The army truck rattled along the rough country road.
Dust billowed in its wake, partially obscuring the other
three trucks that snaked along behind. Through the back
opening of the brown canvas cover, Jenny Saito gazed at
the intensifying colors of the approaching dawn. She
watched the scattered clouds that clustered along the
eastern horizon change from indigo through deep orange
to flaming red. The sun broke from behind the mountains,
sending shafts of golden light across the valley. Fences
outlined blocks of farmland with some fields green and
others still brown showing drill furrows where seed had
been planted earlier in the spring.
The truck hit a pothole, and Jenny grabbed the seat
to steady herself. "Ouch," she groaned, irritated, achy,
and thirsty beyond endurance. "This truck rides like a
log wagon."
Her father gave her a reassuring pat on the knee. She
looked into his eyes; a deep sadness lived there. Guilt
brought tears to her eyes. She averted her gaze and
wished that she could quiet the anger that roiled inside
her. Ever since her parents accepted the offer to leave
the Minidoka, Idaho, Japanese internment camp to work in
Eastern Oregon’s sugar beet fields, her attitude had
been anything but honorable. She had argued bitterly
against the move. How could they know conditions would
be any better in Oregon? Backbreaking labor in the
fields only seemed like more punishment. Not only that,
she doubted the motives of the solicitors. She voiced
her concerns and said hurtful things to her parents.
A life of uncertainty left behind; a life of
uncertainty ahead.
She drew in a ragged breath and leaned forward,
elbows on knees, head resting against fists. They had
been so happy before the war. Her thoughts drifted to
their home in Seattle, still so real in her memory,
where she had a room of her own. Sweet smelling azaleas
and hydrangeas would soon bloom in their yard. Most of
all she missed her school. A good student, she had
planned to be a nurse. Now, everything was gone,
including her dreams. The bitter taste of resentment
rose in her throat. When they received the order to
leave their homes, she and some of the older children
raised their voices in protest only to be hushed to
silence by their parents.
"This is the best way, the only way," they said. They
gave no explanation and allowed no discussion. Just hush
and be still. "One day the war will end, and this
difficult time will pass."
But why did they say nothing, Jenny wondered, when
the guards and others humiliated them so and showed such
disrespect?
The truck lurched awkwardly around a corner, and
again Jenny leaned back to steady herself against the
truck bed. She studied the faces of the others huddled
together for warmth against the chill April air. Ten
families shared this truck; in all, thirty families made
up this relocation convoy. They wore plain yet
serviceable clothing, most wore high-top shoes. Some
adults napped, leaning against each other. Others
watched the landscape roll out behind the truck.
Jenny, being sixteen, sat with the adults on rough
plank benches along the sides. The younger children
rested on a pile of straw in the middle. They had not
slept well that night. Babies cried and young ones
whined at having their sleep disturbed. Mothers
continually tucked quilts around them against the cold.
Now, the sun streamed through the back of the truck, and
they sat, still subdued, rubbing their eyes.
Jenny pushed her long, black hair away from her face.
An only child, she had often wished for brothers and
sisters, but she had become accustomed to the quiet and
had difficulty adjusting to the lack of privacy in the
camp. The biggest shock was the crush of people. Six
families shared a barracks, and she found the constant
noise oppressive. Some days were unbearable, especially
during cold winter weather when they couldn’t go
outside.
She returned to watching the road fall away behind
them. The casual observer would describe her as
striking, but if pressed as to why, it would take a few
minutes to decide. Petite with delicate bone structure,
she wore her silky hair to the middle of her back and
her bangs straight cut. Her large, almond-shaped eyes
said more than she sometimes wished to reveal. She was
more outspoken than pleased her parents, but it was what
her eyes said that often caused her the most trouble.
The truck slowed to round a corner, bringing Jenny
back to the present. The gravel crunching beneath tires
ceased as they crossed a wooden plank bridge that
spanned a wide river. The difference in sound caught the
younger children’s attention, and they rose to their
knees for a better look. The trucks labored up a short
hill, gears clashing as tired drivers downshifted.
Houses on both sides of the road gave way to store
fronts. As they passed a cafe, a cluster of sullen-faced
men stood with arms folded. Something about the look on
their faces caused Jenny’s stomach to tighten. She had
seen that look of near-hatred many times in the past two
years.
The trucks eased down an incline, crossed another
bridge over a small stream, and through lowlands that
smelled of damp earth and new grass. At last the trucks
lugged to a halt in a large, grassy area.
Jenny stood, intending to climb out of the truck, but
her father placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his
head. She stared into eyes that caused her complaint to
die in her throat. In defiance she remained standing,
though. She waited as doors slammed and the sound of
men’s voices drew near. They lowered the tailgate.
"Everyone out," the guard named Wickum yelled.
Jenny jumped from the truck and helped the other
children down. Trees surrounded the meadow, giving the
area a feeling of seclusion and protection. For the
first time in weeks, Jenny allowed her mood to brighten
a little. By contrast, the land on which the Minidoka
camp had been built was of fine sand, and the wind blew
incessantly—dirt in their beds, dirt in their food, a
thick layer deposited daily over everything inside the
barracks in which they lived. She thought of the
stifling heat of last summer and suspected this summer
might be easier to bear in this meadow. Hope stirred in
her heart.
"Jenny." Her mother, Lilly, grabbed her arm. "We have
no time to daydream. Help get the little ones fed. We
must hurry."
She helped pour corn flakes into bowls, while her
friend, Mary, poured milk from glass jugs. Some of the
children complained at the cold cereal. They were used
to a warm breakfast in their tummies, but a sharp word
from the mothers put a quick stop to their grumbles.
After breakfast the adults designated a safe play
area out of the way for the children and gave the older
girls the charge to see to them, while their parents
began the work of constructing the camp. The children,
unused to so much open space and still weary from the
long journey, at first seemed withdrawn, almost
frightened, but the warmth of the sun and the smell of
green grass worked its magic. Soon the children were
laughing and romping about.
Jenny laughed too, the first time in many months. If
only she’d known they were coming to a place like this.
The truck loaded with building materials backed to
the edge of the meadow, interrupting her thoughts. She
watched the men and boys carry huge rolls of mesh wire
and long, sturdy poles from the truck. The men began to
dig holes and set posts around the perimeter, while the
women set up temporary tents inside the compound.
"Jenny, there are enough younger girls to watch the
little ones," her mother called. "We need your help.
Come, bring Mary, too."
She and Mary had been best friends since they arrived
at the Minidoka camp. Both celebrated birthdays in
August. Now, her mother wanted their help. Maybe she
could do something to make up for the sadness she had
caused her parents.
They worked through the morning, the place noisy with
the sound of hammers pounding and the hum of
conversation. The women raised the tents and stretched
them taut, while Jenny and Mary pounded stakes for guy
ropes to make them secure.
Jenny wondered at the happy voices, so different from
the camp in Idaho, and it felt good to do something
physically taxing. Joy and gladness filled her bosom. At
noon they stopped for a quick lunch. They ate dry
sandwiches and drank stale water that made Jenny wonder
if the barrel had been cleaned properly.
By late afternoon, the tents were in place, and the
mesh wire nailed to tall poles. While everyone took a
break, the guards gave instructions for the next stage
of construction.
"The younger men and the women are to unload lumber
from the truck," one guard said. "Make a stack between
this fence and the pine tree. Pile the rest along the
fence by the gate. You older men, I want you to start
building the first barracks near that pine tree. The
grass has been cut away to show the approximate size and
shape we have in mind. Let’s get as much done as we can
before nightfall."
Jenny and Mary angled across the compound until they
found the outline cut in the grass. They walked the
perimeter.
"It doesn’t look as big as the barracks at the other
camp," Mary said.
Jenny stepped the distance across the width. "It’s
the same number of steps wide, but I can’t remember how
long the barracks were."
"Get over here and do what you’re told," Wickum
growled.
Jenny stared at him. The old anger blossomed; she
felt her throat tighten.
"Don’t stand there like a post," he yelled. "Get a
move on."
Jenny ducked her head so her eyes didn’t reveal the
fury she felt and hurried to comply.
