“I can understand that feeling,” I said.

“Yes, I think you can. May I have a sip of water, please?”

Moonbeam held the straw to his lips for a moment. He continued, “President Roosevelt signed an order in 1942, which gave the government the right to confine potentially dangerous people from military areas. That ‘military area’ ended up being the entire West Coast. Anyone of Japanese descent was considered to be a security risk and was ordered to report to a camp.”

Moonbeam's voice was pitched high with indignation. “But you were American citizens.”

“Masao and I were citizens because we were nisei, born in America, but our parents were issei, Japanese-born, and excluded by law from becoming citizens. Besides, citizenship made no difference. The order included anybody with even a drop of Japanese blood. More than a hundred and ten thousand of us on the West Coast were considered to be security risks, even the small babies. Some of them were actually sansei, the second generation of Americans, but we all were sent to relocation centers.”

“How many camps were there?” I asked.

“Ten, I think, not including some prisons. My family was sent to Topaz in Utah, a place that we called the ‘jewel of the desert.’ ”

“Why didn't the Japanese Americans rise up in protest? Contact the media? Do something to stop it?” Moonbeam asked indignantly.

Ken smiled. “We were loyal to our government, no matter how badly it treated us. It's a trait called on in Japanese. And there is also the Japanese belief that difficult situations must be endured, represented by the phrase shikata ga nai.”

“It must have been awful for you, Dad.” Moonbeam stroked his good hand. “How long were you there?”

“Myself-less than a month. The American Friends Service Committee arranged for some of us to go to eastern colleges, and I was one of the lucky ones. My brother couldn't go, because he was a kibei, a Japan-educated nisei, and considered to be a greater security risk. I joined the army in 1943.

“I have felt great guilt over the years for leaving my family when I did-wondered if I'd stayed with them would things would have ended differently? You see, they were moved to Tule Lake in California when Masao became a ‘no-no man.’”

“What was a no-no man?” I asked.

“There was a questionnaire that all internees had to fill out, and everyone was expected to answer yes to two ambiguous questions at the end of it. The questions were ridiculous. They called upon the issei to swear allegiance to America, which had refused to give them citizenship. The kibei, like my brother, thought they were trick questions; if they answered yes, they would be acknowledging a prior allegiance to the Japanese emperor. If they said no, it would be considered an admission of disloyalty to America. My brother, like many of his Japanese-educated friends, and my father answered ‘no-no’ to the two questions to show their outrage at what America had done.”

“How dreadful,” Moonbeam groaned. “I had no idea…”

“Over eighteen thousand people were jammed into the Tule Lake camp. Soldiers with machines guns stood guard in turrets, and tanks patrolled the perimeter to prevent people from escaping.

“The camp was overcrowded, the sanitation deplorable, the food insufficient, and the living conditions impossible. My mother tried hard to keep family customs alive. She even taught Japanese dancing to the little girls there. But my father lost the will to live. Masao's journal said he sat and smoked all day and wouldn't talk to anyone.

“Finally, kibei youths rioted, and the army moved in to squelch them and took over the entire camp. The young rebels were locked up in the ‘stockade.’ They were cut off from their families by a twelve-foot-high wall and denied medical care. Masao died there, of pneumonia, after being beaten by the guard in charge of his barracks. Not long after, my father died of a broken heart.”

“And your mother?” Moonbeam asked.

“She stayed at Tule Lake until 1946, because she had nowhere else to go.”

It was Ken who was now stroking Moonbeam's hand, trying to still her tears. “Don't cry, my dear. They are at peace. And you, my dear daughter, will share everything I tell you about them with your daughter, who will tell her children, and our ancestors will never be forgotten.”

I grabbed a couple of tissues and walked over to the window looking out over the parking lot and blew my nose. After I'd regained my composure, I said, without turning around, “I'm very touched you shared this with me.”

Ken answered in a tone of voice that chilled me to the bone. “I really don't want to see you. Please leave.”

I spun around, thinking he was talking to me and wondering why he'd had such a sudden change of attitude. I quickly realized he wasn't speaking to me, but to Charlotte Macmillan, half hidden by balloons near the doorway, her mouth open in a little “oh” of surprise.

“I wanted to see how you're feeling,” she said, without coming into the room.

“Please leave,” Ken repeated in a firm voice. She stepped backward and was gone.

“What was that about?” Moonbeam asked.

“I think I know,” I said.

“Do you?” Ken asked, staring intently at my face.

“The guard responsible for your brother's death was Mack Macmillan, wasn't it?”

“What makes you think that?”

“It just now came together. First, your refusal to work with Macmillan when he was made chairman of the college's board of trustees. And his wife's telling me a few days ago he'd been in the army during World War II, stationed out west somewhere. And third, the way you reacted to her presence.”

“I don't think Macmillan was directly responsible. But he was mentioned in Masao's diary as being one of the cruelest and most sadistic guards in the camp. I learned that only a few months ago while skimming over the journal.”

“And that's when you submitted your resignation to the college?”

Ken yawned. “I could not work with a man for whom I had no respect.”

I was able to ask no more questions. The old man, exhausted from telling his story, was fast asleep.

CHAPTER 14

I PURCHASED AN ADORABLE LITTLE TERRY CLOTH jump suit for Janet Margolies's baby and some wrapping supplies in the hospital gift shop just as the volunteer was closing up, then wrapped the present while sitting in the front seat of my car. That's when I noticed the pink and blue paper I'd selected had small gold writing all over it that said Get well soon. Too late to do anything about it now, I thought, and secured the paper with Scotch tape. If I didn't get to the elevator in Mountain View soon, I'd miss the event. I'd forgotten a card, so I tore a sheet of paper from my notebook and wrote, To Baby Margo-lies, with love from Tori, because I couldn't remember whether Janet's baby was a girl or a boy. I attached the note to the package top with a sticky-backed silver bow. A clumsy five-year-old could have done a better job, but I hoped Janet would be so thrilled with the gift that she'd overlook the messy covering.

T o find Mountain View, I followed the map Cassie had drawn for me, which had me driving on mountain roads so twisty and narrow, I felt sure I would plunge to my death at any moment. Every now and then I'd come to a wide spot in the road where there would be a small outpost of civilization, usually a couple of trailers, a barn or two, a general store with an antique gas pump, and a hand-painted sign offering deer processing. And there was always a church, with a bulletin board out front. Although twilight was rapidly changing to nightfall, I could still see they carried homey messages like THE HARVEST IS RIPE, ARE YOU READY FOR THE PICKIN’? and ARE YOU READY FOR HEAVEN OR FOR HELL? My favorite was IF YOU GIVE THE DEVIL A RIDE, HE'LL SOON BE DRIVING. The many dire warnings about eternal damnation led me to believe that truly cheerless people must live in these desolate hamlets.