The Samurai's Garden

by Patricia Kiyono

  "Have I disturbed you, Hanako-san?"

  "Oh! Of course not. Would you like some tea?"

  "You are kind to offer, but my son is outside fixing a broken wheel on our wagon. I must be ready to go when he is. But I wanted to let you know — I have heard about the extra samurai Tanaka-san has recruited. You should not have to feed all these hungry men alone. Please allow me to assist you. Since you already have tonight's meal started, I will send food over for tomorrow."

  Hanako stared in amazement at the woman's offer. It had never occurred to her to ask for help. "I — I am humbled by your generosity, Nakamura-san," she finally managed.

  The older woman smiled. "You are so accustomed to doing everything alone. But these men are helping the entire village and surrounding areas. It is only right we should all help to feed them."

  Hanako again stammered her thanks. "But how did you hear about the new soldiers? Watanabe-san arrived only today."

  "Tanaka-san is a celebrity in the village. When his friend arrived, asking where to find him, word immediately spread. My sons learned that others are coming. When they arrive, we will all be honored to help feed and house them."

  Noburo Nakamura appeared at the doorway. He bowed a greeting to Hanako and then to his mother. "Okaasan, the wagon is repaired enough for us to return home. I am sorry to make you wait."

  "It is no trouble, Nobu-chan," the widow replied. "I rather enjoyed this opportunity to visit with our neighbor." Turning to Hanako, she repeated her promise to send food the next day, and left.

  Hanako returned to her cooking, but as she worked, she marveled at this unfamiliar feeling of contentment. It wasn't from the fact that she wasn't hungry or excessively tired. It wasn't from the fact that she felt safe with three former samurai in her home. It came from her connection with another human being, another woman, who expressed care for her well-being and was willing to help. This must be what people referred to as friendship.

  She decided she liked having a friend.

  ****

  Leaving Hiro's house, Reiko covertly looked around for a glimpse of Tanaka-san's friend. When she had arrived, she thought she had heard his voice as he spoke to the newcomer in another room. But she had no good excuse for walking through the house. She would have to find another time and place to speak to him.

  It was easy to see why the village women were drawn to Hiro. His tall, muscular build and his noble bearing made him a very desirable man. But though she respected the handsome samurai, it was his friend who intrigued her. He was not formally educated, having instead obtained his learning through life lessons.

  But it was his eyes that held her captive. Eyes that expressed every thought, every desire, every defeat. In the years since she had been left a widow, she had learned much about the ways of men, and her ability to judge a man's character through his eyes had been the key to the success of her lands. And Ginjiro's eyes told her he was a man she could trust, a man who would be loyal in every sense.

  Since he had arrived in the village, Ginjiro had been a faithful friend to Hiro, an indispensable help to Hanako, and a willing guard for the village. The story of how he had defended Hanako during the attempted abduction had reached Reiko's ears, and she grew more intrigued about him. Does he have a family somewhere? Will he be free to stay in the area once the threat of the ronin is over?

  Noburo helped her into the carriage and climbed up to his perch for the ride home. Reiko berated herself for her childish thoughts. One would think her a silly girl, daydreaming about a man this way. She was a woman of stature, a mother and a widow. She had far more important things to think about.

  If only she could remember what they were.

  Chapter Eleven

  She was watching again. Ginjiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and forced himself to continue the drill. Hiro had decided to focus the drill tonight on using the bo, and he needed to concentrate on wielding the six-foot rod with care. He focused on his weapon, not looking toward the doorway where he knew she stood. The landowners surrounding the village took turns hosting the training sessions. Tonight, the exercises were conducted on the Nakamura homestead.

  It was so embarrassing, the way he longed for her like a lovesick puppy. She was so far above him, so refined. She would never look at him as anything other than a low-ranking soldier. It would not do to harbor wishes that could never come true.

  "Yamada-san."

  Ginjiro yelped as his bo swung in a crazy arc, hitting his forehead.

  "Forgive me. I should not have interrupted you while you concentrated on your drill."

  He ignored the throbbing pain in his head, turned, and bowed. "It is I who should apologize for my clumsiness. I might have injured you with my wayward weapon."

  "I have more faith in your skill than that. But I did have a purpose for interrupting you."

  Ginjiro nodded, keeping his eyes down in a show of respect. Nakamura-san wasn't royalty, but through her sons, she exerted much influence in the village, and the citizens paid her a great deal of respect.

  "Surely you don't consider a farmer's widow to outrank you, Yamada-san?"

  The question brought Ginjiro's eyes upward. His mind worked feverishly, searching for an appropriate reply. His ears finally told him the incoherent sounds coming out of his mouth were not creating the best image for him. He closed his mouth, irritated he had let it hang open like an inarticulate fool. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and forced himself to speak.

  "How may I be of assistance to you, Nakamura-san?" He smiled inwardly, pleased that his voice had not cracked.

  "I need your help moving an item of furniture in my home," she explained. "It is too large for my youngest son to move."

  Ginjiro nodded and followed the widow into her home. He was instantly enveloped in comfort. The house, though large, had none of the sterile coldness of the last castle he had worked in, or the overblown pretentiousness of the nobleman he had helped to protect. This was a home, a place where a family lived, worked, and played.

  Colorful flower arrangements graced highly polished lacquer tables in the corners of the room. The sliding shoji screens were painted with outdoor scenes, giving the illusion of an outdoor patio. Plump, comfortable cushions surrounded the low table. A large buffet lined most of the far wall.

  "I have decided I want to have the table over there," the widow told him as she pointed toward the far wall. "It makes more sense to have the table closer to the kitchen."

  Ginjiro didn't understand why the arrangement made more sense to her, but he nodded and went to work. But once he had the table and cushions moved, the woman frowned.

  "Oh dear. This won't do. There isn't enough room to fit six cushions around the table here."

  Six? She has four sons, and two of them are married and living in their own homes, so why would she need so many? But what did he know of such things?

  "Perhaps it would have been better to have the table back where it was, and move the buffet over to that wall next to it," she said, pointing at one of the side walls.

  For the next half hour, he worked, arranging things to suit the woman. Briefly, he wondered what she hoped to accomplish by moving things around. What difference did it make whether a table was placed here or there?

  It wasn't until later that night, after he lay on his ofuton in Hiro's new house, that he realized the beautiful widow had three older sons who could have easily moved her furniture. His lips curved into a wide smile as he drifted into slumber.

  ****

  In the next week, two other strong, able soldiers joined Watanabe-san. During the day, they worked in the fields with Ginjiro, and in the evening, Hanako fed the entire group in the spacious dining room of the new house.

  Hiro returned from his latest trip, and held meetings with the men after the fighting drills. Hanako, preparing for sleep in her own hut, heard the voices of the men as they planned. Though she loved cooking in the spacious new home, she still felt the need to
return to her own hut at night.

  Five strong men sleeping next door provided her with a sense of security. Her worries about feeding them all had been needless. The men were used to providing for themselves, catching fish from the stream and hunting small game, and true to her word, Nakamura-san often sent meals. During her next visit into the village, Hanako saw a renewed energy among the townspeople. Hiro was treated with even more respect than before, and she knew it was because people appreciated his efforts to help protect them. People stopped him, bearing gifts of food for "the protectors" and sincere words of thanks. Hiro accepted the praise modestly and in turn thanked them for their gifts.

  The new developments made Hanako believe Hiro really planned to stay. She still had some doubts about her own suitability, but more and more she contemplated life with her handsome samurai. She would live in the fine house he had built. She could forget about financial worries and backbreaking work. She would have someone with whom she could share her life, her dreams, and her future. Perhaps there would be children — strong, handsome sons, and beautiful, graceful daughters. How she would cherish a child born to her and Hiro. Even if Hiro left, she could go on if she had his children.

  ****

  The sun beat down mercilessly after a long day at the market. Hiro, walking ahead of Hanako as he led the ox and cart, glanced over his shoulder and noted her pensiveness and wondered if she was uncomfortable with the attention they had received from the townspeople. Is she embarrassed from the attention? Does she resent the time I spent away from the farm? Should I have explained about my visits to the city and my correspondence with my former comrades? He was glad his requests had resulted in responses. The three men who had come in answer to his request were people he could trust, men who held the same high moral standards as he, men who truly lived according to the code they had sworn to uphold. They all had expressed disgust at the troublemakers roaming the countryside and agreed to help.

  The key to bringing them here had been to get the village to agree to provide compensation. He knew monetary rewards were out of the question. Most villagers were barely able to do more than subsist from their earnings. But land here in the far north was plentiful, and since the men of the samurai class no longer received the privileges they had previously enjoyed, many of these men were looking for a new purpose in life. Hiro had found joy in working with the land. Perhaps others could learn the trade, or perhaps find another equally satisfying role in life.

  But studying Hanako's pale face and quiet demeanor, he wondered if perhaps he had overstepped his role in her life. His only thought had been to protect her and his adopted town. Is it possible that such an independent woman would resent my interference? After all, he had agreed to stay on her farm as an assistant, a hired hand.

  "The people in the village were very generous with their gifts of food," he began.

  Hanako didn't look at him. She simply nodded. The juices in his stomach turned sour. Is she angry? A new thought occurred to him, and his blood began to boil. "Have the new men been unkind or disrespectful to you?" His throat began to close as he ground out, "Have they hurt you in any way?"

  The last question caused a quick reaction. Hanako looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "No, of course not! They have been perfect gentlemen. I am proud to have them here. Forgive me for not thanking you properly. We are all safer because of their presence."

  Hiro sighed in frustration, turned and walked on. He didn't want her gratitude. But he did want her approval. Her listless manner of the last few days bothered him. It was her strength of character that he had first noticed about her. What caused this sudden lethargy?

  He stopped so suddenly that Hanako, walking three paces behind him, nearly collided with his massive frame. He turned, stepped toward her, lifted her chin and waited for her to meet his gaze.

  "Do you feel the extra men are causing too much work for you? I know I didn't ask you about housing them here. Would you like them to stay elsewhere?"

  "No! I feel safer with them here."

  "Would you like extra help with the cooking and cleaning?"

  "The other farmers in the area and many in the village have been sending food."

  "But it is still extra work to serve it and clean up. Perhaps I should hire a young girl from the village to help you."

  "N—" She paused in her automatic refusal. Hiro waited patiently, hiding his amusement. His independent little flower would have difficulty letting someone else do what she considered to be her work.

  "Perhaps, later, when the harvest brings more work in the fields. Right now, I enjoy the cooking. I've never had the opportunity to spend so much time indoors during the summer. Thanks to all the help we have here, I am free to do this, and I am grateful for the opportunity to show my gratitude to the men who are helping to save my village."

  Hiro studied her as she spoke. She was telling the truth in that the extra work was not bothering her. But he still needed to know what had taken away her fire, her passion. He moved his hand to her shoulder, needing to touch her, wanting so much more.

  "Please tell me what has taken the light from your eyes," he asked gently.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and Hiro feared she wouldn't answer. But then her lovely eyes opened, and Hiro felt his heart stir as their gazes met and held. He forced himself to listen carefully to her answer.

  "I have been considering your offer of marriage. I am so honored, and yet I am afraid."

  Afraid? Is she afraid of me? Hiro's quick intake of breath must have alerted her to his question, because she quickly reassured him with her next words.

  "I'm not afraid of you. I know you would never hurt me. I'm afraid of not being able to be a proper wife for you. I'm afraid of letting go of my simple way of life. I'm afraid of — change. Until now, my life has been centered on these fields. And now that you and the others are here, I have other concerns. Change is necessary and is often good. If my life is going to be different, I have to change, and that frightens me. I have asked Nakamura-san to teach me about things I should know."

  She paused and took a deep breath. Hiro held still, waiting for the words he hoped would follow.

  "I thought perhaps we could marry after the harvest, if you still wish it."

  Chapter Twelve

  The Nakamura brothers stared curiously at the strange device brought by the new samurai. "How does it work?" asked Shinobu, the second eldest.

  Watanabe-san patiently explained the mechanism that propelled the bullet. He even took one of the cartridges apart, much to the delight of Takaro, the family mechanic.

  "Will you show us?" asked Yoshiro. At ten years of age, his curiosity still caused him to forget traditional rules of etiquette, and the arrival of the new samurai and his exotic weapon were of prime interest to a boy for whom farming was simply endless drudgery.

  Propelled by the brothers' interest, Watanabe-san readily agreed to stage a demonstration. Targets were set up by hanging two old ceramic pots from the branches of a tree. Noburo Nakamura, the eldest, brought out his best bow and arrow and aimed at the pot on the left. The arrow flew directly at its target and bounced off. Everyone nodded in appreciation and turned to the samurai, waiting to see if he could outdo the feat. The newcomer raised the rifle to his shoulder, closed one eye as he took aim, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the blast was deafening, but all eyes widened in amazement at the shattered pot on the ground beneath the rope that once held it.

  Noburo was the first to speak. "This is truly a deadly weapon," he conceded.

  Hiro nodded his agreement. "In the past, shoguns used large groups of gunmen, called ashigaru, to conquer opposing forces. But after the Tokugawa clan took power over most of Japan, the guns were put away in favor of more traditional weapons. I have read that in the west, gun use is much more prevalent."

  "How did Watanabe-san get this weapon?" Shinobu, the second eldest, turned a suspicious glance toward the newcomer.

  "The American Admiral
Perry brought newer and more deadly versions of these weapons. Some of these were left here. They say some of the ronin have them." He looked around at the men assembled there. "If that's true of the ronin here, we will be in more danger than I thought."

  Takaro suddenly jumped up. "I know where we can get some of these!" At the incredulous stares from the rest, he pointed to a slightly overgrown path leading away from the village.

  "A few years ago as I was gathering firewood, I found an old abandoned shack. When I looked inside, I found several crates, with broken locks on them. The crates had strange looking characters on them, so I couldn't tell what was in them. Since the locks were broken, I looked inside, and there were dozens of these. I didn't know what they were, so I forgot about them until now."

  He led the group to a dilapidated structure on the edge of the Nakamura property. Overgrown bushes concealed most of the tiny hut. The dusty interior and preponderance of cobwebs testified to the absence of human visitors for quite some time. A dozen wooden crates were stacked in the middle of the single room, bearing foreign characters.

  Hiro pointed to the red, white, and blue emblem painted on some of the boxes. "These are from the United States. They manufactured most of the guns imported by the shogun many years ago."

  Noboru perked up. "I remember hearing about a shipment supposedly lost at sea. When the shipwreck was finally located, the entire cargo had been taken."

  "These must have been weapons intended for the shogun," Hiro mused, "but they are no good to him now. The question is, do the ronin know about these?"

  "We must keep them out of their hands," Noboru insisted, and the others agreed. Hiro and the other former samurai brought the crates out of the hut and dragged them to the path, while two of the Nakamuras went to get some horses and small carts. The guns would be stored in a compartment under the floor of the Nakamura house.