Red Berries, White Clouds, Blue Sky by Sandra Dallas Page A

long time. When she turned around, tears were streaming down her face. “You made a Christmas tree? For Carl?”
    “For Carl,” Tomi said. “And for Wilson. And for you, too, Helen. We made it for all of you. To make you happy.”
    The Itanos left then, because they had their own presents to open. Roy closed the Wakasas’ door behind them, but seconds later, Helen opened it and called, “Wait.”
    Tomi had the awful feeling that Helen was going to tell them to take back the tree. She stopped and turnedtoward Helen.
    “Wait up,” Helen called, and hurried down the hall to the Itanos. “I just wanted to say …” She stopped a moment, then smiled. “I just wanted to say Merry Christmas.”

1944 | CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    THE TALLGRASS SKY QUILT

    MOM’S quilting class worked almost every Saturday to complete their first squares. They sewed them together, then made a fabric sandwich of quilt top and back with a batting in between. The batting was fluffy cotton, which would make the quilt warm. The “sandwich” was tacked to an oblong wooden frame that hung from the ceiling of the craft room. The frame was lowered when the women worked on it, then raised to the ceiling for storage.
    They were just sitting down around the frame one Saturday in January, 1944, when Mrs. Hayashi rushed in. “I have received the cotton from San Francisco. It came this morning.” She untied the package and spread the pieces of fabric over the quilt in the frame. “It is only cotton, not very important,” she said. Like other Japanese women, shewas modest and did not want the others to think her gift was valuable or that she was bragging. But she beamed as she ran her hands over the beautiful blue material.
    “Such lovely fabric,” Mom said, picking up a length of material and inspecting it. Even Tomi, who still didn’t care about sewing, held her breath as she looked at the beautiful pieces of cloth. Many were a bright indigo blue, but some were faded, others mended. Most were plain, but a few were woven with stripes or plaids. “I believe these were made by hand, not machine,” Mom said.
    The women took the cloth between their fingers and felt it. They talked about the colors and designs.
    “It is only for everyday clothes, mostly for people on farms or in the mountains. Nobody wants such plain stuff,” Mrs. Hayashi told them. “Not important,” she said again.
    “ We want it,” Mom told her. “It will make a beautiful quilt, and because the cloth is heavy, it will be warm. A good thing for this camp.”
    “Why don’t you use the material for the ‘tank quilt,’ instead of the quilt you just made. Everyone will want to buy a raffle ticket to win such a beautiful quilt,” Tomi interrupted.
    “A fine idea,” a woman said. “The women in Ellis canmake good quilts, maybe better than the one we just finished. But the tank quilt will be different, because women in Ellis have never seen this fabric. Maybe those women will buy our raffle tickets, and we can make even more money for our tank.”
    Mrs. Hayashi spoke out in her quiet voice. “Are we still hoping to buy a tank? Maybe our money should go to our own young men who are joining the army. They are very brave, and we must support them.” Although the government had forced them to relocate, the young Japanese men in the camps were now expected to join the army. They were forming a special unit—the 442nd Infantry. She thought a moment. “I know, we will buy them a tank.”
    “Such a good idea,” Mom said. Then she ran her hand over the pieces of blue again, thinking. “This fabric is too thick to be cut into tiny pieces. We must design a special quilt for it.”
    “We could use a Japanese design,” a woman suggested.
    “No, it must be an American quilt—American like us,” Mom told her, and the women nodded.
    The quilters discussed patterns but could not make up their minds. Finally, one said she knew a woman in the camp who was an artist. She would ask her to