Camp Nine: A Novel

Chapter 14

Chapter 14 By early spring, Mother had begun to carry the constant vexed expression I recalled from our days before Tom came to us, and I knew that the end of their relationship was nearing. He was at Camp Nine less often, and on the rare occasions that he was there, I was excluded from their conversations. Mother and I had never discussed Tom, other than with regard to the obvious: when he was coming to Camp Nine, when he would be returning to Mississippi, what he might like her to cook for supper . Since Daddy’s death, and until Tom had arrived, there had never been any occasion to talk about any man, other than Grandpa, Mr. Ryfle, or one of the field hands. And if we talked about one of those men, it wasn’t in the context of the fact that he was a man and what place he had in our lives. It would have been out of the question to have suddenly opened for discussion the nature of Tom’s relationship with us and where it might lead. Besides, as it was evolving , I suppose I knew that if I questioned her, she would realize that I understood more than she thought I did, and that she might end their affair. That possibility was a chance I couldn’t take, so desperate was I to have him there. But it did seem cruel that their tension came to a head in spring, when the crocus had disappeared back into the ground and our yard 149 was a riot of tulips and daffodils. We’d spent a brief afternoon at Tom’s, both Mother and he hardly exchanging words. What conversation they did have was cursory and polite. It had started to drizzle when Mother asked me to wait for her outside. I bundled the collar of my rain slicker around my neck, thrust my hands in my pockets, and walked the wet perimeter of Tom’s porch, trying to appear occupied with something, but listening as best I could. The zinnias she’d cultivated in his planter the summer before were nothing then but shriveled twigs. I snapped them in half to pass the time. What followed was a terrible, and as far as I know, final, argument between them. Unknown to me, Mother had been quietly waging a campaign to have Mr. Matsui released from Tule Lake and returned to his family. Her single-mindedness toward this goal must have put a strain on their already fragile relationship. She was so angry, her voice carried clearly through the thin glass panes. “You promised to try!” “I personally delivered your letter to the war department,” Tom said. “Do you have any idea what the reaction was to that?” “I know it puts you in a bind,” she said, “but you’re the only person who can help.” There was a long pause, and I wandered closer to the window to catch the rest. Tom spoke slowly, each word measured equally. “I’ve risked everything that means anything to me.” There was another long pause. “For you,” he added, at length. I couldn’t hear what she said in return, but his next words surprised us both. “I’m not supposed to tell this to anyone. But I’m going to tell you. They’re closing Camp Nine.” Camp Nine was closing. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t imagine life without it. I could almost hear her smile. “Then they’ll close Tule Lake, too.” 150 — Vivienne Schiffer “I won’t have any reason to come back,” he said. “Carrie?” The floorboard creaked again. “I’m sorry, Tom,” she said. “Thank you for all you’ve done.” And that was the end of it. I was disappointed and angry with her. I knew my mother well enough to know that she wasn’t just using Tom for her personal agenda. She truly had loved him. I knew that. And yet, my childish self-interest kept me from understanding her. It seemed impossible to me that, after all that had happened, that after here, in DeSoto County, of all places, she had found him again, she would place what then seemed to me to be pointless meddling before her love for him and what could be a future for us as a family. Of course, that wasn’t the case at all. In...