But she did think, and the more she thought the more she became convinced.
At last she could bear the suspense no longer; she would go to America and seek her husband. So, selling the little house to enable her to get passage money, all she brought from the old home was Ito’s few but precious letters.
Eventually she, too, arrived at San Francisco, but was refused admission.
“But my husband is here,” she told the interpreter.
“If that is the case,” the official replied, “you may come in, but first you will have to have your husband come to the station to prove that you are his wife.”
By some mere chance Ito was passing the Immigration Station. “There he is now,” cried Hatsu, and she rushed forward to greet her husband.
Ito was called inside and was asked, “Who is this woman?”
Ito looked and saw Hatsu trembling with suppressed emotion. Surely, oh surely, he would say the word that would cease all troubles and end all separation.
For an instant Ito paled. Like a flash there came before him the view of a woman toiling patiently among the soy vines, waiting daily for a letter telling her to come to America.
He had been in the States long enough to know that Uncle Sam laid a heavy hand on people who had offended in the way that he had, so he answered, “I do not know her.”