The Samurai's Garden (17 page)

****

The spring planting began, and soon Hanako, under Hiro's watchful eye, ventured out to the fields to oversee the day workers who would do most of the manual labor. Hanako missed the feel of earth on her hands and the sun on her face, but she appreciated her husband's concern. Besides, she loved having the opportunity to spend time with her son. Strapped to her back, the baby accompanied her to the field, both of them protected by her wide parasol. After inspecting the morning's work, she and the baby would return to the house, and Hanako kept herself busy with housework or knitting while the baby slept.

Evenings were her favorite time. Hiro would return from the field, and eat his dinner. As he did on his first evening, he insisted Hanako sit with him as he ate. They would discuss the day's progress. He still valued her opinion and deferred to her when it came to major decisions, including the hiring of laborers, crops to be planted, and livestock to be purchased. Hanako appreciated having a role in running the farm, even though she wasn't actively working it.

After Hiro finished his meal, it was playtime with little Yasa. Hanako ate while she watched them interact. Her heart warmed as she watched her tall, muscular husband hold the tiny infant. He would talk to his son about the people he had met, the things he wanted for Yasa, and the dangers he might face. And then the games would begin — the tickles, the teasing.

Each time he went into the village, Hiro would return with a new toy or article of clothing for the baby. Many of the gifts were given to him by grateful locals — tiny robes and blankets hand-sewn from the finest fabrics people owned, little toys handcrafted with care. Hanako was overwhelmed by the high esteem. Only a few years ago, these same people viewed her with pity and disdain.

Reiko continued to be a frequent visitor. Besides acting as an honorary grandmother, she became Hanako's teacher in the new endeavor of learning to read and write. The lessons were kept secret from Hiro. Hanako wasn't sure she could succeed, and she didn't know what Hiro's reaction would be. But she realized an entire world existed for those who could interpret the swirls and slashes that made up the written language. Even Sato-san had only a limited understanding of some of the characters, enough to recognize the labels on some of the packages at the market.

At first the lines all looked the same, but Reiko was a very patient teacher, introducing only a few characters at a time. Painting the characters correctly was much more difficult, and wielding the brush proved to be much more troublesome than using an axe or hoe. Finally, she was able to form a reputable imitation of the flowing strokes Reiko produced.

****

Reiko smiled as she walked out of the Tanaka home. It had been a good day; Hanako was making progress learning to read, and the baby was growing strong and healthy. She enjoyed her time with the young family. The love and laughter in the house reminded her of similar times with her own husband and sons.

A servant had brought her in a rickshaw, but she had sent him back to her farm, telling him she would walk home. It was a lovely sunny day, and a recent rainstorm had freshened the air. The young man had protested, but at his mistress's insistence, he had bowed and left.

About halfway home, Reiko began to regret her decision to walk. The distance was much farther than she remembered, and navigating the ruts in the road was difficult with her legs confined in the light summer kimono she wore. But she had always loved walking through her gardens and wanted to get more exercise.

She had gone only a few steps along the dusty road when the hairs on her neck rose. A sixth sense told her someone walked behind her. A glance down at the road confirmed it — a second shadow following behind hers. Her first reaction was fear. Was it the
ronin
? But instinct told her this was not an evil presence. She turned to face her follower then schooled her features to hide her pleasure when she saw who it was.

"Is there something I can do for you, Yamada-san?" she asked.

Ginjiro stopped and bowed. "No, Nakamura-san. Forgive me if my presence alarmed you. I merely wished to make sure you arrived at your own home safely. If the
ronin
are in the area, it would be dangerous for you to be alone on this road."

She returned the bow. "I am grateful for your concern and protection, Ginjiro-san. Normally one of my sons accompanies me, but today they were all occupied in the fields. However, it is unseemly for you to walk behind me like a servant." She kept her eyes lowered, a sign of respect. "You are a samurai, and I am merely the widow of a farmer. I should walk behind you."

Ginjiro wanted to argue but held his tongue. He took a few steps toward Reiko's farm, but soon realized this wouldn't work. He stopped and turned.

"I can't watch you if you are behind me!"

The widow hid her smile. "Then perhaps we should walk together."

****

Hiro cringed at the wails coming from his tiny son. It was nearly crippling, this sudden wave of panic at the responsibilities of parenthood. He knew he could provide for the boy's physical needs. His son would never want for anything. But he was now responsible for shaping a life. He thought of the things he had learned from his own father. How had Yukio Tanaka taught his sons to become men? There was, of course, the
Bushido
— the Way of the Warrior. The eight virtues of the
Bushido
were the framework for his life, and he wanted to pass these on to his own son.

He watched as his wife brought the child to her breast. The baby settled in, content to take his nourishment from her. Hiro felt a temporary envy at Hanako. This was something only she could do. He knew the jealousy was unfounded; there would be other things he would be able to do for his son later on. But this first connection, this intimacy between mother and child was something he could only imagine.

Hanako separated little Yasa from her breast and brought him up to her shoulder, patting his back until the tiny burp came out. She switched him to her other side, settling him down on the
ofuton
and lying next to him. The change required her to lie facing away from Hiro, shielding his son from his sight. Hiro sighed and turned to leave.

"Hiro."

He turned back toward her.

"Yes?"

"When Yasa is done, would you mind taking him for a walk? I am very tired and would love to rest. He likes to watch the stars at night. Perhaps you could teach him a few things about them."

Hiro nodded solemnly, though his heart leaped with joy. "I could do that. Call me when he is finished."

****

Masao took his time getting back to the camp. For almost a year, he had followed Kato-san and had come north to this frozen land so far from civilization. He had been eager for the chance to prove himself as a samurai. But so far, the only flesh his sword had met was that of the farm animals he slaughtered for food.

Kato-san had promised glory and honor. He promised a return of the old order, the renewal of the
Bushido
. What empty promises! Perhaps he should have joined the Imperial Guard when he'd had a chance.

Now, they were encamped near this tiny backwoods town, where Kato-san had decreed they would refuel and continue recruiting. If it weren't for the possibility of payment, he would leave the bothersome man here to shrivel up and die. The ferret-faced man was a mouse, totally helpless without his valet who had died during the harsh winter. The town was small, but the tavern served decent food. The people outside the village had nothing worth taking. A band of
ronin
had come a few years before and had burned or taken almost everything of value, and the farmers still struggled to get their fields producing again.

But despite their hardships, there was a positive energy among the townspeople. He heard that Tanaka-san, a former samurai from one of the more prominent Tokyo families, lived nearby. Several of Tanaka's former fellow samurai had also come to live here. They stood out among the residents — their proud, erect bearing proclaimed their station, even without the deferential treatment they received from the people. If it hadn't been for Emperor Meiji abolishing the samurai class, he, Masao Akira, would now be as important as they were.

What enticed these warriors to come to this out-of-the-way town?
There is nothing here to fight for, no fierce warlord to defend. Are they passing the time here until their next opportunity?

Ahead of him, a man stumbled and fell. Masao recognized him as one of the older members of the group. Ito-san was not a soldier, but he had no place to go as his home and business had burned to the ground. With the little money he had left, he had bribed his way into the group, but his skills with weapons were practically nonexistent, and the would-be warriors teased him mercilessly. Masao watched to see what the others would do. As he expected, they kicked him, spat on him, and left him by the side of the road.

Masao's stomach roiled to see such needless violence. While he was eager to see combat, the callous way these men treated Ito-san went against many of the
Bushido
codes, especially benevolence and respect. While he didn't condone their actions, he knew he couldn't interfere. They were hungry, bored, and unhappy with their leader. If he were to step in, he would only add fuel to their discontent.

Ito-san moaned in pain, lifted his head to turn pleading eyes toward Masao, and then closed them for the last time.