Autumn Bridge (46 page)

The week after Charles Smith’s departure, two ladies with a connection to the Shogun’s court in Edo arrived and were welcomed in a ceremony to which Emily was not invited. Masami, her maid, told her one was a relative of Lord Genji’s ally, Lord Hiromitsu of Yamanaka. The other was distantly related to Lord Saemon.

“They will both be concubines for now,” Masami said. “He may decide to marry one, later, especially if she gives birth to the heir. But it’s more likely the lord will preserve that honor for an even higher-born lady with the best political connections. If one of the concubines does bear an heir, the child will then be adopted by his wife. I think a wife, whoever she is, will come with the blessings of the Emperor rather than the Shogun. The Emperor’s fortunes are rising, and the Shogun’s are sinking.”

Masami prattled on and on as she worked. Emily smiled and nodded and said nothing. If anyone had noticed, they would have seen an unusual brightness in her eyes. But, of course, no one noticed.

Genji knew he would have to speak with Emily, and he was not looking forward to it. He knew there would be many tears shed by her, amidst silent accusations. Silent, because she would never say anything openly. What was there to say? She didn’t know how he felt about her, nor did she know Smith had communicated his own knowledge of her feelings to him. There was nothing to say. Yet, it would be excruciating. He could offer no solace, for that could come only by an admission of his affection for her, an admission he could not make. If he told her, she would remain in Japan, and if she did, she would die. His vision promised that. He did not want her to die, so he would send her away.

Life was more important than love.

One month quickly passed. Genji had promised to talk to Emily, and he had not yet done so. He should have invited Emily to the welcoming ceremonies for Lady Fusae and Lady Chiyo. That would have made the point vividly. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would have been too cruel. He didn’t want to hurt her more than necessary. Perhaps it would not be necessary to say very much more, or even to see her again until the day she left with Charles Smith, which day would be soon. When Smith returned, he would propose, and Emily would surely accept. It was both painful and amusing to Genji that his own actions verified what he had said to Smith about samurai indecisiveness.

He rode out to Apple Valley alone, as he often did when he mulled over difficulties. There was something calming about being among the trees his mother had planted so many years ago. Answers did not always come to him there, but an inner quietude always did, even if the problems remained unresolved. His bodyguards were under strict orders from Hidé never to let him go anywhere without protection, even here in the heart of his domain within sight of his castle walls. In Hidé’s view, assassinations had become too frequent to permit relaxation anywhere. Genji had vainly pointed out that his visions of the future included a foretelling of his own death, so he knew when and where he would die, and it was neither here nor now. Hidé remained adamant. Who knew, he said, what intervening disasters could occur before then if they failed to be vigilant? Did Lord Genji’s visions give him a view of everything that was to come? Genji had to admit they did not.

So to gain the solitude he needed, he had become skillful at evading his own men. Eventually, they always found him. But in the meantime, he was alone. To make himself harder to find, he entered the valley not from the direction of the castle, as usual, but over the narrow path that wound into the valley over the inland hills.

These trees always reminded him of his mother, yet with every passing year, he could recall less and less of her, and was forced to invent more. He had not yet reached the age of four when she died in childbirth. Twenty-seven years had passed since then. It was a long time to miss someone he did not truly remember.

There was a sudden rustling of leaves high in the branches of the tree above him. His thought, even before he spurred his horse into motion, was that Hidé had been right after all. There were too many assassins everywhere to permit relaxation anywhere. He drew his sword as his horse bolted forward, and looked up, expecting a leaping assassin or an arrow or a bullet to strike him at any moment. He saw nothing of the kind. Instead, he caught a glimpse of gingham fabric.

He brought his horse to a halt and cantered back under the tree.

Emily looked down at him and said, “You would never even have known I was here had I not lost my balance.”

From that height, she could easily suffer mortal injury. Genji knew it was against her religion to commit suicide. It was not against her religion to fall accidentally. She stood precariously on two thin branches near the top of the tree. One hand held the trunk, which was not much more than a thick stalk at that point. Her other hand held her skirt close together in a ladylike fashion, if being in a tree at all could be called ladylike.

“Emily, what are you doing?”

“Climbing a tree. It seemed exactly the right kind of day for it.”

“Please come down.”

She laughed and said, “No. You come up.”

Genji looked at her carefully. Her good cheer seemed genuine, her smile unforced, the sparkle in her eyes the sparkle of health and not of sorrowful derangement.

“I think it would be better if you came down.”

She shook her head and laughed again.

“I see we cannot agree. So we must each follow our own inclinations and allow the other the same freedom.”

“Such an approach leads only to anarchy,” he said. “We must negotiate. I will climb up, if you will agree to then climb down with me.”

“I agree, but only if you climb as high as I am.”

“That would be reckless. Those branches are only just supporting you. They would not bear my additional weight.”

“Then stay where you are and leave me where I am.”

There was nothing else to do. He couldn’t leave her there. Genji reached up and pulled himself out of his saddle and into the tree. He climbed quickly to the branch just below her and negotiated again.

“As you can plainly see, those branches will snap if I climb on them.”

She said, “Perhaps.”

“Not perhaps. It is certain.”

“Very well, I will consider your obligation fulfilled if you will answer one question.”

Ah, here it was. Now that they were both in the treetop, she would have her emotional breakdown. How could he prevent her from falling without falling himself? He could not. If she lost her balance, he would have to grab her and try to control the manner of their landing. From twenty feet above the ground, that would require a degree of martial ability he wasn’t sure he possessed. Wasn’t it just like a woman to make things unnecessarily difficult? It was a feminine quality that transcended cultural differences.

“Ask it after we are on the ground,” he said. He didn’t think it would work and it didn’t.

She said very simply, “No.”

He could not force her down. There was nothing to do but say, “What is your question?”

“Your English-Japanese dictionary is very complete,” she said, “with one notable exception. You have not made an entry for the word
love
in either language. Why?”

It was not quite the question he expected, but he saw where it would lead.

He said, “Everyone knows the meaning of the word. Beyond giving the equivalent terms in both languages, further definition is not needed. Now, let us descend.”

She shook her head. “Your answer is unsatisfactory. You say everyone knows the definition. Then tell me. What is love?”

“I object. You asked your one question and I answered it. Now you must keep your part of the bargain.”

“Spoken like a merchant, not a samurai,” she said. But she climbed down with him. When they were on the ground, she said, “I don’t believe you know, Lord Genji.”

“Of course I do. To put it into a dictionary definition is quite another matter.”

The expression on Emily’s face was as close to a smirk as Genji had ever seen.

“That is exactly the answer of one who doesn’t know,” she said.

Lord Kiyori was happy to see his old friend Lord Nao, but he was not happy about what had brought him to this far northern domain.

“How can this not be a happy occasion?” Lord Nao said. “You have asked me to give my daughter as wife to your eldest son. This will join our families together forever. Splendid! Emi, take away the tea and bring sake.”

“Wait,” Kiyori said. “I have not told you everything.”

“What more is there to tell?” Nao said. “My daughter will be the wife of the future Great Lord of Akaoka. My grandson — may heaven provide one soon — will be Great Lord in his turn. Emi, where is the sake?”

“She has just gone to get it, my lord,” another maid said.

“Well, don’t just sit there. Go help her.”

“Nao, listen to me,” Kiyori said, his face unremittingly grim. “I have asked you to give your daughter to Yorimasa in marriage, but I must also advise you, as a friend, to refuse.”

“What? You are talking nonsense. How can you ask with one breath, and advise refusal with the next?”

“I have had a vision,” Kiyori said.

“Ah,” Nao said, and sat back to listen. He had known Kiyori for more than thirty years. In that time, Kiyori had told him of many visions, and all had come true. Others may doubt the Great Lord of Akaoka’s prescience. He never would.

“The marriage will produce an heir,” Kiyori said, “the only heir of either of our clans to survive a great change to come. Your daughter will not fully recover from the difficulty of his birth. The birth of her second child will kill her.”

Nao looked down. He took several deep breaths and neither spoke nor looked up.

Kiyori said, “It need not be. Refuse the marriage, and let another bear the burden.”

“How can it be avoided? You have seen it in a vision.”

“I believe my visions are of what may be,” Kiyori said, “not what must be.”

“Have they ever failed to materialize?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think this one will be any different?”

“Always, in the past, I have followed what I have seen. What if we do not follow? Then surely our actions, and not the vision, will determine what is to come.”

“You are certain of this?”

“No,” Kiyori said, “that is precisely the point. If we act in contradiction to the vision, then we can be certain of nothing, including the deaths I have foreseen.”

Nao shook his head. “We will also lose the certainty of your vision that our grandson will survive to carry on our bloodlines. The continuation of our clans is more important than individual lives, especially if both our clans are embodied in one future lord.”

“You will let your daughter marry, knowing that the marriage itself will result in her death?”

“We will all die,” Nao said. “That is our fate. If she dies to preserve our clans, then she dies as befits a samurai’s daughter. Neither she nor we should have any regrets.”

Kiyori nodded. “I thought you would say as much.”

Nao laughed. “Then why did you bother to raise the objection?”

“Lord,” the maids said, entering with trays of sake. Nao took a cup. At his urging, Kiyori took one also, though with clear reluctance.

Kiyori said, “Because it is only one reason to refuse the marriage.”

“Astonishing. You mean there is another?”

“Yes, and together with the first, the weight of the argument against is great indeed.”

Nao waited for Kiyori to go on, but he did not. He remained silent and grew ever grimmer. Nao drank his sake and waited patiently. If Kiyori was silent, Nao was confident there was a good reason. He had begun to think Kiyori had decided against sharing the second reason, when he spoke at last.

“My son, Yorimasa, is not a worthy man. He is a drunk, a womanizer, and a wastrel.”

“Marriage will change him, as it changes everyone.”

“When I said he was a drunk, a womanizer, and a wastrel,” Kiyori said, “I was not speaking plainly enough. He is worse than that. Far worse. If he were my retainer instead of my son, I would have ordered his suicide long ago. It is a sign of my weakness as a father that I have not done so.”