Free Cherry Blossom Baseball by Jennifer Maruno Page A

He gave a huge grin of broken teeth and said, “I no charge for water.”
    â€œDon’t forget we owe you for a bag of rice,” Eiko said, opening her purse.
    â€œYou not worry,” the man said. He put on a pair of small, round glasses and flipped through a worn leather journal next to the cash register. “I have husband’s name in book.”
    â€œYou can cross it out,” Eiko said as she placed several one-dollar bills on the counter. “We keep our accounts paid.”
    The man shrugged and reached for the pencil behind his ear.
    Her father peeked through the door. “Ready to head out?”

    Oakville Wood Specialities, a brick and concrete building sheathed in corrugated metal, sat beside railroad tracks surrounded by piles of logs. Trails of white steam rose from several roof stacks as they approached. Even though it was Saturday morning, the factory teemed with workers. Men moved back and forth, loading the boxcars.
    â€œMr. Downey,” Michiko asked, “how many baskets do you need?”
    â€œI’m here for the sawdust,” he said. “We’ll be needing plenty of that soon, for the bulbs. I get a good price on firewood too. They’re happy to get rid of the cores after the veneer is gone. “
    Mr. Downey led Michiko and her father up the gravelled drive to the main building. “All the baskets are made by hand,” he said. He greeted a short, dark-haired man with a handshake. “Hello, Hank,” he said. “Mind if these folks have a look around?”
    Hank wore a diamond-patterned wool vest over his long-sleeved shirt. His scuffed work boots seemed out of place with his well-creased flannel pants.
    â€œGo on in,” he said, looking Sam up and down. “You looking for work?”
    Mr. Downey gave the man a small jab with his elbow. “Knock it off,” he said and then turned to Sam. “Most of the young men don’t want to spend their life working on a farm,” he said. “Between this factory and the war, it’s hard to find men to work the fields.”
    Michiko couldn’t help but think of her Uncle Ted. He was always interested in anything made of wood, and Uncle Kaz was having a great deal of trouble finding the right job. If they got both got jobs at the basket factory, the whole family could be together again. “We know some people …” she said, but Sam grabbed her hand. The pressure he put on her fingers told her he was unhappy with her interruption. “This is adult business,” he said to her in a low voice. “You stick to kid business.”
    The four of them stepped through the large-planked doors that stood ajar. Inside, dust motes danced through the rays of sunshine that rested on the heads of the men working at tables.
    Several worked at a machine shaving logs into long thin strips. It reminded Michiko of her mother preparing potatoes. Others carried bundles of the peeled wood to a huge vat of steaming water. Men at a long work table shaped wet strips over small wooden blocks and hammered in tacks. Then they positioned a strip of wood along the top edge and stapled it.
    â€œEven though berry season is over,” Hank said, as he picked up a small box with a wide square opening, “we got to keep up the stock.” He turned the box over, examined its base, nodded, and handed it back.
    They moved to the men at the next table. For several minutes, Michiko watched the workers mould pieces of veneer over metal forms. It’s as if they are doing origami with wood, she thought to herself. After adding a solid oval piece to the bottom and stapling inner and outer bands to the top, another sweet-smelling wooden basket joined the pile.
    â€œI’ll take my usual order of six quarts for my apple crop,” Mr. Downey said. “And I’ll need some pints for my strawberries.”
    â€œI’ll put it on your bill,” Hank replied as they moved from the