Garden of Her Heart (Hearts of the War Book 1)

  Hearts of the War, Book 1

  A Sweet World War II Romance

  by

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  Copyright © 2016 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of “permission request” at the e-mail address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Shanna Hatfield

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mafa Chicken

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Books by Shanna Hatfield

  To those who face adversity

  with courage, strength, and hope…

  Preface

  After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, countless Americans developed distrust toward people of Japanese heritage living in the United States. The growing unease encompassed even those whose families had been American citizens for many years.

  People who had once been neighbors and friends suddenly became the enemy as hatred and bigotry made an appalling situation worse.

  President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066 on February 19, 1942. The order authorized the evacuation of anyone deemed a threat to national security from the West Coast to relocation centers farther inland. More than 120,000 men, women, and children of Japanese descent were detained in assembly centers in the spring of 1942. The government established fifteen assembly centers: twelve in California and one each in Washington, Oregon, and Arizona.

  Eventually, the government moved detainees to isolated, fenced, guarded internment camps located across the United States.

  As a writer of romance books interlaced with tidbits from history, I strive to convey an authentic glimpse into the period. The sights and smells, the sounds and tastes, the triumphs and struggles of daily life shared in the book help immerse readers into the story.

  Rather than commit a disservice to my readers, and those who endured the difficulties, by sugarcoating the spiteful cruelty Japanese Americans endured during the war, I did my best to portray history as it happened, albeit in a fictional setting and with fictional characters.

  My heart continues to ache as I read and hear more Japanese American stories from World War II… stories of courage, strength, and hope in the face of great adversity.

  Chapter One

  May 4, 1942

  Near Portland, Oregon

  Hushed whispers started softly, intermittently, before rising in a steady crescendo that peaked at a deafening roar. The momentum of the sound stalled and plummeted to a silent lull as the bus ground to an abrupt and rattling stop.

  The fierce thud of angry footsteps began at the front of the bus and ended at the last seat, where Kamiko Nishimura hid beneath an austere appearance and a broad-brimmed hat. Fear, unbidden and distasteful, rose in her throat and filled her nose with an unwelcome stench. She masked the trembling of her hands by clasping them primly on her lap, keeping her head down and eyes glued to the floor.

  A pair of polished black shoes entered her line of vision, accompanied by a looming presence hovering over her.

  “I want you off my bus,” the driver demanded. Fury clipped his words and induced a quake in his voice.

  Slowly, Miko tipped back her head and raised her gaze to meet his. Hatred darkened his eyes while a vein throbbed in his neck at a frenetic beat.

  The man clenched his beefy fists and leaned toward her. “I won’t stand for a Jap on my bus! My nephew died at Pearl Harbor along with many fine men. You Japs are all a bunch of…” The words spewing forth from his lips were unfit for anyone to hear, especially a bus filled with women, children, and a few older couples.

  Appalled and mortified, Miko refused to cower or allow any hint of her tumultuous emotions to show.

  The impassive expression on her face throughout his tirade further enraged the driver. He grabbed her arm in a bruising grip. As though the mere contact with her sleeve might impart a ghastly disease, he jerked his hand back and wiped it along the side of his trousers. “If you don’t get off right now, so help me, I’ll throttle you with my bare hands. Now move!”

  Terrified by the thought of what the man might do in his agitated state, Miko picked up her handbag and rose to her feet. Remarkably tall, she stood a few inches above the man who appeared ready to shoot her on the spot. If he had a gun in his possession, she held no doubt he would have blasted a hole through her without blinking.

  Regal and poised, she draped a dark blue raincoat over her arm and lifted her suitcase. The driver blocked her path, glaring at her as though his unconcealed malice might somehow bring about her swift demise.

  Adamant that no one on the bus realize the depths of her unnerved state, she took a step forward. “Pardon me, please,” she said, her tone calm and even.

  The driver seared her ears with another round of his opinions about the Japanese in general and her in particular as he stomped down the aisle and opened the door.

  Several people tossed jeering comments at her as she walked to the front of the bus. Miko focused straight ahead, her face unreadable, and made her way down the steps with all the grace of a queen.

  “Don’t you ever sneak on another bus, you dirty Jap!” the driver yelled and closed the door before her feet touched the ground. Barely giving her time to step away, he pulled back on the road with surprising speed, tossing gravel in his wake.

  Miko remained unmoving until the bus disappeared around a bend in the road. The erect posture she maintained melted and her shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

  No matter how many times she’d been called names or insulted in the days since Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor in December, each occurrence left her dejected and wounded in spirit.

  Miko possessed a fierce patriotism for America, as did each member of her family. Yet, because of their Japanese ancestry, many people regarded them with suspicion and loathing, convinced they served as spies.

  The utter ridiculousness of the idea might have left her amused if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

  In
January, the city of Portland voided all business licenses held by Japanese residents. The ruling hadn’t affected her father’s business, however, and the Nishimura family continued living daily life in a normal manner for the next month.

  Then President Roosevelt had issued an order in February authorizing the Secretary of War to protect the country from espionage and sabotage by removing individuals posing a threat. Nervous and dreading the outcome of the order, Miko and her family went on about their business. Like well-watered weeds, rumors flourished that the government planned to evacuate all Japanese people from the West Coast to military areas.

  A few weeks later, the downtown attorney’s office where Miko had worked the past five years fired her. The only explanation was a pointed look and shrug from her employer as he said, “You’re Japanese.”

  A newly enforced curfew forbade Japanese people from leaving their homes between eight in the evening and six in the morning.

  With nothing to occupy her time except worries about the future, Miko accompanied the pastor of the Presbyterian church she’d attended all her life to his daughter’s home in Tillamook on the Oregon coast. Sally had been Miko’s best friend since the two were old enough to talk. After Sally’s mother had passed away when the girl was only fourteen, Sally spent as much time at the Nishimura household as she had her own.

  Glad for company with her first child due any day, Sally welcomed her father and Miko with open arms. Although Sally’s husband wanted to be home with her, duty placed him in Europe, with no hope of taking a leave from the Army or the escalating war.

  Once the healthy baby boy arrived, Pastor Clark had departed for Portland. Miko had chosen to stay with her friend despite Sally’s insistence she return to her family.

  “I just have a feeling you should go with Dad, Miko,” Sally said the evening before her father drove back to his home in a suburb of Oregon’s largest city.

  Miko laughed and cuddled baby Drew closer. “Is this like the feeling you had when we were ten that we should each eat a whole cherry pie? Do you remember how sick we were? I still can’t stand the taste of cherry pie. Or maybe it’s like the time you insisted I should go on a date with Ted Jones because you had a feeling he was meant for me. Sam Inouye took me home when Ted turned out to be a complete stinker.”

  Dismayed, Sally ignored Miko’s attempts at humor. “Something bad is going to happen, Miko. I don’t know what, or how, or when, but I know it will. Please, please go home with Dad tomorrow.”

  Miko argued that if something bad was indeed about to happen, Sally shouldn’t be left alone with a newborn.

  Pastor Clark kissed both girls on their cheeks, admired his tiny grandson, and then climbed in his car with a reminder for them to stay out of trouble.

  Weeks passed without any incident, then rumblings about evacuating Japanese Americans along the West Coast became fact. Miko followed the news as civilian exclusion orders posted by the government required Japanese Americans living in certain regions of the coastal states to report to temporary housing set up in assembly centers. Several areas in California and one in Washington had already undergone evacuation.

  Determined not to dwell on the bleakness of her future, Miko couldn’t help but consider what might take place. Certain it was only a matter of time before Oregon would join the evacuation efforts, she wasn’t surprised to answer the telephone one lovely Sunday afternoon and hear the alarm in her father’s voice as he begged her to travel home as soon as possible.

  “The order arrived to leave our homes and report to an assembly center in Portland no later than the fifth of May. You must come home, Miko. Right away,” he said.

  Shocked by the urgency, Miko felt her mind spin in a hundred different directions. “The fifth? But that’s two days from now! Why didn’t you let me know sooner?”

  “We couldn’t find Sally’s number. With Pastor Clark out of town, we didn’t know whom to call. Your brother finally found her number in your address book. I’m sorry, Miko. Please return home as quickly as you can. We’re leaving everything at your grandparents’ farm. Meet us there. We plan to report to the center tomorrow evening.”

  “I’ll be there, Papa.” Miko hung up the phone with a heavy heart.

  After Sally offered a comforting hug, Miko hurriedly packed her suitcase and rushed to the bus station. Not a single ticket agent would sell her a ticket.

  Overcome, she returned to Sally’s home. Pastor Clark would have gladly driven to Tillamook to retrieve her, but the man had gone to London. His sister and niece lost their home in a bombing and needed his help. It would be weeks before he returned.

  Sally didn’t own a car. The few people she knew willing to give Miko a ride all the way to Portland weren’t available.

  Exhausted and frightened, the two women spent most of the night alternating between prayers and plans.

  Early the next morning, Sally left Drew in Miko’s care and hurried to the bus station, where she procured a ticket for that afternoon.

  The hostile atmosphere at the bus station the previous day forced Miko to borrow Sally’s broad-brimmed hat. As long as she kept her head down, it covered much of her face. The two women, as close as sisters, shared a tearful good-bye.

  “Be safe, my friend, and don’t forget to write. I need to know that you’re okay,” Sally said, giving Miko one last hug.

  “I promise I’ll write as soon as the opportunity arises.” Miko wiped away her tears, kissed the baby’s rosy cheek, and then slid into the cab waiting at the end of the walk. Sally stood on the porch with the baby, waving as the car drove away.

  With her unusual height, most people assumed at first glance Miko was not Japanese. She hoped the misconception would now work in her favor. Cautiously, she made her way through the crowds at the bus station and took a seat at the back of the bus.

  No one seemed to pay her any mind as the bus journeyed northeast. Thankful the trip had gone so well, Miko experienced a measure of confidence when she switched busses. Less than thirty miles from the end of the journey, she contemplated whom she would hire to drive her to her grandparents’ farm when she stepped off the bus in Beaverton.

  Lost in thoughts of reaching her family, Miko made the mistake of raising her head and looking over the sea of people on the bus. A ruddy-faced boy stared at her, then turned to his mother. Miko heard the word Jap and soon the entire bus was abuzz.

  It took only moments for the driver to learn of her presence and leave her stranded on the side of the road.

  Miko surveyed her surroundings and concluded there were many things worse than having to walk the last twenty miles home.

  Before she began the adventure, she opened her suitcase and removed a pair of worn brown leather oxfords and white ankle socks. The sensible shoes replaced the fashionable heels she’d worn. Hastily tucking her gloves into the pockets of her coat, she stuffed it inside the suitcase, along with her handbag, and closed the lid.

  The fewer things she had to carry, the better.

  Hefting the suitcase, she walked along the edge of the road. She hadn’t gone more than a few hundred yards when a car stopped. As soon as she turned to thank them, the man yelled, “I ain’t helping no stinkin’ Jap!” and sped away.

  After the third similar experience, Miko moved away from the road and kept hidden in the trees. It made travel difficult, but at least she didn’t have to deal with more insults and threats.

  An hour later, rain began to fall in a light sprinkle. Miko stopped long enough to pull on her raincoat. The drizzle swiftly increased to a downpour while the temperature dropped.

  Soaked to the skin, she wished she’d accepted the umbrella Sally had tried to talk her into taking. In fact, if she’d listened to Sally when she’d first insisted Miko accompany Pastor Clark home, she’d be with her family instead of in the middle of the forest, cold and afraid.

  The suitcase proved to be a heavy burden, but Miko wouldn’t leave it behind. With no idea of what she’d find when she arrived at
the farm, she tightened her grip on the handle.

  Caught between the incessant rain, the gnawing worry that she wouldn’t reach her family, and the wall of trees closing around her on every side, she fought the urge to give in to despair.

  Weary beyond anything she’d ever experienced, Miko stopped to rest beneath the sprawling arms of a towering tree. The branches provided shelter against the relentless force of the rain. Darkness loomed as evening gave way to night.

  Miko sat on her suitcase and removed the wrapper from a candy bar Sally had tucked into her pocket as she was leaving. Grateful for her friend’s care, Miko ate the candy and assessed how far she’d come. Although she journeyed through the trees, she’d kept sight of the road so she wouldn’t lose her way.

  A stroll through the woods at night seemed a foolhardy endeavor at best, so she decided to walk on the road and hope no one would notice her.

  She rested until the throbbing pain in her feet eased, tipped her face up to the rain and drank, then drew on her reserve of strength to carry her home.

  The farther she walked, the more her body revolted. Her feet hurt so badly, she winced with each step. The suitcase gained a pound of weight with each passing minute until her shoulders ached and arms quivered from the effort of lifting it.

  Every mile or two she stopped to rest. Twice she nodded off to sleep and awoke when she toppled off the suitcase she used as a seat.

  Hungry, chilled, and desperate, she forced her feet to continue moving forward.

  The rain ceased in the wee hours of the morning. By that time, Miko was half out of her mind with fatigue and fear. Absently, she wondered what the newspaper would report when someone found her rain-soaked body on the edge of the road. Would they cheer that America had one less “stinkin’ Jap” to torment with cruel words and unreasonable demands? Would anyone miss her? Why, oh why, hadn’t she listened to Sally weeks ago?

  Dazed and drained, Miko came to her senses as she reached a road she recognized in the predawn light. It led to a farm owned by one of her grandparents’ neighbors. If she cut through their pasture, it would save her a few miles of walking.