Excerpt of Bridge of Scarlet Leaves by Kristina McMorris

May 1942 – Los Angeles, Calif.
Japanese American evacuation

Engines awoke in the distance, a stagger of roars that cinched Maddie's throat with panic. Her pace doubled in speed. Her leather heels clicked a staccato rhythm on the city sidewalk. She forced air in and out, in and out, against the burn crawling up the walls of her lungs.

Nine o'clock, that's what Lane's roommate had said when the operator connected his call that morning. Told her that his conscience wouldn't let him ship off without at least telling her Lane was in town, but if she wanted to see him, she had until nine o'clock.

She'd raced out the door. No time to think.

At last, she was almost there...

A young soldier stood up ahead. He hugged his bayonet–fixed rifle across his chest, his stance undoubtedly fresh from Army basic. He stared hard into the sky, as if reading his mission etched in the ribbon of clouds. The enemy, have to protect our country from the enemy.

The thought curled Maddie's fingers.

In a glance briefer than a blink, the GI sized her up, her ivory skin an armor of presumed innocence. She swerved around him, not missing a beat. To her left, personal effects awaited transit in a snaking queue. Cribs and ironing boards, labeled trunks and boxes. Their tags dangled in the spring sun.

Around the corner, evacuees were amassed before the steepled church. Red Cross volunteers handed out coffee.

"Lane! Where are you?" Her words died in the bedlam, smothered by a baby's cry, a rumbling jeep, a little girl's hysterics.

"But I don't want to go," the girl shrieked, face stained red. "Mommy, I want to stay with you!" Tears streamed from the slanted eyes that cursed the child, dripping trails down the puffy sleeves of her lilac dress. Two nuns pried her fingers from the Caucasian woman's arms and guided the youngster toward the bus.

"Everything will be fine, pumpkin," the mother choked out against a sob. "Mommy and Daddy will come see you soon." A suited man beside her added, "You be a good girl, now." His Anglo features contorted in despair as he limply waved.

A reporter snapped a photo.

Who knew a piece of paper could carry so much power? One presidential order and an orphan could lose another family; one signed petition and marriage vows could be unsaid. Thank God she hadn't mailed the papers yet. Stamped and sealed, but not mailed.

Maddie scanned the faces around her, their features similar to Lane's, but none as flawless. None bearing the deep beauty of his eyes, his smile.

"Lane!" she shouted louder. The trio of chartered buses was filling. Within minutes, he would be gone.

"Excuse me, miss. May I help you?" A priest touched her arm. His wrinkled face exuded warmth that penetrated the morning chill.

"Moritomos—I have to find them." Exhaust fumes invaded the air, causing her to cough.

He patted her back. "Now, now, dear. Let's see what we can do." They wove through the crowd, her gaze zipping from one figure to the next. Beige identity tags hung from lapels, around buttons. Branded in their Sunday best like a herd of cattle.

"Sergeant," the priest called out. He stepped up to a bulky Army man in the midst of lecturing two privates. "Sergeant," he tried again, "I hate to interrupt, but..."

"Hold your water," the guy barked, before turning and noting the source. His shoulders lowered. "Sorry, Father. What is it you need?"

"This young lady, here, she's trying to locate a particular family."

"The Moritomos," Maddie cut in.

The sergeant sighed heavily as he lifted his clipboard. He flipped forward several pages and began his search through the list. With the top of his pen, he scratched his head beneath his helmet. He blew out another sigh.

This was taking too long.

Maddie leaned in, trying to see the smudged names herself. Maeda... Matsuda... Minami... Miyamoto...

The sergeant turned to the next page and looked up. "What's that name again?"

She fought to keep her composure. "Moritomo. Lane Moritomo."

A loud hiss shot from behind. The first bus was pulling away, followed by the next. Another hiss and the doors slammed closed on the last Greyhound in line. The crowd launched into waves of farewells and see–you–soons, whenever, wherever that might be.

"Maddie," a muffled voice barely met her ears. It came again, stronger. "Maddie, over here!" Someone yanked open a dusty windowpane on the remaining bus. It was Lane, reaching across seated passengers to see her.

She wasn't too late!

Calling his name, she bumped through elbows to get to the blue–and–white striped transport. She scrambled for his hand until their grips linked, his skin soft as a glove. When a smile slid across his face, all else paled to a haze. Time reversed, back to happier days, before the ground had crumbled on a fault line, dividing their world in two.

"I didn't mean what I said," he implored, "at the diner...."

"I know," she assured him, for it was a truth she had carried inside. Still, her heart warmed from the confirmation in his eyes.

Then the bus began to move.

"No matter what happens, Maddie, know that I'll always love you."

She tightened her grasp, refusing to let go. "I'll be waiting. However long it takes."

On the balls of her feet she hastened her stride. She struggled to keep up, but the wheels were spinning too fast. Against her silent pleas, their connection wouldn't hold and his fingers slipped beyond reach.