The Samurai's Garden (16 page)

****

Reiko watched her pupil's hands as they arranged the roses in the clay pot. It was a shame such young hands looked as rough as they did. The hard work Hanako had been forced to endure added ten years to her skin. So often she had ridden by, watching this young woman toil in the fields alone, providing the only support for her alcoholic father and lazy husband. Even Reiko's servants were not expected to work so hard. It was only right that Hanako, as the owner of these fields, could finally pursue more lady-like activities, sheltered from the cruel sun.

"Hanako-san," she began, "you must have cut yourself on the thorns. I have some cream that will help soothe those cuts, and it will make your skin soft. I have used it for many years when my hands felt rough and dry."

Hanako glanced up, a puzzled expression on her face. Reiko held her breath as the younger woman studied her own hands, and then Reiko's. Working on the farm, Hanako was probably accustomed to having cuts on her hands. Hopefully she hadn't been insulted by the suggestion of using hand cream.

"Nakamura-san, I would be honored if you would show me how to care for my hands. I have never known about this cream. Do you use it on your face, too?"

Reiko smiled. The girl was very perceptive. "I will bring some of my special lotions tomorrow. There are some things you can prepare from the plants in your fields, but others are purchased in the city. I'm sure your husband can arrange to get them."

****

Over the next several months, Hanako and Hiro shared the joy of the pregnancy together. Hiro continued his vigilant efforts to keep Hanako from working too hard. The gardens flourished and again brought in a healthy profit. Hanako was forced to acknowledge Hiro's flower "hobby" brought in nearly as much as her vegetables.

Nothing excited Hiro more than to feel his son move within Hanako's belly. In the evenings, he massaged her swollen feet and aching back. He made her tea and bought special sweets and gifts to cheer her when she despaired at her increasing size. And at night, he cradled her in his arms as if to protect her and the child they had created. Hanako had never felt more cherished.

The New Year brought hope and optimism for the future. There had been no reports about the
ronin
for months. It was the ninth year of the emperor Meiji's reign, the year the Western world called 1876.

The entire house shone. Walls had been washed, floors swept, and every corner thoroughly cleaned. Of course, Hanako had not been allowed to do any of the heavy cleaning herself. She had directed the activities, performed by women brought in from the village who were grateful for the work. Bowls of hot rice were mixed with vinegar for sushi, and special prayers were said for the spirits of deceased relatives. Decorative lanterns hung from the ceiling, and everyone prepared to visit the temple.

She and Hiro walked through the streets, enjoying the sights and greeting the other villagers. Progress was relatively slow, as Hanako was now growing larger, and walking was more of a chore than she had ever remembered. As they made their way through the streets, they were recognized and greeted happily. Hiro continued to be held in esteem as a local leader, even though he refused to hold an official office.

Several young boys danced around with strings of firecrackers. They threw the noisemakers about, shouting greetings as they went. The boys' antics soon turned into a contest to see who could throw his firecrackers higher, but one errant missile landed on the dried grass of a roof. The grass immediately burst into flames.

A shout of alarm spread through the crowd.

Merrymakers abandoned their celebration to spring into action. Hiro pushed Hanako to a bench, ordering her to stay away from the danger. His deep, resonant voice, developed through years of military training, could be heard cutting through the chaos as he organized the volunteers into a line, passing buckets of water from a well to the blaze. Hanako was torn between jumping into the fray and abiding by her husband's wishes to protect the baby.

Thankfully, the fire was contained quickly, though there was much damage to the structure. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, when a small, weakened voice was heard coming from the blackened structure. A woman screamed from the back of the crowd.

"Mother! My mother is inside!"

Hiro, standing near the doorway, turned and dashed back into the building. Heavy smoke and the darkness of the night made it difficult for him to navigate through the rooms, but he continued to plunge through. He called out to the woman, begging her to help him find her. Following the sound of her voice, he found her huddled in a corner. A beam had fallen on her leg, trapping her on her
ofuton
.

Gathering all his strength, he raised the beam and moved it aside. Then he lifted her and turned to carry her to safety. He had to rely on his memory to find his way back through the blinding smoke. His exertion from moving the beam and carrying the woman had his lungs burning from the smoke. He quickened his steps, making a few wrong turns before finally locating the doorway.

He had nearly reached the threshold when he heard the deadly sound of cracking wood. Frantically, he sprinted toward the opening and thought he had succeeded, when a beam fell and hit him solidly across the shoulders. The impact had him falling forward with the woman sprawled in front of him. Through the smoke, he saw someone else taking her from him before his world went black.

****

Hanako bathed her husband's face with cool water and sat back on the cushion next to his
ofuton
. It had been three days since the fire, and he had yet to open his eyes.

The physician had come each day, treating his wounds and giving her instructions for his care. His grave expression told Hanako the extent of Hiro's injuries was great, and she feared her happiness with him was at an end. When she wasn't sitting by his side, she would light incense and offer prayers, earnestly petitioning the gods for his recovery.

Ginjiro spent part of each evening with Hiro. After spending the day tending the animals, he would come and encourage Hanako to rest and eat while he sat with his friend. Reiko came during the day and served the food people brought. Her sons often came with her and took care of chores around the farm. Neighbors and people from the village came as well, bearing food and wishes for Hiro's recovery.

The daughter of the woman Hiro had saved came as well. "My mother was weary of the celebrations and had just gone home to rest," she told Hanako. "If your husband had not risked his life, she would have suffered much more than a broken leg."

Although she appreciated all the support, Hanako despaired of ever looking into her husband's eyes again. Surrounded by the succulent dishes brought by the village women, she found it difficult to eat. Household duties were ignored, and the flower arrangements she had so painstakingly created wilted. Reiko finally convinced her to take care of herself, to consider the child she carried.

"You are doing all you can for your husband. When he awakens, he will want to see a cheerful home, preparing for a healthy baby. Surely you do not wish to endanger your child by not feeding him."

Hanako laid a hand on her rounded belly. Through the turmoil, she had forgotten about the plans she and Hiro had made to prepare for the baby.
Would Hiro ever hold their child?
She shook the thought away. She had to remain optimistic.

"Nakamura-san, you are so wise. I must think of our child. He will arrive in a few more weeks, and will need some more clothing."

"I will help you. But first you must eat."

A week later, Hanako sat near the window, counting stitches on the tiny sweater Reiko had showed her how to make. Finding an error, she grumbled in frustration and tore out the offending stitches.

"What has upset my little flower?"

The voice was raspy and soft in volume, but at the first syllable, the knitting fell to the floor. Hanako threw herself into her husband's arms and sobbed. "You have returned to me!" she cried.

A gentle hand ran up and down her spine. "I did not realize I had left," he said. "I was dreaming of you and our child. I saw you with him in the field, teaching him about the plants you grow. You were so happy. And then you found some of your plants had not grown as they should. No matter what you did, the plants continued to wilt and die. I tried to call out to you, to help you, but my voice would not come. I tried again and again and realized my throat was dry, and I needed a drink. And that is when I awakened to find you cursing at your yarn."

She sat up, wiping her tears. "I was not cursing at the yarn."

"Perhaps not, but you were definitely letting the yarn know what you thought of it," he teased.

****

Reiko, coming in with a tea tray, found husband and wife talking, wrapped in each other's arms. She saw the look in their eyes and remembered a time when she, too, experienced that magic. Silently, she turned around and left to have tea alone in another room.

Ginjiro nodded to her as he came in from the field.

"How is he?" he inquired.

"He's awake now."

His eyes lit up. "That's wonderful! I must see him." He turned toward the bedroom but stopped when a hand caught his elbow.

"Yamada-san, I think you might want to delay your greeting." Reiko met his inquiring gaze with a serene smile. "He and his wife are getting reacquainted. They need some time alone. Perhaps you would like to have tea with me here in this room until they are finished?"

Ginjiro looked down at the tiny hand still cupping his elbow, then up to the still unlined face of its owner. "I would like that very much."