Once Upon A Time (7) Wild Orchid

by Cameron Dokey

  He handed me back my bow. “That makes two of us, Mulan. I don’t know what to day to you most of the time. That’s the plain truth.” He made a gesture. “Come, let’s walk and retrieve your arrows.”

  “What about the bank?” I asked. It had been a tumble down the stream bank that had reopened his wound.

  “I believe I have mended well enough to risk the stream bank,” my father answered, with just the glimmer of a smile. “Mending me is something else you did well, my daughter.”

  We crossed the stream and retrieved my arrows in silence. My father turned and looked up into the branches of the plum tree.

  “You like this place, don’t you?” he asked. “You come here often.”

  “It’s my favorite place, don’t you?” I answered. “It has been ever since I was a child. I don’t know quite why.”

  My father was silent, his eyes on the tree. The leaves were turning color. Soon they would begin to fall. In less than a month I would turn fourteen. Within the following year I would be considered a young woman, old enough to marry, no longer a child.

  “Your mother loved this place.” My father finally spoke, his tone quiet. The gentlest breath of wind could have knocked me over in surprise.

  “When your mother and I were first married, it was early spring and there was still snow on the ground. But when it melted and the plum trees began to bloom, your mother went out every day to cut branches and bring the blossoms indoors. If ever there was a moment when I could not find her, I knew right where to look. This was the one she loved best of all.”

  “It’s always the first to bloom,” I heard my own voice say.

  “Every year. I know because I watch for it.” I went on, before I lost my nerve, “I’m sorry for what I said before. When you asked me what my wish might be. I was angry.”

  “Perhaps you had a right to be,” said my father.

  “That doesn’t make any difference,” I replied. “In my anger I spoke with disrespect. It was wrong, and I apologize.” My father pulled in a very deep breath, and expended it in a long sigh. Then, at last, he took his eyes from the tree and looked at me.

  “Thank you, Mulan. You have spoken the truth to me, even though you were afraid to, I think. In return I would like to tell you a truth of my own. It is a truth that may not be easy for you to hear.”

  “I will listen to your words with patience, Father,” I said.

  My father’s gaze returned to the plum tree.

  “I thought that I would never return to this place,” he said quietly. “I did not wish to, after your mother died. I have been a soldier almost all my life. Death on the battlefield is something I understand. It may not be easy, but if one dies performing his duty, a soldier dies an honorable death.”

  He paused, falling silent for so long I though perhaps he did not mean to continue.

  “But your mother’s death, the fact that she should lose her life bringing a new one into the world…That I could not find a way to reconcile,” my father went on. “I could not even find a way to honor your mother in my memory. Every thought of what we had once shared and what I had lost was like a knife twisting in my heart. I even…”

  His voice sank so low that I had to strain to hear it. “I even wondered whether or not I might have been to blame.”

  “But how can that be?” I protested at once. “You never meant her harm. You loved each other.”

  “But that’s just it,” my father said, his voice anguished now, an anguish that came from deep within him. It seemed to cause him physical pain to bring it forth. His voice sounded as if it was being wrenched from his body against his will.

  “Perhaps there is a reason our people marry first and hope love will come later, rejoicing if it comes at all. Perhaps to love as strongly as your mother and I did was unnatural. Her untimely death has always seemed so.”

  “No,” I objected. “I don’t think that can be right, Baba. As long as you act with honor in her memory, isn’t love honored also?”

  “But what if I did not act with honor?” asked my father. “I locked away my feelings for your mother. I deliberately put from my mind all thoughts of this place, our lives together, and the child we had created. I told myself that I was doing what a soldier should, that I was being strong.

  “But the truth is, I was doing just the opposite. I took the coward’s way out, because to deny my past with your mother meant that I denied you as well. It was many years before I saw the truth of this, and by the time I did…”

  My father broke off, shaking his head. “By the time I did, it seemed it had to be too late, as you were nearly grown.”

  “And then you were wounded, and you had to return her,” I said, filling in the rest of the story. “And the daughter you weren’t so sure you wanted fell out of a tree at your feet.”

  “Yes, but not just any tree,” my father said, bringing us full circle. “This one/ the tree your other loved so much. That is the reason Huaji and I rode along the streambed. I wanted to see this plum tree before anything else, and you cannot see it from the road.

  “And it isn’t true that I did not want you, Mulan. I just didn’t understand how much I did until I came home.”

  “Then you aren’t disappointed in me?” I asked, trying to ignore the sudden quaver in my voice. “You don’t…” I paused and took a moment to steady myself. If my father could speak of things that pained him, then so could I.

  “you don’t mind that I’m not like the other girls too much? You don’t think I will bring the family dishonor?”

  “Of course not,” said my father at once, and so swiftly that I knew he spoke from his heart. “I will admit you surprised me, at first.” He smiled again, ruefully this time, so I knew he was smiling at himself.

  “Actually, you surprise me all the time. But being different is not necessarily a bad thing, though it can be…uncomfortable. When you are different, you carry a burden others may not. All of us carry the burden of our actions, since that is how we ensure that we act with honor. But when you are different, you also carry the burden of others’

  judgments. And many are quick to judge, and judge harshly, Mulan.

  You would do well to remember that.”

  “I will do my best, Baba,” I promised.

  “Well, then,” my father said, “that is all that I can ask.” He handed me back the arrows he had retrieved. “It’s getting late. Let’s go back to the house.”

  In that moment the question of my mother’s name quivered on the tip of my tongue. I took my tongue firmly between my teeth and bit down. My father had shared things today I had never imagined he would. It had not been easy for him. If my father could do something difficult, then so could i. and so I did not ask the question that still burned in my heart. Instead I matched my footsteps to my father’s/

  We were about halfway home when we saw a figure running toward us.

  “What on earth?” my father exclaimed.

  “That is Old Lao,: I said, beginning to feel alarmed. Never, in all the years that I had known him, had I seen Old Lao move so quickly.

  “Something must be wrong.”

  We quickened our pace, as much as my father’s stiff leg would allow. When he saw us hurrying toward him, Old Lao paused. He bent over, hands on his knees, in an effort to catch his breath.

  “Master and young mistress, come quickly,” he gasped out as we approached. “There has been an accident. You are needed at the house.”

  “Run ahead and find out what it is, Mulan,” my father instructed, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Old Lao and I will follow together. We will come as quickly as our legs allow.” I handed my father the bow and then took off at a dead run. And suddenly, even on the midst of my concern, I was glad to be just as I was. Glad to be different from other girls. For my father had sent me on ahead. He had given me his trust.

  NINE

  When I got to the house, Min Xian was fussing like a mother hen. A young noblewoman’s transport had ove
rturned in the road. One of her bearers had a broken arm. And though the lady herself was not injured, she was distressed and shaken. Min Xian sent me to comfort the young woman while Min Xian herself prepared to set the servant’s broken arm.

  “You be nice now,” Min Xian instructed. “No frightening her with your sudden ways. She’s a real lady, and she’s had a tough time.”

  “Of course I’ll be nice,” I answered, sting. “You don’t need to remind me about the courtesy due a guest.”

  Annoyed, I stomped off. Outside the door to the great room, the one where my father and I did out lessons, I took a moment to compose myself. Coming into the room with a scowl on my face would hardly be the way to comfort a guest in distress.

  “Good evening to you, mistress,” I said as I entered.

  The young woman was sitting at the window, but her eyes were focused downward, as the hands clasped tightly in her lap. She lifted her head at the sound of my voice, and I caught my breath.

  She was the loveliest woman I had ever seen, no more than a few years older than I was. I had a swift impression of delicate features, gorgeous and elaborate clothes. I bowed low in welcome, and it was only as I did this that I realized I was wearing my old tunic and pants.

  No wonder Min Xian had warned me not to frighten her, I though. Our guest would probably think I was a boy.

  “I am sorry for your troubles,” I said in what I hoped was a quiet and soothing voice, resisting the impulse to smooth out my well-worn garments. “I hope you will find peace in our home. My father will be here in a moment. In the meantime, how may I see to your comfort?” The young woman cleared her throat. “My servant,” she said in a light, musical voice.

  “He is being attended to as we speak,” I replied. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “You must not worry. Nobody sets bones better than Min Xian. She’s getting on in years – she’d admit to this herself – but she’s still strong. She’ll have your servant’s arm set right and bandaged in no time, just you wait and see.” The young woman’s face became pale, as if just the thought of what it might take to set an arm was more than she could bear to contemplate. She had the finest skin that I had ever seen. In her bright silks she reminded me of some exotic bird that would be painted on a piece of porcelain.

  “May I bring you some tea?” I asked. “Or something else that you might like? My name is Hua Mulan, by the way,” I added.

  “Hua Mulan?” she echoed, a faint frown appearing between her brows. “Oh, but I thought…” She broke off, a blush spreading across her cheeks so that now she looked like a rosebud that was just about to open. I felt a corresponding heat in my cheeks, but doubted I resembled a glower in any way.

  “I’m sorry my clothes are so deceiving,” I said, deciding an explanation might help. “I’ve been practicing my archery, and I can’t wear a dress, you know, because of the sleeves…” My voice trailed off as I watched our guest’s eyes widen. It could have been in surprise, but it looked an awful lot like alarm.

  Shut up, Mulan, I told myself. I felt like a clumsy oaf before this elegant stranger. You’re not helping things at all. When will you learn that when in doubt, it’s better to hold your tongue?

  Fortunately for all concerned I was saved by the sound of approaching voices and footsteps.

  “That will be my father,” I said quickly. “Hua Wei. I’m sure he’ll want to make sure you have everything you need.” The young woman rose gracefully to her feet just as my father came into the room.

  “I am sorry for your misfortune,” my father said as he bowed in greeting. “Please make use of our humble home.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” the young woman answered, executing a bow of her own.

  How graceful she is, I thought. Like a willow bending in the breeze.

  “Your servant is resting,” my father continued as he gestured for the young woman to resume her seat. “He will be sore for many days, but he will mend well. No one sets bones better than Min Xian.”

  “So your…daughter had told me,” she replied. I felt my cheeks flush once more at the slight hesitation before the word “daughter.”

  “I will go and change. Father, if I may,” I said.

  “Of course, Mulan,” my father answered without turning his head. All his attention was for the young noblewoman.

  “If you will excuse me, mistress,” I went on.

  She did not speak, but inclined her head.

  “My distress has made me forget my manners,” I heard her tell my father as I made my way across the room. “I apologize. I have not introduced myself. I am Chun Zao Xing.”

  I tripped over the threshold and turned to stare.

  “Mulan,” my father said, “are you all right? Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing but my own clumsiness,” I answered. “Please forgive me.” Then I turned and fled.

  Our visitor had the same name I had given to my mother so long ago: Morning Star.

  TEN

  As quickly as it had arrived, the newfound closeness between my father and me departed – for Zao Xing’s presence changed everything in our house. My father and I no longer had our calligraphy lessons together. He paid me no additional visits while I practiced target shooting. Instead his time was given over to caring for Zao Xing’s comfort. Even Min Xian seemed to think this was the proper thing to do.

  “Poor thing,” she remarked one morning about a week after Zao Xing’s arrival.

  Her servant was healing just as he should, but mending a broken arm takes time. My father had sent a message to Zao Xing’s family, explaining what had transpired. In it he’d told them that their daughter would be well cared for in our home for as long as she and her family wished her to stay.

  “I doubt they’ll be in any hurry to have her back,” Min Xian went on with a click of her tongue.

  We were sitting in the kitchen working on a pile of mending. I was happy to have something to keep my hands busy, even if the task did keep me indoors.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked, curious in spite of myself.

  I could not decide how I felt about Zao Xing. It wasn’t quite accurate to say that I disliked her. But I did feel very keenly when I was in her company all the ways that we were different, and the contrast made me uncomfortable.

  Zao Xing had the finest dresses I had even seen. Her hair was always elaborately styled. Her slippers were covered with embroidery stitches so tiny that just looking at them made my fingers ache. Beside her I felt like a simple country girl. Which, I suppose, is precisely what I was.

  “Has your father not told you?” asked Min Xian. She went on before I could tell her what we both already knew she knew: My father had told me nothing. “Zao Xing is a young widow.” Min Xian made a sympathetic sound. “Just barely married, poor thing, when her husband’s horse threw him and he broke his neck before she could conceive a child. Zao Xing’s popo, her mother-in-law, does not love her, and a daughter-in-law who can produce no son is no use to anyone. So her husband’s family was sending her back to her parents when the accident happened, right outside our door.”

  “That is terrible,” I agreed.

  To be passed around like a piece of fruit on a plate – one last, spoiled piece that nobody wanted. No wonder Zao Xing always seemed so sad, in spite of her luxurious clothes. No wonder she seemed to start at even the slightest sound, something I had found both perplexing and irritating about her. No doubt Zao Xing feared any new noise was a fresh disaster headed her way.

  “Your father has his eye on her. You mark my words,” Min Xian said.

  “What?” I asked, my attention snapping back to Min Xian. “What did you just say?”

  “I’m saying you should keep your own eyes open, that’s all,” said Min Xian. “Your father has been alone a long time, and a lovely young woman like that…You can tell he feels for her. You can see it in his face.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” I said.

  Min Xian put down the shirt
she’d been mending and regarded me steadily for several moments. She extended her hands. I placed mine into them, and she gripped me tightly.

  “I know you don’t, my little one. But you’ll thank me for these words later. This much I have learned, in my long life. It’s better to be prepared,”

  Then she let me go and made her favorite shooing motion. “Now go on outdoors before the sun goes down. Being in the fresh air will do you good. Don’t stay out too long, though. It’s turning cold.” For once I went somewhere other than the plum tree, choosing instead to walk through one of the great stands of bamboo that grew near our home. A bamboo grove is an eerie place because it always seems that the long and supple stalks speak to one another. Even when I can barely feel the breeze upon my face, the bamboo quivers.