TWO weeks later the mail for Tokio contained several pathetic epistles.
Most of them were written in the wandering, crude, yet peculiarly
attractive handwriting of little children. Mrs. Kurukawa read them over
and over again, crying softly as she did so.
“DARLING MAMMA,—Do please let us come to you in Tokio. You do
not know how sad we are without you. Little girls have little
hearts, but I know that they can suffer much, just the same.
Grandmother, too, is very sad, and Norah is crying, ‘Wirrah,
wirrah, wirrah!’ all the time, and, oh, mamma, she says she
hears the banshee every night wailing outside our house.
Grandmother says it’s only that old gray cat of Summer’s. You
probably remember her. But Norah says it is the banshee, and it
means that some one in our family is dead. Oh, mamma, _how_ it
made me cry! Grandmother has made us all the strangest-looking
kimonos. They are of black crêpe, and I cannot bear to put mine
on. She says that black is not the mourning color in Japan, but
we must wear black in honor of you, mamma, because black crêpe
is mourning in America. So yesterday we all went to church in
those black kimonos, and everybody stared at us, and I put my
head down on the pew, and cried and cried. Plum Blossom and Iris
also hid their faces, and though they say _they_ did not cry, I
think they did, for their eyes were all red. Everybody treats us
as if we were great people. In church they all bowed so deeply
to us as we went in. Sometimes the men we meet on the street
will cheer when they see us. Taro says it is because father did
such heroic things. Taro has no heart, I sometimes think, for he
seems to be proud and happy that father is gone, and he says he
wishes he could have the chance to do what father did. Billy is
very serious these days. He thinks he ought to be with you in
Tokio, to take care of you and protect you. Oh, dear mamma, do
let us know all the news you hear, and if we cannot come to you,
_please_, please come home to us soon.
“Your affectionate and loving,
“MARION.”
“BELOVED DAUGHTER-IN-LAW,—I hope that your health is excellent
and that you will return home soon. The servants weep for their
okusama (honorable lady of the house). The children are augustly
sad without you. Billy has lost his appetite for food. He has
the pale face got. When I request, ‘Are you ill, Billy?’ he
makes reply, in boy rough way, ‘No, but I ought to be with my
mother.’ Marion spoils her pretty eyes with too much weep. She
and Juji weep enough tears for all the honorable family. Plum
Blossom does all your work most neatly, and is learning
excellently to be a good house-keeper. You chose wisely to put
her in your place, and she feels proudly your august confidence
in her. Iris assists her in all things, but neither does she
appear in good health. She has too much paleness in the face
also. Taro is a great comfort. His father’s heroism has inspired
him with noble ambitions. He is a worthy son, though young. The
baby has more words to say each day. Yesterday she spoke of the
white moon which appeared in the sky while it was yet day as
“ball,” and she said, ‘It is too high!’ Those are many words for
one so young. She has her august mother’s eyes.
“Excellent daughter-in-law, I beseech you to earnestly seek
details concerning the fate of our beloved Gozo. It is said
in some of the papers that he did accompany his father upon
this expedition. I entreat you to think first of all of your
august health and happiness. I sign myself, Your unworthy
mother-in-law,
“SANO-OTAMA.”
“DEAR MOTHER,—Since father is dead, _I_ ought to take care of
you. I think about it all the time and want to come to you. I
don’t think it right for a woman to be alone, and I must come to
you at once. Taro and I have not felt like doing anything
lately. I don’t know what’s the matter with everything. The
house doesn’t seem the same without you. I can’t write much. I
want to be with you, mother.
“Your boy,
“BILLY.”
“ESTEEMED MOTHER,—The plum-trees have much buds again got now,
but very sad they make us this year. I think only of those
cherry blossoms we did see with our honorable father. They are
so like the plum. Billy says they make him sick if he look upon
those trees. So we go not out much, as it makes so sorrow in the
hearts to see those same trees shine.
“Earnestly I endeavor to follow your honorable counsel about the
house, and it is unworthily clean to your honor. I am become
like Marion. Always my eyes those tears in them when I think
about you, and several times I make my pillow wet. Therefore I
praying until you _please_ come home with us. Tha’s very sad
that our father die and go way, but tha’s sadder that we lose
our mother also.
“Unworthy and insignificant,
“PLUM BLOSSOM.”
“DEAR MAM,—I thought I would write you a letter, hoping that you
are well. i like you very much, mam, and i love the precious
lambs, both the babby and Juji, but, mam, i cannot bear any
longer so much sorrow, and it’s a letter to you i’m writing to
say i must go back to the old country, for i cannot bear so much
trouble and i have heard the banshee cry at night and it’s
afraid i am that there’s death hovering about. Will you buy my
ticket, please, mam? And it’s breaking my heart sure to leave
you and the lambs.
“Respectfully,
“NORAH O’MALLEY.”
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