by Walt Mussell
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Sen placed her thumbs under her neckline, running them along the scars and assuring herself that they were still covered. She had spent the evening in fear. She wasn’t ready to talk. Her parents wouldn’t understand.
Her father and Nobuhiro rose and left the room, Nobuhiro walking a couple of steps behind in a show of respect. His limp, so noticeable at the castle, was still there. However, here, Nobuhiro’s steps were light. At the castle, Nobuhiro walked as if he’d been carrying a bag of tamahagane steel. She listened for movement as they crossed the garden area and entered the workshop. As a child, she could hear it when her father worked late. However, there was no sound, save that of a few night birds.
“Sen. Stop staring. They won’t return anytime soon.”
A rush of heat warmed her cheeks as she looked at her mother. “I wasn’t staring. I was just thinking about my days here when I was a little girl.”
“Oh, yes. I suppose you’re next going to tell me you enjoy spending your free time doing laundry or something else equally ridiculous.”
Her mother’s comments unsettled her, but she didn’t know why. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
Her mother didn’t answer at first, instead taking the teapot from its hook over the hearth and refilling her cup. She took a sip and paused, also staring at the door, before turning back to Sen. “Well, at least you’re listening to me now. Because you might have talked to your father and me tonight, but your eyes were never on us.”
Had she been that obvious? Sen rubbed her thumbs together, trying to massage the kinks that had suddenly appeared. “I still don’t understand.”
“No? I have known you since you were born. When you’re nervous, you massage your thumbs.”
“I do not.”
“You have done so since you were a child.” Her words came in staccato tones. Her mother was right, but not completely. How could she explain?
“I’m not nervous about Nobuhiro.”
Sen’s mother tilted her head as her eyes softened in that “mother-child” supportive gaze. “I never said you were nervous about your father’s apprentice. You like him. That’s obvious. But you’re also distracted. What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing.” Sen looked away, trying to shield her face, but her mother’s stare bored into her head like the sounds of cicadas in summer. She couldn’t escape it. If only she could just delay it for another day.
“I had no sake with my dinner. Like I said, you can’t hide your feelings from me.”
Sen again tried to look away but felt the soft touch of her mother’s hand on her shoulder. Still, she wasn’t ready to talk. “There’s nothing troubling me.”
Her mother pulled her shoulders lightly and brought Sen around to face her. “You can’t tell me that and expect me to believe you.” Her words were even and soft.
Sen sighed. There was no hiding anything from the woman who could look inside her as easily today as she did ten years ago. The only thing. How to explain it to her. “I’m worried about my duty.”
“What duty is that?”
Why was Mother pretending not to know? Why was Sen hesitating? On the trip home to Himeji, she voiced her fears to Lord Akamatsu and his wife. It was through their benevolence that she returned home. But what would her mother think?
“I need to find a husband. Someone who can take care of our family.”
“You’ve been in town only two weeks. I know some women who’ve been looking for suitable husbands for their daughters for several years now.”
Sen laughed at her mother’s joke, though the truth struck her gut and tightened it. She stared back. “I don’t want an arranged marriage.”
“That’s fine.” She flashed a quick smile. “At your age, an arranged marriage would be difficult anyway.”
Sen’s entire body tensed. Her mother’s jokes rarely intended harm. Yet this one hurt. The challenge was hard enough. Why did she have to mention age? “I’m not that old.”
“No, but you’ve never been married. Other families will suspect something is amiss with you. I would in their place.”
Another truth. She was right. She was always right. Still, an arranged marriage would have been problematic. She opened her mouth to respond, but her mother cut her off.
“Your father’s apprentice is a nice young man. He has older brothers and will inherit nothing. Such men always marry into families with no sons.”
“You make marriage sound like a market transaction.” Sen regretted her words but couldn’t retract them. Her mother had been through much of late. She was thinking of the family, too. Hopefully, talking about this would ease some of her pain.
“Any new apprentice would likely be much younger than you. Nobuhiro is already your father’s apprentice. He works hard and would make a good husband. That should suit you, given how much you stared at him. And he at you.”
Back to him again. Not that he’d ever left her thoughts. “I know he’s nice, but he’s not the right one.”
“What do you want then?”
Sen paused as memories of the meeting at the castle and Nobuhiro’s father came back to her. His charge to her to mind her place. Nobuhiro’s father could ruin her family. Even if he accepted Nobuhiro, it wouldn’t change anything. Sen’s mother meant well, but she needed to tell Mother now. “I want to find a good Christian man to marry and grow old with.”
Her mother stared back at her, her tongue wetting her lips like a whip preparing to sting. “While you’re at it, would you mind asking for several bushels of rice to fall from the sky tomorrow? I could trade it and find someone to do my daily chores for a couple of years and we’d have enough left to add on to your father’s workshop.”
“Mother, please be serious.”
“That’s asking a lot of me.”
Admittedly, Sen always loved her mother’s quick sarcasm. The last few exchanges reminded her of why she’d rarely traded words with her growing up. She always lost. “My apologies.”
“So, how might you do this?” Sen’s mother moved next to her.
“Somewhere there are Christians meeting locally, if in secret. I must find them. I could meet someone that way.”
Her mother paused, likely weighing her words. “This is a dangerous idea. I agree that there are groups about. It is foolishness to look for them.”
“Yes, but you must have some idea, don’t you?”
Sen’s mother hesitated. She pursed her lips and wrinkled her forehead but didn’t respond.
“Mother?”
She scratched her nose. “I’ve heard nothing.”
“That’s not true. You do know something.”
Sen’s mother turned away as if she were the one trying to hide. Sen could no longer see her face, but her response was clear. “Yes, I’ve heard rumors.”
Sen turned to look her in the eye. She grabbed both her mother’s arms. “Tell me. Please.”
“No, I cannot.” Sen’s mother shut her eyes and turned away.
“Why?”
“What if the regent’s men find out? You work at the castle. The samurai there must follow the dictates and enforce the ban. What will they do to you? What if the regent decides to take harsher penalties against Christians? Lord Akamatsu survived because of his position. You won’t be so lucky.”
“I need to know.”
“No. You do not. I lost one daughter tragically. I will not lose another to this foolhardiness. This religion is dangerous. Following it over your duty to family shows you’re only concerned about yourself.”
Her mother’s words hit Sen like a punch in the stomach. This wasn’t sarcasm. Pushing harder was futile for now. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Sen’s mother didn’t acknowledge the apology. Instead, she maintained her irritated tone. “Your futon is ready in your old room. You should get some sleep. You will need to rise early tomorrow to return to the castle.”
“Mother,” Sen said, raising her voice. Her eyes teared up.
Her mother breathed deeply and sighed. “Sen, it is our first time to see each other in years. Let’s not end a wonderful night this way. For your mother’s own heart, let’s end this peacefully.”
Her mother’s disapproval tore at Sen’s heart. Her throat muscles constricted, blocking any response but respect for her mother’s wishes. She stood and bowed, her hands shaking. “Yes, Mother.”
Sadness coursed through Sen’s veins when her mother didn’t respond. The silence stung, as if Sen had been struck with flat bamboo.
Her mother grasped Sen’s hands in her own. “My daughter, my concern is only for you. You’re all I have left. Do not push this search. If you want to satisfy duty, then reconsider Nobuhiro. Your father and I are fond of him. He will make you happy.”
Sen swallowed back her response and smiled at her mother, who returned the smile. Then, Sen turned and walked silently to her old room, the one she’d shared with Haru for so many years. Shame enveloped Sen over the disagreement with her mother. She loved her mother and wanted her to know.
Yet the choice was stark. Serve her family or serve God. Taking either path meant denying herself.
Marrying Nobuhiro would offer the possibility of destroying both.
Chapter Four
Nobuhiro ambled over to the grounds on the east side, following the noise of the raucous crowds. Events had been going on all day, but the archery on horseback competition had brought out thousands from nearby villages outside Himeji.
His stomach churned as if he’d drunk foul barley water. When Master Goami had suggested this morning that Nobuhiro pick up a package at the castle, a ceremonial sword in need of repair, the possibility of seeing Sen again had raised his spirits. The possibility of running into his father had produced more dread than hope. The previous incident from two weeks ago had put his nerves on edge, raising them to the caution level that he took with hot blades.
The meeting to retrieve the sword was quick. So far, his father had not appeared. Were Nobuhiro’s fears of running into him misplaced? No one had mentioned his father. Nobuhiro considered returning to the workshop. However, Master Goami had suggested that Nobuhiro take his time coming back so that he could enjoy the events. He wanted to. His brothers were competing. He hadn’t seen them show off their skills since he lived at the castle.
He craned his neck and looked toward the sky, holding his hand to shade his eyes. It was about halfway through the hour of the sheep. A third of the day remained. He would stay for the chance to walk the grounds a few more minutes. The chance to see Sen again. Nobuhiro would risk his father’s wrath.
When Sen had stayed at the house two weeks ago, he had hoped to see her in the morning before she returned to the castle, but he had been busy in the workshop. He had tried not to think about her. Only he couldn’t. He had thought of her every day since she left.
A conch shell blast drowned out his thoughts and he quickened his pace to the staging area. Time for another contestant. A large taiko drumbeat sounded as a rider appeared from the left, galloping parallel to the crowd. He was dressed in light armor with blue and gray braiding. A square, yellow silk flag with the blue outline of the Toyotomi crest flew from the horse.
Childhood memories again roared back for the second time in as many castle visits. Horseback riding. It was one of the only activities in Nobuhiro’s life where his limp didn’t affect him. He had practiced this skill as a child. It was his favorite activity.
The archer drew his arrow and fitted it to his bowstring. Nobuhiro’s hands clenched in recollection of his younger years, a time of harmony between himself and the bow. He stared as the contestant raised his bow and arrow over his head. Then, the contestant pulled back the string, brought both to eye level, and let the arrow fly at the small wooden target fifty yards away.
Perfect!
“Yes,” Nobuhiro said, pumping his fist as the crowd erupted. He glanced around to see if anyone had heard him. He needn’t have worried over the noise. He sighed and imagined himself back on a horse again, firing a bow. His father had shown him how to hold his posture and maintain his balance. His smiles had punctuated his progress.
Thoughts of a bygone day.
The only reason his father had shown him any respect or love at that time was because, for once, he was finally like his brothers. Did his father ever smile or show approval for anything else Nobuhiro did? Raw frustration surfaced, knotting his shoulders and spiking his insides, reminding him of why he had left. He balled his right hand into a partial fist on the part of the cotton cloth that wrapped the hilt. He had made the right choice.
He gazed over the form of the cloth-wrapped sword he held. Lord Kinoshita had selected Nobuhiro’s teacher out of all the area swordsmiths to repair a battle-scarred blade that was the first sword owned by Kinoshita’s father. The recognition brought honor to Master Goami’s work and home. Maybe Nobuhiro could be known for such skill one day. For being the best swordsmith in Himeji.
“Brother, you are too pensive for this occasion. Wipe that somber look from your face. Enjoy the day.”
His shoulders dropped as Toshi’s familiar voice erased much of the anger that streamed through him. Nobuhiro turned and eyed Toshi’s approach. He was clad in nondescript blue and gray braided armor, similar to what many other contestants were wearing. His grin was larger than usual.
“It’s only that I’m thinking of old times,” Nobuhiro said. “I imagined myself clothed in similar armor, showing my skill in front of cheering crowds. Representing Lord Kinoshita. Riding with my brothers.”
“Yes, you were a natural with a bow. You’re likely better than many of the contestants.”
The praise warmed Nobuhiro, until his memories brought back a chill. Childhood practice sessions of perfection slammed to the ground the moment he alighted from a horse. A mounted samurai depended more on his arrows in battle than he did on his sword. He dismounted only when his quiver emptied. For Nobuhiro, being on the ground meant death. Quickly. And with little glory.
“Is he lost in his own thoughts again?” a deep voice asked. Uji approached, wearing the same armor as Toshi. Again, the tension that flowed through Nobuhiro dissipated in a sea of sibling recognition and pride in his brothers’ accomplishments.
He scanned the simplistic braiding his brothers wore. “I would have thought the two of you would be dressed more finely,” he said. “Some of the contestants are wearing a lot of regalia.”
Uji shook his head softly in that little-brother-you-have-a-lot-to-learn way. He had done it often when they were young. Nothing had changed now that they were adults. “Such armor is only for show. Cumbersome dress armor would never be worn in battle.”
“Besides, it weighs down the horse,” Toshi added. “And Uji’s horse has enough to carry as it is.”
Nobuhiro laughed. Hard. Uji spit daggers with his eyes at Toshi, whose quick wit and sarcasm had long been a bane to both Uji and their father. Nobuhiro missed this most of all.
Toshi used his wit to mask his feelings. Also for protection. As a child, when others made fun of Nobuhiro’s infirmity, Toshi was the one who defended him and let others know to keep their criticism silent. Nobuhiro appreciated it back then. However, he dreamed of the day that he could defend himself.
Uji and Toshi exchanged glances, and Uji tilted his head toward the staging area. Toshi nodded and then both turned back to Nobuhiro.
“We both compete in the next group in ten minutes,” Uji said. “Stay and watch. We’ll try to make you proud before you leave.”
Nobuhiro grinned as the two of them strolled away. Make him proud? The comment echoed like a cracked temple bell. He was jealous of his brothers’ talents, and he admired them. Could Nobuhiro ride as well as he used to do? One of his neighbors, a man older than Master Goami, owned a horse. Nobuhiro helped the old man care for it, even riding it sometimes. He would never compete like his brothers had today. He would have welcomed the chance to test his skill, though. Only with a bow had he b
een his brothers’ equal.
He walked to the far left of the field, where the next round of contestants prepared. Uji was right. Few contestants were regaled in fine armor. Most wore the same nondescript attire his brothers did.
Glancing around at the crowd, he saw many people staring and waiting for the next contestant. Yet, a lone figure, a graceful woman in yellow, drew his eyes as she moved away.
Sen.
Her pale kimono matched the cheerfulness of both her and the season. He wanted to call out and get her attention, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate. His throat swelled as he watched her, making it impossible to call out to her anyway. He gazed at her as she headed toward the western part of the grounds.
“Brother, turn around or you’re going to miss it,” Toshi called out as he rode past. A pit grew in his stomach. Had Toshi seen him looking at Sen? Just what he needed. Toshi would torment him later, though with a smile. Nobuhiro wheeled back to enjoy the show. There was nothing he could do now.
The competition proved amazing. Both brothers performed well, but one contestant, whom Nobuhiro didn’t recognize, was an expert marksman. Toshi’s chances fell after round two. Uji followed in round three. The marksman survived to face winners from other groups.
“Who was that?” Nobuhiro asked when his brothers came to see him.
“Michiba,” said Uji. “He’s the most accurate of us all, though Nishioji is nearly his equal.”
Nishioji.
Nobuhiro’s blood raced through his veins like a bear chasing its prey. He didn’t recall a Michiba from when he’d been here before. Such skill was the result of years or practice. He would have noticed.
Nishioji he remembered, though. The bully had taunted him about his walk. About his inability to be a samurai. He had pushed Nobuhiro into the mud more than once and then laughed at him. The times his father had seen him afterward, he claimed he had slipped so he wouldn’t have to admit his inability to defend himself.