The Samurai's Garden

by Patricia Kiyono

  "I think perhaps your brother was a bit jealous of you."

  Taro, jealous of me? Hiro couldn't believe his ears.

  "He used to tell me how proud your father was of your intelligence, your quick wit. Taro was a fierce warrior, but he lacked your insight, your compassion, and your diplomacy. And he always kept track of you, especially while you were in Kato-san's employ. We had heard rumors about Kato's deviousness, but had no proof.

  "It is because of your brother's concerns that the Emperor demanded an investigation when you disappeared. Kato had originally pledged his allegiance to the emperor, so he was allowed to keep some of his land holdings and a few servants. But while he publicly supported the Emperor, in private he plotted an insurrection. When his duplicity was discovered, his lands were confiscated and he was sentenced to prison, but he escaped. He traveled north, recruiting wandering ronin as his soldiers. I understand you dealt with them in Hokkaido."

  The captain explained, "Some traveling merchants came to Tokyo recently. They told us much about your leadership and how you trained a band of simple villagers into an army brave enough to face them. Their story was truly inspiring.

  "The Emperor's investigation also uncovered Kato's deviousness in ordering the seppuku of some of his best warriors." At this, Hiro's head popped up again. He quickly lowered it again, mindful of the rules of etiquette.

  "Yes, your friend Fukada-san and several others had been eliminated because their honesty and integrity had threatened Kato-san's plot to overthrow the Meiji government. Restitution has been made to their families from the holdings we seized from his estate."

  Hiro couldn't contain his smile. Finally, justice for his friend!

  "You may face me, Tanaka-san. You have earned the right. You have grown into an honorable man. Your gift of diplomacy will be a great asset to the Emperor."

  The captain turned and reached for the golden doors leading to the seat of the Chrysanthemum Throne. "Come with me."

  ****

  Hiro knocked on the door of the little hut on the outskirts of the city. The size and condition of the dwelling reminded him of the tiny structure where Hanako had lived when he had first met her. A tiny woman, her face lined and her body bent from years of hard work, answered his knock. She glared at her unexpected visitor, and Hiro quickly bowed.

  "I am Hiromasa Tanaka. I wish to speak with the family of my friend and comrade, Kunio Fukuda."

  The woman's face brightened. "Tanaka-san, it is an honor to meet you in person. I'm Kunio's mother. I've heard much about you."

  "I am honored to meet you," Hiro replied. He faltered, not knowing what else to say. But the woman spoke readily.

  "My son was in awe of your skill and intelligence. From the time you both began training together, he strived every day to match your abilities. He believed his friendship with you made him a better samurai."

  Hiro hung his head. The friendship had also caused the man's death. It had been Hiro's idea to seek employment with the treacherous Kato-san.

  "It was because of you that he had the courage to face his demons."

  Hiro looked up at her, questioning.

  "My son had an illness when he was younger. He couldn't walk for many years, and in school he was teased for his awkward gait. Determination to become a samurai made him work hard to overcome his physical limitations. But a part of him always doubted his ability — until he met you. You were the one who made him feel worthy of his calling. You helped him believe in himself. When the end came, he faced it bravely because you were there. My family is deeply indebted to you."

  For long moments, Hiro stood, speechless. How could she feel gratitude? "I am ashamed I was not there with him when the difficulties began," he told her.

  Fukuda-san interrupted him with a slice of her hand. "That is nonsense," she declared. "You were following orders, fighting elsewhere as you should have been. We have heard about Kato-san's downfall. His lands were taken away, and he left in disgrace. He should have committed seppuku."

  Hiro swallowed. "He did. He went north to recruit more soldiers." Briefly he explained what happened to the disgraced daimyo.

  The woman nodded. "That is as it should be. He was foolish to oppose the emperor." She looked up as she realized they were still standing at the doorway.

  "Will you have tea?"

  Hiro bowed. "It would be an honor."

  For the next hour, Hiro sat with her, hearing about his friend's childhood, learning about his wishes and dreams. Listening to the woman reminded him of Hanako. Would she someday tell stories about Yasa?

  He had to get back to them.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Hanako's feet dragged as she neared the end of the furrow. She didn't have to work in the field, but driving herself to exhaustion was the only way she could bear the sense of loss from Hiro's absence. The baby babbled merrily as he rode in his pack, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in his mother's heart. Thanks to his wealthy father, Yasahiro would never live in poverty. As soon as the harvest was in, Hanako and Yasa-chan would travel to Tokyo. She had no idea how she would locate Hiro, but she had to try.

  Her husband had been gone nearly two months now. Yasahiro was already walking and starting to talk. He might have already forgotten the gentle giant who had held him so tenderly and played with him on the tatami floor.

  She prodded the ox, urging him to go faster. Soon it would be time for the baby to eat. Yasa-chan could be very impatient when he was hungry. She had rice soaking in the pot. They would have it for dinner, along with some dried fish and vegetables. Most of the time, she had difficulty summoning enough appetite to eat at all. But she knew if she didn't keep up her own strength, she would not be able to properly care for the baby.

  Yasa-chan was the one bright spot in her dreary life. If not for her son, the passionate unions with Hiro might have been a wondrous dream. Hanako prayed he would grow to have his father's compassion and bravery. Once he was ensconced in his father's wealthy family, he would learn the ways of the Bushido. Even if he never fought in battle, he would learn the noble code of ethics, as well as the mysteries of the written word.

  She pulled on the reins to lead the animal to the next row. Again, doubts assailed her. Will I be allowed to stay with Yasa-chan and care for him? Will Hiro even recognize Yasa as his son, or would he dismiss him as the product of a casual dalliance? Before he had left, he had promised to return, but in the months of his absence, no word had arrived from the city. Perhaps his family had convinced him of the folly of his life in the country. Surrounded by the comforts of his station, he might have forgotten the little family he had left behind.

  She had a beautiful son, and thanks to her husband, she would not have to worry about having the means to raise him. She should be grateful for all the things he had done for her. What kind of a wife had she been to refuse to accompany her husband? If his life was in Tokyo, she should have gone with him and learned to adjust. She had thought this patch of land held the key to her happiness, but she knew now this meant nothing without Hiro.

  Finally, she completed the work in the field and put the ox into the pasture. A farm hand came over to help drag the plow to the back of the house. As she rounded the corner, a powerful fragrance assaulted her. She looked up and froze. From the front of the house to the road, carts pulled by fine horses formed a line, each cart driven by a uniformed driver. In each cart, hundreds of beautiful, fragrant blooms spilled from huge pots. And there, in front of the lead cart, was her husband. He was thinner than she remembered, but still strong, fit, and oh, so handsome. His face crinkled in a tired grin.

  "What — what is this?" she finally managed.

  "This is my new vocation," Hiro announced, spreading his arms to indicate the wagon loads of blossoms. "I have purchased the farm to the west of us. You can keep growing your vegetables in your fields, and I will grow flowers on the new land. Since you have taught me well, our gardens should be very successful. And our children will benefit."


  Hanako felt her cheeks grow damp. Her lower lip quivered, and she sobbed with joy. He had said children — not child. There would be more sturdy little boys and maybe a girl or two. Mindful of the servants' curious stares, she wiped away her tears. Her watery vision suddenly focused on the characters painted on the sides of each wagon.

  "Tanaka Farms?"

  "Yes, I thought we—" He stopped short and stared at her. "How did you know what it says on the wagons?"

  "Reiko-san has been teaching me to read. I'm not very good yet—"

  A pair of strong arms squeezed her tightly, cutting her in mid-sentence. "Hanako, this is wonderful! I am so proud of you."

  She glowed from his praise. "I didn't want Yasa-chan to be ashamed of his mother."

  "That would never happen."

  Her husband's conviction warmed her even more. "I will go indoors and prepare a meal for you and your men." She hurried into the house, untied her baby bundle, and set Yasa on the tatami mat with some toys in the corner away from the stove. Turning around, she found herself enveloped in a tight embrace.

  "The servants will stay outside. I need time with my wife."

  Urgent kisses rained upon her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, and her lips. Her knees weakened, and she held him tightly, returning the kisses, fearing the sight and feel of her beloved would suddenly melt away. When he finally lifted his head, he crushed her to him, and she rested her head against his broad chest, relishing the sound of his strong heartbeat.

  "You came back," she whispered. "I was so afraid you wouldn't. I was preparing to come to you, if you would accept me. I don't know the ways of a city life, but I would try very hard to learn. I want to be worthy of you."

  He leaned back, looking solemnly into her eyes. "My life is here. I want to raise our son and our future children here on this land. I want them to live a peaceful life, surrounded by natural beauty, not golden castles and silk draperies. If you will agree, we will make this farm into a place that will provide comfortably for our family. Of course, we will need to enlarge our home a bit — since our family will undoubtedly grow."

  Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks, but she needed to ask, "What of your family? You have responsibilities to them."

  He smiled. "My younger brother has agreed to care for our mother. He has a successful business in Tokyo, where Okaasan has friends and an active social life. I have relinquished my inheritance rights as the eldest son, but I have not been totally dismissed from my family. She is eager to meet her grandson and daughter-in-law and is making plans to come and stay with us for a while next spring. And after the harvest is complete, I thought perhaps we could visit her."

  "But — but I'm not suitable. I don't have the right clothes, or the right manners, or—"

  He took her shoulders and shook her gently. "Never defame yourself, my beautiful little flower. You are my inspiration, my reason for living. My family knows you and little Yasa are my life. You have built this farm with your own hard work and determination. As far as they are concerned, you are every bit as brave and strong as a samurai wife should be. I am proud to be your husband and partner." He paused, and for the first time, she heard a thread of uncertainty in her husband's voice. "If — if this is what you want."

  Her cry of joy and the tight crush of her arms around his neck gave him the answer he desired.

  Epilogue

  Tanaka Farms, Hokkaido, Fall, 1879

  "I've never seen anything more beautiful."

  "So delicate, yet enduring."

  "Hiro, you are truly amazing."

  Hiro bowed to his admirers in acknowledgement. "It is nothing, really. Without my beautiful wife, this would not be possible."

  Hanako gently adjusted the silk fabric wrapped around their latest creation — the Aomori Rose. Through Hiro's diligent study and hard work, he and Hanako had produced a blossom that was snowy white on the outside, with a dark crimson stain inside. He had named it after the place where his friend had been forced to end his life.

  Sitting beside his mother, four-year-old Yasa-chan made faces at his little sister, who peered back at him from her perch on Hanako's back. He didn't understand the fuss over a flower. After all, there were lots of flowers just like this in the fields outside their home. But this little creature was different. She didn't do much except cry and drink, but Okaasan and Otousan seemed to think she was pretty special. When she'd first arrived, lots of visitors came with presents. Uncle Ginjiro and Aunt Reiko still came often, to help hold the baby so Okaasan could rest.

  Okaasan said little Michiko would grow like his neighbor, Yumiko. He supposed that would be all right. Yumiko was a lot of fun. She could run almost as fast as he could, and—

  Thwak! Yasa nearly toppled from the force of a raw egg hitting his chest and splashing up onto his face. He swerved his head around, searching for the source and spied dark braids trailing the familiar figure as she raced away. Ignoring the sticky ooze trailing down inside his yukata, he leapt to his feet, only to be detained by a firm hand on his shoulder.

  He looked up at his father, ready to protest. How could Otousan expect him to ignore such an insult? But before he could utter a word, Hiro simply looked down and firmly shook his head. How unfair! Yasa's lower lip curled, and he felt his eyes grow wet. Otuosan wouldn't like it if he cried and made a fuss in front of all these people.

  A gentle arm wrapped around him, and he felt his mother's warmth as she wiped the raw egg from his cheek. "Don't worry, Yasa-chan. We all saw what happened. I'm sure Yumiko-chan will receive a suitable punishment."

  Yasa scowled, but he knelt again. His sister cooed, and he looked up into her dark brown eyes. They seemed to radiate with understanding.

  Otousan had told him the tie between siblings was one of the strongest in the world. "Friends come and go, but Michi-chan will always be your sister," Hiro had told him. "She will look up to you, and you must look out for her and protect her."

  The thought of protecting his sister made him sit up straighter. Of course he would do it. He was the son of a samurai. He would protect her with his life, just as his father and his friends had protected the entire village. It was in his blood.

  About the Author

  During her first career, Patricia Kiyono taught elementary music, computer classes, elementary classrooms, and junior high social studies. She now teaches music education at the university level.

  She lives in southwest Michigan with her husband, not far from her children and grandchildren. Current interests, aside from writing, include sewing, crocheting, scrapbooking, and music. A love of travel and an interest in faraway people inspires her to create stories about different cultures.

  Also by Patricia Kiyono:

  Chapter One

  “Are you reading those ridiculous comic books again? Honestly, you’re a college graduate. Aren’t you a little old for those?”

  “Dad, they’re called manga. They’re different. They’re illustrated Japanese stories.” Leigh Becker closed her book and stood. Even as the words left her mouth, she knew correcting her stepfather was useless.

  “I don’t care what they’re called. They’re not exactly serious literature. You spend half your free time reading those silly things when you should be helping out around the house. Come over here and help me get dinner ready. Your mother will be home soon.”

  However, as soon as Leigh stepped into the kitchen, Frank Becker left for his study.

  “You do a better job of cooking than I do. I’d just get in the way,” he muttered.

  Leigh didn’t mind having the kitchen to herself. Life was more peaceful when her stepfather wasn’t around. He hadn’t been the same since his company folded. The man who was once larger than life had shrunk physically and spiritually. He spent hours in his home office, staring idly at his computer. He had sent hundreds of letters out, but no one wanted to hire a fifty-year-old former businessman. Lately, he’d been drinking a lot more. Leigh sympathized, but didn’t know how to comfort him.<
br />
  The family wasn’t struggling financially. Leigh’s mother was a well-known attorney, and Leigh had just started to work for the local newspaper. They hadn’t lived lavishly or spent foolishly, so the adjustments they had had to make were relatively minor. Still, it had been difficult for Frank to accept the fact his wife was now the breadwinner. For a short time, he had tried to help around the house, but now he left more and more of it to his stepdaughter.

  As Leigh pulled vegetables from the refrigerator, a buzz sounded from her pocket. She pulled out her phone and checked. It was a message from her best friend, Andy Tanaka.

  “Found something cool. Can you come?” Andy wasn’t one for extra words.

  “After supper,” she typed back.

  “OK,” came the quick reply.

  She smiled as she prepared the meal. At least she had something more interesting to look forward to this evening. She always enjoyed spending time with Andy and his family.

  * * * *

  Seated at his desk in his home office, Frank Becker turned on his computer. While waiting for it to boot up, he poured himself a stiff drink. He stared at the screen, his mind blank. What was the use of sending out his resume to more places? No one was going to hire him.

  Nobody wanted him. Even his wife didn't want him. She found excuses to be out of town, even out of the country, whenever she could. No errand was too small or too out of the way for Kirsten Becker. Twenty years ago, her ambition was what had attracted him to her. She could do anything—win a case in court, come home and fix a gourmet meal, and then go out and party. It had been such a boost to his ego when she had agreed to marry him. Her cute little five year old had come with her. And now the daughter was looking more and more like her mother. Like her mother had looked. Except without the cutthroat tendencies. Leigh was a softer, gentler version of her mother.