good golly that was a lovely encounter, but for the sake of propriety this is all I should write about it. Some encounters have been not so lovely, like whatever caused Hayden to get in a shoving match with Rory earlier. I have my suspicions about what caused it, but it’s probably best not to speculate. I really wish he wouldn’t fight, especially if it has anything to do with me.

Chi

Chapter 4

After the altercation with the Bauer boys, I vented my frustration by hauling crates of jarred plums and apricots. Ma was head of the craft fair committee and judge for the pie-baking contest, so after I finished helping her army of volunteers set up the tables, she let my sister and me both taste a few pie samples. Mrs Campbell’s blueberry was by far the tastiest because she made it tart the way I liked it. But there was a tangy lemon flan that was going to give her a run for her money.

Rosalyn’s mandated-by-our-mother volunteer-job had been to display the entries for the quilting category on rods suspended with wire from the rafters, but she was also entered as a contestant in the art category. One of her landscape oil paintings was on display on an easel near the stage, and she appeared nervous as I wandered around the hall to view her competition – two other oil paintings, several watercolours, an intricate wood carving of a whale, a blown-glass vase, and something that could only be described literally – a broken doll dipped in ceramic and then adorned in barnacles and gold enamelled butterflies. Oddly interesting in a circus-sideshow type of way.

‘What do you think?’ Rose asked me as she tugged at her lip and leaned in close to study one of the other oil paintings. ‘I don’t think my chances are good. This woman’s brush strokes are more skilful than mine.’

I squinted, not convinced. ‘Does it really matter what her brush stroke is like if her apples resemble pumpkins and her grapes are the size of watermelons?’

Rose chuckled and swatted my arm. ‘Shh. Don’t be cruel. Someone might hear you and I’ll be disqualified for poor sportsmanship.’

‘The prize for the winner is one of Ma’s zucchini loaves. You can just eat one when you get home.’

Rose rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at me like when we were little kids. ‘It’s for bragging rights, not the prizes.’

‘Well, you definitely have the best oil painting, but you’re going to come second to that ghoulish doll thingamajig.’

‘It is a curiously striking aberration, isn’t it?’ She laughed, then wrinkled her nose. ‘Second place wins a jar of Mrs Auld’s pickled beets.’

‘Mmm. My favourite. Save me some.’ I poked her arm playfully, stole another sample from Ma’s pie-judging table, and then headed back out to the fairgrounds.

Chidori was seated on a stool at their booth, writing in one of her journals, but she put it down to assist two women who approached the counter to purchase carrots. My best mate Joey lounged on the hill beside the Agricultural Hall with his steady gal, Donna Mae. I wandered over and sat down on the prickly dry grass next to them to listen to the church musicians struggle to play a jitterbug song for the crowd.

‘Hi Hayden,’ Donna Mae said. ‘The gang’s all meeting down at the point for a bonfire tonight. Do you want to tag along with us?’

‘I’ll meet you down there.’

‘Ooh.’ She clutched the crook of my arm and shook it excitedly. ‘Do you have a date?’

Not sure if I could swing it, I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘Chidori?’

A smile crept across my face as I said, ‘I hope so.’

‘That’s swell. It’s about time the two of you finally took the plunge. You’re perfect for each other.’ Donna Mae sipped ginger-beer soda from a bottle and snapped her fingers along with the beat of the song. Her reddish-brown curls bounced on her shoulders as she bobbed her head from side to side.

Joey glanced over at me with concern and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. ‘If Chidori agrees to be your date, maybe you two should catch a ride with us. In case there’s any trouble with the Bauers.’

‘Thanks, but they don’t concern me. And Chidori won’t feel comfortable when you two spend the entire night carrying on in the back seat.’

‘We won’t,’ Donna Mae promised. ‘We’ll be on our best behaviour, won’t we, Joseph?’

He raised his eyebrows in a comical way. ‘Maybe you should drive yourselves.’

Donna Mae slapped his thigh. ‘Don’t listen to him. We won’t embarrass you in front of Chidori. I don’t want her to think I’m fast or something.’

‘She’s known you her entire life.’ Joey poked Donna Mae’s ribs to tease her. ‘She’s already heard that you’re fast.’

Donna Mae shot up, brushed the dust from the seat of her wide-leg trousers, and stormed off in a huff.

‘Donna! Don’t be sore. I was only kidding,’ Joey called after her. He laughed and reclined back on his elbows. ‘In all seriousness, are you sure about Chidori? Nobody cared when you were just kids hanging out as friends. But dating? Not to mention marriage and having babies. Some people might not approve of that these days.’

‘People can’t tell me who to love.’

‘No. But now that Japan is our enemy, some folks might make your life difficult. Is that the kind of trouble you want for her or your future kids?’

I glanced over at Chidori as she served a frail, silver-haired customer named Mrs Wagner. The woman dug through her pocketbook, searching for coins. Chidori handed her the basket full of garlic, tomatoes and potatoes, and since Mrs Wagner was recently widowed, Chidori refused to take her money. Tosh and Kenji had always teased Chidori for giving away more vegetables than she sold. Her father wasn’t overly thrilled that her charitable generosity put a dent in their profits either, but it’s hard to get cross with someone for having a big heart.

Joey opened his mouth to say more about my decision to pursue a formal relationship with Chidori, but he got distracted when my sister wandered up to the front of the amphitheatre stage and danced with a group of young ladies. Joey’s eyes bulged and his grin widened like a hound that spotted a rabbit. ‘Gosh, I love looking at your sister. Do you mind if I ask her to dance?’

‘Donna Mae might mind. Besides, don’t go getting your hopes up. Rosalyn’s engaged.’

‘Isn’t her fiancé stationed in London? It can get lonely when your sweetheart is overseas. She might be in the mood for some male companionship.’

‘Even if I would allow it, which I wouldn’t, you haven’t got a shot with her. She’s moving to Vancouver in September to start a nursing job. And, by the way, she hasn’t received a letter from her fiancé in a good while, so it’s probably best if you don’t mention him – unless you want her blubbering all over you.’

Joey’s head swivelled like he was watching a tennis match as Rose moved around the dancing area. Her blue skirt spun and the waves of her white-blond hair swayed over her shoulders. He didn’t break his concentration when he said, ‘They brought a navy ship into dock for the fair. You want to tour it?’

‘No thanks. I already know being cooped up in a ship’s hull for months would be no picnic.’

‘Flying a Spitfire in the air force would be a blast, though.’

‘Sure, but killing a person wouldn’t be.’

Joey shrugged as if that part hadn’t occurred to him. ‘An RAF recruiting officer was knocking door-to-door yesterday, looking to enlist boys for duty. Did he drop by your parents’ place?’

‘Yup.’

‘Are you going to sign up on your birthday?’

‘Nope. Why would I want to risk my life just because Germany was sore over how the last war ended and decided to start another one? I can’t believe how many marks fall for the hype and volunteer to get killed overseas.’

‘The Nazis are killing innocent people and stealing power from entire countries.’ Joey tilted his Ivy cap forward to shade his eyes from the August sun that angled through the giant fir trees. ‘You think we should all just sit back and let Germany take over the whole world in vengeance?’

‘The countries involved should fight. I don’t see why Canadians are putting their noses where they don’t belong.’

‘Just ’cause the enemy ain’t on our soil doesn’t mean they ain’t aiming to be. And when they attack our allies, it’s our war too. Besides, if they start conscripting for overseas service you might have no choice, pal.’

I nodded to reluctantly concede and picked at the drought-scorched grass. Conscription to fight overseas was the worst-case scenario. Fighting someone else’s war over greed or pride or power – or whatever it was over, and likely dying doing it, did not appeal to me in the slightest. Especially if it meant being sent so far away from home. But maybe Joey was right. If the fight was about justness and protecting innocent lives, it had merit. And if the enemy ever set foot on our soil, I wouldn’t hesitate to reconsider. But I still believed, perhaps naively, that despite the failure of the League of Nations, calmer heads would prevail. Unfortunately, the news on the radio and in the papers did make it sound as if sending more Canadian boys was inevitable, though. ‘Are you going to sign up?’ I asked.

Joey nearly snorted at the absurdity. ‘I would but they wouldn’t take me. I can barely see you from a foot away. I’d be useless with a gun. But who knows what tomorrow will bring? In case they start scraping the bottom of the barrel for skinny, nearly blind kids, I should probably seize the day while I’m still free to do so.’ He slapped my back, stood, and loped over to ask Rosalyn to dance.

A gang of younger boys chased each other around the dancers in a game of soldiers. They pretended to shoot at each other with their fingers and ran through a group of schoolgirls who huddled together, planning a round of hide and seek. Donna Mae stood up against the Agricultural Hall with her arms crossed, glaring enviously at Joey and Rose as they danced. Her eyes watered and her lip quivered, so I stood and wandered over to her.

Three young ladies my age, and two my sister’s age, noticed me walking over and all turned to face me, eager for an invitation to dance. ‘Hi Hayden,’ they all said in unison as they either flattened the fabric of their skirts or tucked flyaway hairs into bobby pins.

‘Ladies,’ I greeted them but extended my hand to Donna Mae. ‘Would you care to dance, Donna Mae?’

Donna Mae tucked her chin down timidly and glanced at the other girls. ‘You’re a sweet one, Hayden, but you know I dance like a lame horse. Ask one of the other girls.’

‘Just follow me. It’s easy – like walking.’

‘I can’t walk all that well half the time either.’

‘Trust me.’ I pulled Donna Mae by the hand and spun her around a few times. She smiled as I ushered her across the grass in a Lindy Hop. Well, I was doing a Lindy Hop. She was doing more of a wounded Bunny Hop.

We danced for another song, then Joey cut in, which I knew he would. Donna Mae giggled as he spun her around. Chidori was watching me, but when our eyes met, she pretended to write in her journal. I shoved my hands in my pockets and casually strolled over to her stand. A customer beat me to the counter. After Chidori placed two cucumbers into the customer’s basket and collected the money, I leaned in and whispered, ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Setoguchi?’

Her face lit up at the invitation, but then she dropped her focus to the counter of the booth. ‘I should keep working, but thank you for asking.’

‘I think you should take a break. Just leave the vegetables out on the counter. You give most of them away at no charge anyway.’

‘Ha ha. You are quite the comical one.’ Her gaze met mine as she considered it, but then she scanned the fairgrounds and her forehead creased as something else crossed her mind. ‘What was the problem between you, Rory and Fitz earlier?’

‘It was nothing. I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to convince you to take a break and have a little fun dancing with me.’

She smiled reluctantly with one corner of her mouth. ‘I have to admit you are a smooth dancer.’

I chuckled. ‘Thank you, but I’m still looking for the right partner.’

‘I see.’ Her eyebrow arched delicately.

‘Maybe you could give me some pointers.’

‘You seem to do just fine all on your own, Mr Pierce.’ She bent over to transfer apples from a crate on the ground and restocked a basket on the counter.

‘I’m surprised you noticed. I thought you were too busy to socialize, with all your customers and whatever it is you’re always scribbling in that journal of yours.’

She winked and tied raffia to make bunches of beets. ‘I am quite capable of doing more than one thing at a time.’

‘Good to know. Let’s dance one quick swing before I have to go meet my pop and your uncle Massey at the dock.’

She rolled her eyes in a subtle surrender and placed the beets on the counter. ‘Fine. One dance.’

I nearly jumped out of my shoes in joy, but as she stepped out from the stand, the band announced they were going on a break.

‘Wait!’ I shouted and ran across the grass lot to the edge of the stage to speak to the piano player, who also happened to be the butcher. ‘One more, please, Mr Cooke.’

‘Sorry, kid. We played all the songs we know. Besides, we’ve been at it all morning and I for one need something to eat. There’s a fresh-out-of-the-oven chicken pot pie over there calling my name.’ He hopped off the stage and headed over to the pot-pie table with zero concern for the disappointing predicament he left me in.

As I walked back towards Chidori, I shrugged with my palms facing skyward. ‘Sorry. I tried.’

She returned the gesture. ‘It’s okay. There will be other opportunities.’

I nodded to agree, but truthfully I was disheartened. ‘The Issei Sun is due in a few minutes. Are we still on for a walk later this afternoon?’

‘Yes.’ Her excitement flickered through her eyes first before it reached her lips. ‘Meet me at my house once you’re finished selling the fish.’

‘Dandy. I can’t wait.’

Chapter 5

The oddly coupled rural Italian soldiers didn’t shoot me. Instead, they arranged for a farmer to hoist me onto a primitive wood cart pulled by a scrawny, malnourished horse. They hopped a ride on the cart, too, only half-heartedly pointing their guns in my general direction since I wasn’t in any condition to fight or run off.

It was a strangely emotionless purgatory to be neither safe nor in immediate danger. Possibly I was in shock from the pain of the burns, or maybe it was just such a peculiar circumstance that my body wasn’t sure how to react, but I felt detached from the reality of what was happening.

An hour into the bumpy journey, the Italian farmer’s cart hit a pot-sized hole on the bombed-out dirt road. The rough jolt threw me against the grasshopper soldier, who smelled like tobacco and dried sweat. He pushed me off as if I disgusted him and yelled at the farmer to instruct him to watch where he was going. I didn’t understand the words but the sentiment was evident.

Dusk fell as we finally passed several stone, thatched-roof farmhouses on the approach to a German-occupied Italian village. The buildings were mostly rubble from the bombings, but laundry lines hung beside some of the structures that still had partial roofs, and I could imagine the peaceful quaintness that must have existed before the war. The farmer’s cart jarringly bounced over cobblestone towards a central plaza, designed around what at one time would have been an impressive tiered marble water fountain. It was half destroyed and empty. The cart stopped in front of a town hall that had been converted by the German military into a Kriegslazarett, a makeshift battlefield hospital for Allied prisoners of war. Several Nazi military jeeps and an ambulance were parked outside the one-storey, wood-framed building. The Italian soldiers stood on either side of me so I could rest my weight on their shoulders as they assisted me inside to surrender me to the Nazis. A clerk took one look at my burns and directed the soldiers to haul me promptly into an office that served as a treatment and operating room. They hoisted me roughly onto a cold metal gurney and then made their leave.

A German doctor who couldn’t have been much older than Tosh examined my feet and shook his head with a gravity that translated loud and clear through the language barrier. I worried it meant amputation. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and, without applying any numbing agent, began the tedious and tormenting task of cleaning the wounds with a solvent and a sharp metal utensil. I couldn’t watch. And my body convulsed in an instinctual gag as the layers of charred skin fell off. My fingers gripped the cold metal table, and although I was on the verge of shouting out in agony the entire time, I cursed only twice – once when he peeled off the last fragile layer of skin, and again when he doused the raw surface with a pungent disinfectant. Holding in the pain made my heart race, the surface of my tongue dry into a paste, and sweat gush from every pore on my body.

A nurse entered the room and smiled at me with a kindness that made me momentarily forget the physical suffering. But then I ached for the comfort of home. Her dark brown hair was twisted into a bun with her white nurse’s cap pinned just above it. Rose wore her nurse’s cap the same way. The nurse was pretty – almost as pretty as Chidori. Almost. No woman I’d ever seen was prettier than Chidori. When we were growing up, strangers always commented on how she was as beautiful as a porcelain doll. And it was true, she did resemble the doll on my sister’s shelf, with her long eyelashes, peachy-coloured cheeks, and lips that seemed always ready to kiss something. I didn’t realize until I was much older how rare it was to be that striking in real life.

The doctor left and the nurse gently wrapped my feet with bandages. When she was done, she reached over to turn my hand. Her frown deepened because my palms were burned badly as well. With the antiseptic the doctor had used, she cleaned my hands, arms, and a burn that ran up my neck and jaw. I winced and bit my lip to prevent myself from cursing in front of her.

‘Entschuldigung,’ she said.

I didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded apologetic. She began a full conversation with me, of which I didn’t understand a word. She smiled a lot and even laughed a few times, not minding that I didn’t say anything in response. And when I smiled, she gently pressed her finger to the dimple on my left cheek.

‘Gutaussehender.’

I tried to repeat the word and it made her laugh. Her friendliness was appreciated, and the only thing that made being injured, all alone in a foreign country, and in the custody of Nazis bearable. She helped me slide off the examining table into a wheelchair, then wheeled me over uneven wood-plank floors into a rectory that served as the dormitory. About thirty men reclined on iron-frame cots, playing cards or reading. Some were asleep. She placed me in front of an empty cot next to another Canadian pilot. I didn’t know him, but the familiar uniform folded up on a chair next to his bed gave me a sense of comradery with the stranger. He was asleep, so I tried to be quiet and not disturb him.

The nurse tenderly helped me move from the wheelchair to the lumpy and compressed cotton mattress and then assisted me to change out of my tattered uniform. She turned her head politely so I could slip into a thin hospital gown and then under the sheet. She must have noticed me wince from the weight of the top wool blanket, because she folded up the bottom of the bed linens to leave my feet exposed.

‘Danke,’ I said. I’d heard Rory say it to his cousin before, so I knew it meant thank you in German.

She nodded to accept the gratitude before she left the dormitory.

At lights out, the guard left his post by the door to do a bed check. The heels of his boots clicked against the wood floorboards and echoed through the dormitory – the sound nightmares are made of. He snaked his way through the rows of cots. When he reached my row, the beam of his torch landed on my face, forcing me to squint.

‘Schlafen,’ he grumbled.

I had no idea what that meant so I ignored him. I was still rattled from the dogfight and in too much discomfort to sleep, so I just stared at the ceiling and thought about home.

‘Sleep,’ he growled in English.

Truth was, I wanted to be asleep. Desperately, to make the night pass faster. But I couldn’t get the dreadful images of Gordie’s airplane going down out of my mind. The disturbing stench of burned bodies also hadn’t left me. The guard kept the light beamed in my eyes so I glared at him. His eyebrows angled together in contempt as he lifted his arm. The torch slammed against my bandaged right ankle, and my entire body contorted from a dynamite-like explosion that travelled up my leg and halted my heart for a beat. I would have screamed if the air had not been completely sucked out by the blow. Instead, I writhed silently as my muscles braced rigidly against the mattress to fight the torment.

‘Schlafen!’ he shouted.

I winced and turned my back to him.

If my mother had known I was in pain she would have sat on the edge of my mattress and rested a nurturing hand on my shoulder – that is, if she weren’t hysterically inconsolable over witnessing the damaged state I was in and the rudimentary medical treatment I had been provided. But, of course, she wasn’t with me and I wasn’t home. I was all alone in hostile territory. And yearning for a comfort that wasn’t possible only made me feel worse.

The click of his boots didn’t start up again until I purposely slowed my breathing to feign sleep. Once he was gone, my body shook from the intensity of the anguish, or maybe the rage. My desperation to go home had never been worse. But that wish wasn’t going to come true. At least not any time soon. I knew that. And the grim reality pained me worse than the weeping burn wounds that left me skinless and raw.

23 August 1941

Dear Diary,

I greatly admire a person who is able to remain upbeat through heartbreaking hardship. Mrs Wagner tragically lost her husband of fifty-eight years. She has no other family and she is in frail health herself, yet she finds the strength to be genuinely pleasant to everyone she meets. If the wretched hardships of war reach us here on Mayne Island, I aspire to be the type of person who can grow bolder and build strength through dreadful adversity. I pray tragedy never happens. But, if ever faced with the choice to wallow in despair or embrace love, gratitude, and appreciation, why not clutch to the contentment and awe of our fleeting life as Mrs Wagner does?

Who am I fooling? I failed to even clutch the joyous contentment spinning around right in front of my face earlier today. Hayden asked me to dance and I put it off so long that we missed our chance. That is my problem in a nutshell. I think too much. I worry too much. I hesitate too much. Hayden never hesitates. Once he knows what he wants, he bravely takes action to bring it to fruition. Admittedly, some of Hayden’s actions are too impetuous and end in calamity, but I admire that he is fearless. I admire so much about him. Obaasan says if you wish to discover the most important purpose in your life, you need not look any farther than that which puts a smile on your face when you wake up in the morning. For me, that would be Hayden – without a doubt. This afternoon when Hayden and I meet, I vow to be more spontaneous and daring.

Chi

Chapter 6

Happy with Chidori’s promise to accompany me on a walk after the fair, I wandered down the road towards Miner’s Bay to meet my father and Chidori’s uncle Massey at the wharf. The dock was located a short walk down the hill from the fairgrounds, past the general store. A lot of folks were already mingling around the benches that encircled the big old maple tree. Most of the people had come over from either the other nearby islands or Victoria to attend the fair and to eat lunch at the Springwater Lodge. The rest of the crowd were Mayne Islanders eager to get caught up on gossip from the other islands and the mainland.

When my father wasn’t planting or harvesting our crops, he worked for the Setoguchis. He’d worked for both Chidori’s father in his tomato and cucumber greenhouses, and for her uncle Massey on his seiner fishing boat since before I was born. I’d been helping on the boat every summer since I was ten. They were due any minute to arrive with a load of salmon to sell from the dock, so I hopped up and sat on the wood railing to wait.

Massey hadn’t always been a fisherman. He had graduated university with an architecture degree, but only people on the voting list could register to practice as an architect, and the government denied Japanese Canadians the franchise. So instead, Massey became a successful general contractor in Vancouver. He eventually invested in commercial real estate. During the Roaring Twenties he had taken a chance on the wheat stock market, which multiplied in value when Canadian wheat exports went international. Massey had a gut feeling the bubble would eventually burst, so he monitored the volatility and sold all his stocks six months before the entire stock market crashed in ’29. He was one of the few investors who hadn’t lost everything, and having cash on hand meant that – during the terrible economic depression that followed – he was able to buy several buildings and one entire city block at below-value bargain depression prices. But then tragedy struck him in a different way. Sadly, his wife died giving birth to their son. The baby unfortunately died too. He moved back to Mayne Island to escape the heartbreaking memories and live the simple life of a fisherman, but he still owned the real estate in the city and profited from it generously. Most local islanders didn’t know how wealthy he was because he lived modestly in a small cabin near the greenhouses on Chidori’s father’s property, and he wasn’t pretentious in any way.

A queue of folks who were keen to buy fresh sockeye formed near the Springwater Lodge. Another queue wound up the dock to be tendered out for the tour of the navy ship anchored in Miner’s Bay. The Issei Sun appeared in the distance and chugged in from Active Pass, riding low in the water from their bountiful catch. Once they were close enough to saddle up against the floats, my father tossed the bowline to me. As I was bent over tying the knot to the cleat, a plump, dark-haired woman asked me, ‘Is this your family’s boat?’

‘No ma’am.’

‘Who owns the vessel?’ Her nose wrinkled with disdain at Massey as he climbed down from the wheelhouse and tipped his straw hat.

It peeved me that she looked down her nose at him when she didn’t even know him, and I had to hold my tongue. Massey wasn’t bothered by rude people like that, and he usually found a way to have a little fun with them. He winked at me and replied to her, ‘The vessel is privately owned by a successful businessman from Vancouver, ma’am.’

Both my father and I chuckled at his quick wit.

‘What does Issei mean?’ she addressed my father. ‘It sounds foreign.’

‘It means “first generation”,’ he answered matter-of-factly, before he tied on a rubber apron and turned away from her to open the hatch to the cold storage.

‘In what language?’ she pressed.

She was obviously bigoted, so I hopped on deck and pretended not to hear her. Massey and my father also busied themselves to ignore her. She asked once more to no avail, huffed, but then got in line with everyone else, because – regardless of whether it was a Japanese-owned seiner or not – they all wanted the fresh salmon.

A group of four girls who had been a year younger than Chidori and me at school huddled around each other. They stole giddy glances in my direction and giggled. One of them waved at me, which made the other ones gossip.

Massey elbowed my shoulder. ‘Come on, buddy boy. Give them what they came to see.’

I shook my head to refuse.

‘They’ve been circling around here like turkey vultures all summer, hoping you’ll at least work in your undershirt.’

‘Unless I slip and fall overboard, they’re going to be waiting an awfully long time.’

‘Showing off some muscle could be good for business.’ With a chuckle he shoved me over the railing into the water.

When I surfaced and pushed my hair back from my face, both my father and Massey doubled over in laughter. The group of girls were also thoroughly amused. I pulled myself back onto the boat, but I wasn’t interested in showing off for anyone other than Chidori, so I left my soaking wet shirt on out of principle. And defiance. Massey’s big palm slapped my shoulder again to josh me. I ignored the goading and got to work.

The hull was filled and overflowing onto the deck with crushed ice and hundreds of salmon. I rolled my sleeves and hooked the thick and slick fish with a pike pole, then threw them to Massey one at a time. In a perfectly timed rhythm, he turned and chucked them at my father, who laid them out on a long, ice-covered wood sales plank on the dockside of the boat. Eventually the load in the hull lowered enough that I had to drop down the hatch into the marine cold storage to toss up the rest.

Even without seeing me working shirtless, customers enthusiastically scooped up the fish and passed over their fists-full of money until the hull was completely empty two hours later. About a dozen folks at the end of the line had to go home empty-handed and disappointed.

I reached up over my head and pulled myself out of the hull, smelling like salt and seaweed. And shivering from working on the ice in wet clothes. Massey removed his gloves and tossed my father a cola bottle as I stepped into the warm sunshine. He was about to toss me one too, but I waved him off. ‘I can’t stay.’

‘You got a date?’ Massey teased.

‘I’m working on it,’ I said.

The humour faded from his expression as he nodded and took a sip of the cola. Then he glanced at me with some sort of knowingness or cautionary tale.

‘What?’ I asked as my gaze shifted back and forth between him and my father.

Massey shrugged but didn’t say anything. He was like that – wise with both life experience and book smarts, but he never lectured or imposed his opinions. In fact, he was unintrusive to an annoying degree. One time, when I was about fourteen years old, I had loaded up a skiff with engine parts for his boat and the whole damn thing sank. Massey knew it was too much weight but didn’t stop me. He just sat there and watched the ordeal happen without saying a word. I was so hot under the collar. Partly because I’d have to buy him another engine pump. Partly because I didn’t know how I was going to get the skiff and the other parts off the bottom of the ocean. But mostly I was mad because – if he had just said something – he could have saved me all the trouble. He claimed that telling me the answers didn’t help me learn, making mistakes did. Then he chuckled at how fuming angry I was, which sent me into a rage. I had to walk away and didn’t go back to salvage the skiff for a week. They were both thoroughly entertained that day too, but at least they helped me winch everything out of the water.

Massey’s hands-off teaching philosophy didn’t sit well with me then, and I still didn’t agree with his methods. Probably because I was too hot-tempered for his learn-the-hard-way lessons. But admittedly I never overloaded a skiff again.

Despite obviously having an opinion about my dating endeavours with his niece, he wasn’t going to tell me what he thought. I studied his expression for another few seconds to see if it would reveal any clues about what lesson he thought I should be aware of. All he did was flick his eyebrows and hand me my cash earnings for the day, so I hopped over the railing to head over to Chidori’s house. ‘It’s been a blast. See you all later.’

Chapter 7

In the morning, the kind German nurse brought a tray with a bun and a small piece of cheese to my cot. The name written on her badge was I. Gottschalk. I didn’t know what the I stood for, but I called her Inga and she responded. She smiled warmly, then took trays to the other fellows in the hospital dormitory. The Canadian pilot on the cot next to me was awake.

‘Bonjour,’ he said and bit into his bun.

‘Hi.’

‘Est-ce que tu parles français?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘Is okay. Is easier for me with the French. But I speak English. Un peu. You have a terror in the night I think.’

It was mildly embarrassing that everyone likely heard my nightmare startle me awake, but there was nothing I could do about that. ‘Sorry if I disturbed you.’

‘Is okay. We all have had the terrors.’ He pointed at my feet. ‘You are burned?’

‘Yes. How about you?’ I asked before I took a sip of water.

He pulled down the shoulder of his hospital gown and revealed a chest injury covered in dressing. ‘Impaled when …’ he whistled and used his hand to pantomime jumping out of an airplane.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Michel. From Montreal. And you?’ He leaned over to shake my hand.

‘Hayden. I’m from Mayne Island in British Columbia. How long have you been here?’

‘Three weeks.’ He glanced at the door where a guard stood, then lowered his voice, ‘I will be trying for staying a long time because is no good to be in the camp for prisoners I think.’

‘Have you heard what to expect?’

‘No, but the head nurse tries to be keeping us here for a long time. She has compassion. She must be knowing it is no good.’

I nodded and took an inventory of the other patients in the dormitory. Mostly British airmen, three American flyboys and at least fifteen other Canadians besides Michel and me. One fellow was in a coma and probably wasn’t going to make it. One fellow had a broken leg and one was burned like me. His burns were worse – his eyes and nose were melted into a disfigured blob. The dormitory reeked rancid like rotting flesh. The nurses had tried to cover up the putridness with bleach, but it lingered.

‘You are not eating the petit dejeuner?’ Michel asked.

‘No. You can have it.’

He wiggled his eyebrows eagerly and reached over to grab the bun and cheese off my tray.

Conversation with Michel was welcomed but I missed Gordie already. It was strange to be in a dormitory full of soldiers and not have the big man right next to me. Gordie Calhoon, Frank Owens and I had all met on the first day of our eight weeks of Elementary Flying Training with the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan in Regina, Saskatchewan. We called our flight training The Plan for short, and it instructed us in basic aviation. Gordie was a grizzly bear of a fellow you would like to have on your side in a street fight. Frank was a hornet, who would likely get you messed up in the street fight in the first place. The three of us became instant pals and sat next to each other during classroom lessons and at meals in the mess hall.

The first week we were at The Plan, their wives sent baked goods that made me miss home something fierce.

‘You want one?’ Frank had asked.

‘Sure,’ I said, and reached to take a shortbread biscuit.

‘His wife can’t bake worth stink. You should probably stick to my wife’s ginger snaps,’ Gordie teased Frank and held out the tin to share with me.

‘I’ll try them both and decide which is better for myself.’ I bit into each cookie and grinned. ‘I think I’ll need to try some more before I can make my final decision.’

‘No way. One’s all you’re getting unless you cough up something in exchange.’ Gordie leaned back on his bunk and ate another cookie.

‘I only received a letter from my sister.’

Gordie stole the letter, but we were interrupted when the chief ground instructor, who was the equivalent to a headmaster at a boarding school, marched into the bunkhouse, barking commands for an inspection. We all jumped to our feet and stored the letters and cookies out of sight.

‘Hayden, pal, have you seen my cap?’

‘It’s on your head, Frank.’

‘Right.’ He grinned and loped over to the end of his bunk. We all stood tall with our chests forward as the officer poked around and made us fix things that weren’t up to scratch. I didn’t have any corrections because I was a quick learner when it came to things like that.

‘What does your sister look like?’ Gordie asked me once the inspection was over and we were lounged on our bunks again. He had read her letter for a second time. ‘She seems smart. I’m particularly fond of clever gals. If she’s a looker, I might want to take her out on the town sometime.’

‘You’re married,’ I reminded him.

‘Yeah, yeah, do you have a photo or not?’

I handed over a picture of Rosalyn and me standing at Bennett Bay.

‘Sweet Jesus! Is she single?’

‘Never mind.’ I threw a rolled sock at him. ‘She probably wouldn’t take very kindly to you being married anyway.’

‘Hey everybody! Come take a look at Pierce’s sister.’

The boys all gathered around and whistled. I leaned over and snatched the photo back from Gordie. ‘Keep dreaming, fellas.’

‘Do you have a photo of your sweetheart, too?’ Frank asked me.

‘I’m not showing you that. Go drool over the picture of your own wife.’

‘She ain’t nothing to drool at,’ Gordie joked, which made Frank jump over the bunk and wrench Gordie into a headlock. Gordie was nearly twice the size of Frank, so he messed with him like he was playing with his kid brother.

We laughed a lot in those early days. Unfortunately, it didn’t last.

Regina was not the biggest city, but it got pretty rowdy at night because there were so many recruits. One Saturday night, we were all excited for an evening off and a bunch of us crammed into a borrowed car to go to a local dance hall in town. The party was packed with men in uniform and a whole score of ladies drinking and dancing to a big band orchestra. We sat down at a table and Gordie ordered three beers. Frank took his bottle of O’Keefe with him and went off to ask a gal to dance.

‘So, where in BC are you from, Pierce?’ Gordie asked.

‘Mayne Island. It’s just off the coast between Vancouver and Victoria. How about you? What part of Manitoba are you from?’

‘Winnipeg, but I’ve been living here in Regina on and off for a while because I played football professionally.’

‘Oh, well, la-dee-da. I didn’t know I was in the company of a celebrity.’

‘I ain’t no movie star, but stick with me, kid, and the ladies will treat you real nice.’

Just as he had said that, two young women in tight sweaters walked up to our table and stood with their elbows resting on either side of Gordie’s broad shoulders. One was a freckled redhead, and the other had blond hair wrapped in a braided bun at the base of her neck. ‘Hi there, Gordie. Who’s your handsome friend?’ Her hand slid over my arm.

‘This, ladies, is Hayden Pierce. And word on the street is that this cat is a smooth dancer.’

I shook my head to deny it and my cheeks heated up.

‘Oh, he’s a sweet one,’ the blond one said and held out her hand to shake mine. ‘I’m Isabel. Nice to meet you.’

I nodded, then shook the other woman’s hand.

‘I’m Bernice.’ I stared for too long because her eyes were golden-brown like a fawn’s and her lashes were long enough to nearly touch her cheek when she blinked. They were both from Regina, which is why they already knew Gordie. And they were working with the Canadian Forces on electronics and instrument assembly, so they knew more about what we could expect from our training than we did. ‘Would you care to dance, Hayden?’ Bernice asked after we had chatted for a while.

I was thrown off by a gal so bold as to ask a fellow to dance. ‘Oh, thank you, but my heart belongs to someone else.’

All three of them laughed at my naiveté.

‘Honey, nearly everyone here has a fiancé, a spouse, or a sweetheart back home. It’s just dancing.’

‘Go ahead, kid.’ Gordie pushed my shoulder to make me fall off the stool. ‘Show’em how it’s done on the west coast.’

Bernice bounced over and pulled my hand to drag me out onto the dance floor. She pleaded with those big brown eyes and, since the band was playing a song I liked, I caved in and placed my hand on her waist to start to swing with her. She was a swell dancer and she smelled of soap mixed with vanilla extract, which was a welcome change from a barrack full of men. I relaxed after about three songs and Bernice said, ‘Ah, there it is. A little smile. You look even more handsome when you smile.’ She jitterbugged around in a circle by herself before grabbing both my hands to make me swing with her again. I was having a dandy time until she leaned in and shouted over the music, ‘So, where is your sweetheart at?’

The reminder filled me with instant and aching guilt. I stopped dancing abruptly, excused myself, and walked off the dance floor, leaving Bernice behind.

Gordie was still talking to Isabel at the table, but he sent her away when I sat down, visibly downtrodden. ‘What’s wrong, pal?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

He slapped my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, being away from home gets easier with time. Do you have a picture of the girl you’re sweet on?’

I reached into the chest pocket of my serge and pulled out Chidori’s picture. He frowned at it for a moment, then gave it back to me. I tucked it away, leaned my elbows on the table to hang my head, and sighed.

‘You fell in love with a Jap?’

His judgemental tone, my longing to go home, and my bitter resentment over what had happened to Chidori all collided and provoked me to irrationally erupt. Without even thinking, I stood and punched Gordie in the jaw as hard as I could, which knocked him backwards off the stool. He sprawled across the floor and his lights were out for a second before he recovered. A crowd inched closer, keen to see what was going to happen next. Already committed to what I had impetuously started, I prepared my stance for him to charge at me in retaliation. He didn’t, thankfully, since he was bigger and stronger than I was. He stood, righted the stool and took a swig from his ale. ‘Nice shot, Pierce. Most fellas can’t knock me out.’

I frowned at him, confused. ‘You’re not sore with me?’

He laughed and adjusted his jaw to make sure it was still connected properly. ‘I didn’t say that. But it was impressive.’ He was clearly sore with me but chose to be the better man and walked over to ask Isabel to dance.

Ashamed that I had lost my cool with him, I left the dance hall alone. As I headed back to the base with a throbbing hand, I considered going AWOL. I missed my bed. I missed my dog. And I was worried that maybe my mother had been right. What if all I was going to accomplish by running off to war was to get myself killed? The streets of Regina were pretty much abandoned at that time of night. Hopping a train would have been easy. And it wasn’t exactly deserting since I had volunteered.

I definitely would have taken off that night if I’d actually known where in the world Chidori was.

23 August 1941

Dear Diary,

Tosh and Kenji are out in the yard sawing and splitting the fir tree that was uprooted in the terrible windstorm we had in early spring. The root ball that tore out of the ground is four times taller than they are. It must have been a very old tree. Fortunately, it fell between the house and greenhouses, only crushing a small tool shed. I’m curious why after centuries of standing tall it could not endure one more storm. It was healthy and its roots were deep. The gale force must have been a direct hit that proved too powerful for even the most stoic giant of the forest. Well, the bright side I suppose is that they already have a cord of firewood that will keep us toasty warm in the winter, and they are nowhere near done yet.

I am grateful they are both home. Before Kenji moved to Vancouver to live with Tosh near the university campus, I hadn’t appreciated how much I truly adored having my brothers around. It wasn’t until after they were both gone and the house was deafeningly quiet that I realized I had taken their importance in my life for granted. Thankfully, I still had Hayden to make me laugh. I’m waiting for him right now. I hesitate to write down what wonderful happening I hope for on our walk because I do not want to jinx my chances. I will say that I have changed into a dress that I know is one of Hayden’s favourites, and I have a flutter in my chest from the suspense.

Chi

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