The Peony Lantern (3 page)

‘It would be against the law for a samurai to marry me,' I reminded her.

‘Maybe if he was a very low-ranking samurai . . .'

‘I'm not going to marry a samurai, Ayame,' I said patiently.

‘Well, at least you'll be able to wear beautiful silk kimonos.'

I shook my head, laughing. ‘You know only samurai are allowed to wear silk.'

Ayame looked stricken. ‘But won't all the other ladies be wearing silk? You don't think they'll look down on you, do you?'

I hadn't considered the other ladies; it was true that they would probably all be the wives and daughters of samurai. Oh good, now I had something new to worry about.

‘I'd better go,' I said.

Ayame wiped her wet hands on her kimono, then squeezed my hands in hers. ‘I'll miss you, Kasumi,' she said. ‘And you never know about the handsome samurai. It can happen. Remember that story Chiyo likes so much? The one about the samurai who marries the servant girl?'

‘The girl who broke the plate?'

‘That's right.' She sighed happily. ‘I love that story — it's so romantic. So you never know, do you?'

I decided not to remind her how the story ended. ‘I guess not.'

I said goodbye and walked back up to the main street, already missing my friends. And Father thought
I
had an overactive imagination!

My last call mattered more than all the others. I climbed the hill to the temple, stopping to pick wildflowers that grew among the grass, and entered the cemetery. I would miss my grandparents more than any of my living relatives. I felt ashamed by the thought, but it was true. They had understood me better than anyone ever had — and more than anyone ever would. With a broom of bamboo twigs, I swept the area around the big stone block engraved with my mother's family name and put the flowers I had picked in the vase by its side. As I did, I murmured one of my grandmother's poems about the forest, reminding myself that although seasons pass they also return. A trial of one year, Father had said. Would I really be allowed to come back to the valley after that? Who would decide?

When I had said my farewells to my grandparents, I continued uphill to the stone
torii
, the gate at the foot of
the shrine. At the bottom of the steps was a basin of water. Using the cup that stood on the rim, I scooped up water to wash my hands and rinse my mouth. Then I climbed the sixty-five steps and entered the shrine compound high above the village. The trees towered above and for a moment I just stood, awed by the silence and gravity of the forest, feeling the presence of the
kami
, the spirits. Then I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and realised I was not alone; someone else was already standing before the shrine, praying. It was a stranger, not someone from the village: a young man, a samurai with two swords in his belt.

He bowed then stepped away from the shrine, raising his head to the trees as if he too was awed by the setting, felt the
kami
of the trees. He tilted his head to one side, perhaps to better hear the whisperings of the divine wind, and though he was a samurai and I was a commoner, I felt a sense of connection to him, an unlikely intimacy that came from being alone together in this spiritual place. Then, to my horror, the young man turned and caught me staring. For a moment we gazed at each other, then he bowed, smiling slightly as if embarrassed to be caught at a private moment — but he couldn't possibly have been as embarrassed as me, goggling at him like a carp. I bowed and kept my head down as he brushed past me to reach the stairs. As his footsteps faded, I took a few deep breaths then approached the shrine.

I stepped forwards, bowed twice, clapped twice, then bowed again.

I prayed for a safe journey and for the health of my family. I prayed that I would serve Lord Shimizu's wife
well. I lifted my head to gaze at the trees once more. I had always felt the spirits so strongly here in the forest. Would I feel their presence in Edo? There would be shrines, of course, but here the
kami
were everywhere: in the evergreen trees, in the rocks and in the river. I prayed I would return to the valley when the year was up. And then, with a final bow, I left the shrine.

The inn was busy that night. Mother wished to have dinner together properly as a family, but Father pointed out that work must come first, whether I was leaving the following day or not. Dinner was a dumpling snatched between serving guests — not that I was serving guests. Father was definite on that point. I laid out the futons in the guest rooms then folded my kimonos into the trunk Father had fetched from the storehouse. Inside one of the kimonos I slipped the red-covered book of Grandmother's poems. Even though I couldn't read it, as I had never been taught, it made me feel close to my grandparents.

When the last of the dinner trays had been cleared, the dishes washed and preparations for breakfast made, Hana and I unrolled our parents' futons on one side of the hearth and our own on the other.

As the room filled with the deep breathing of sleep, I lay awake, clutching the edges of my futon. This was all happening too fast.

I heard my sister shift and roll over. Turning my head, I could see her eyes were open, watching me.

‘Why you?' she demanded in a fierce whisper. ‘I'm the oldest; it should be me going to Edo.'

I couldn't tell if she was resentful because something extraordinary was happening to me and not her, or if she really wished for a different life. Hana would soon be marrying the second son of an innkeeper in Magome. Because our family had no sons, Father would adopt Hana's husband and he would take over the inn when our parents retired. I'd always presumed this was what Hana wanted, that it was why she worked so hard, knowing that one day Mother's duties would be hers.

‘It's not fair!' Hana said now.

‘I'd be happy to change places with you,' I offered, but even as I spoke it occurred to me that I didn't want Hana's life, and that I didn't really want the life laid out for me here either. So perhaps, I thought with rising excitement, this really was an opportunity. Perhaps in Edo I would find a life that suited me.

Grasses whispering

A song of moon and flowers

Lead to night's repose

I rose and dressed with a sense of unreality. Yesterday morning I'd had no inkling that I was about to spend my last day in the village.

‘I don't understand what would make him choose Kasumi,' my mother kept saying; I would have felt insulted if not for the fact that I agreed with her. It was a long journey from Matsuyama to Tsumago. How many inns had Lord Shimizu stopped at along the way? How many of those inns had daughters? And yet it was me he had chosen . . .

‘Come on,' said Father as we heard murmurs from the front of the house. ‘Say goodbye to your mother and sister. There's no time to linger.' The guests were stirring and would be wanting their breakfast. Mami was already at the stove.

‘Don't come back thinking you're someone important,' Hana warned, her face pinched and angry.

My mother's eyes welled with tears as she held me to her. ‘We'll see you before the next plum rains,' she promised.

At the
waki-honjin
we found Kimura outside in the courtyard overseeing the porters who would take our luggage. My trunk had been fetched from our house earlier.

‘Ah, Kira-san,' Kimura called as we approached. ‘So it's true then: your daughter is to go to Edo.'

‘I've got the travel papers right here,' said my father.

Kimura squinted at me as if trying to discern what it was that had seen me singled out for such an honour. ‘You'll be a lady-in-waiting?'

‘Yes, Kimura-san.'

‘For Lord Shimizu's wife?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, I'm sure you'll do us proud.' He sounded doubtful, and I didn't blame him. I knew I didn't look like a lady; I was tall for a girl, and my skin was tanned from so much time spent outdoors. And, as my father was quick to point out, I didn't act like a lady either. Perhaps Kimura was having second thoughts about me as a marriage prospect for the yam. I hoped so . . .

‘How did Kasumi impress Lord Shimizu?' Kimura asked. ‘I'll have to get my daughter to follow her example.'

Father rolled his eyes. ‘Who knows how samurai think? She called his friend a
tanuki
, and I thought for sure he'd be offended, so to cover up I sang her praises. And look what it has led to!'

Sang my praises?! I knew better than to argue. And admittedly Father's story was more plausible than the truth: that Shimizu had decided to offer me a position in his household after Father had complained about me. Probably the samurai had felt sorry for me.

Father said to his friend gloomily, ‘Though I fear that once he discovers what she's like he'll send her back at once. It'll be a miracle if he keeps her beyond Fukushima.'

At that moment Lord Shimizu came through the gate reserved for the use of samurai, and we all turned and bowed. He was accompanied by a much younger man, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, I thought — maybe two or three years older than me. Shimizu himself was closer to my father in age. Both men were dressed for travelling in three-quarter-length coats, lifted at the back by the swords they wore, and knee-length breeches with leggings. Their round flat hats would protect them from both sun and rain.

As the samurai approached, my father bowed. ‘As sorry as I am to lose my favourite daughter' (was it my imagination, or was Shimizu trying to repress a smile?) ‘I know Kasumi will serve you well.'

‘Thank you,' Lord Shimizu responded. ‘I'm sure my wife will be delighted with her.' He gestured to the young man beside him. ‘This is my nephew Shimizu Isamu. Isamu, this is the girl I told you about. She's to be a companion and lady-in-waiting to Misaki. Will you ensure she has a comfortable journey?'

‘Yes, Uncle.'

As Isamu stepped forwards, I saw that he was tall, at least a head taller than me, with regular features that
would have been unremarkable but for his eyes, which sparkled with a lively curiosity. I drew in a breath as I realised it was the young samurai I had seen at the shrine the day before.

‘Kasumi-san, how do you do?' he said as we bowed to each other. Apart from a brief narrowing of his eyes, he gave no sign of recognition.

‘I am very well, thank you,' I replied formally, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as I remembered how I had presumed to feel a connection between us; of course, I'd had no idea then just how far above me he was.

As he moved off to talk to a manservant standing with the porters, I heard someone calling my name.

‘Kasumi!' Chiyo ran up. ‘I was afraid I'd miss you. Here.' She pressed something into my hand.

I looked down to see a small paper amulet.

‘It's for protection,' she said. ‘Especially when you're climbing the Torii pass.' The Torii was the highest pass on the Nakasendo highway.

‘It's haunted by the ghosts of five hundred samurai who died in an attack there,' she explained.

‘Thank you,' I said, clutching it. I hadn't known to fear five hundred ghosts, but now that I did I was glad of the amulet.

Isamu returned to say, ‘We're ready to leave now, Kasumi-san.'

I saw Chiyo's eyes widen as the young samurai moved off to join his uncle.

I nudged her. ‘Don't even think it,' I said. ‘He's Lord Shimizu's nephew.'

‘Be careful with the plates,' she murmured, then ran off.

My father and Kimura accompanied us as we followed the road past the notice board and the water mill, past the carp rock. When we reached the outskirts of the village, my father said gruffly, ‘Be a good girl and don't disgrace us.' His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, but I was sure I could hear some emotion in his voice.

And then we were leaving the houses behind, the road ascending the side of the valley towards the ruins of the old castle and then snaking through the forest on the way to the next town. To our left the hill dropped away to rice fields, and I could see the bent backs of farmers at their planting.

The porters walked in front, followed by Lord Shimizu. His servant, a man introduced as Haru, stayed at the back of the group. Isamu matched his pace to mine.

‘How is your family acquainted with my uncle?' Isamu's casual tone did not quite conceal his surprise that a girl from a small mountain village was coming to Edo as a companion for his uncle's wife.

‘We're not really,' I confessed. ‘Lord Shimizu visited my parents' inn for lunch yesterday and . . .' And what? I insulted another samurai and he thought I would make a good lady-in-waiting? I shrugged.

Isamu was polite enough not to press me. ‘I'm sorry I didn't have the opportunity to lunch there myself. I should have been with him, only my uncle remembered he'd left some important papers in the inn back at Ochiai. I volunteered to fetch them and we agreed to meet in Tsumago. We'd intended to walk further yesterday, but we had to change our plans.'

If Lord Shimizu hadn't been forced to stop in Tsumago, the events of yesterday might never have
occurred — and I might not be going to Edo now. Perhaps destiny was guiding me?

‘Will this be your first time in Edo?' Isamu asked.

I nodded.

‘Mine too.' His eyes were shining. ‘I'm going to study painting with one of our domain's greatest masters. I'll live in the domain's upper mansion and also serve my uncle. In our family it's traditional for the first son of a household to take in the second son of the second son. That's me: I'm the second son of my uncle's younger brother.'

‘I hope it's a more agreeable position than that of a second daughter,' I remarked, making him laugh. Then he moved off to catch up with Shimizu, who was walking a little way ahead.

Our pace was steady, and that night we reached Suhara, a dozen miles or so from Tsumago, and almost the same size. I stayed upstairs in the women's quarters of the
waki-honjin
, and had the strange experience of being a guest. I was served a meal on a lacquered tray and a maid unrolled my futon.

We reached the Fukushima barrier, high above the Kiso River, at lunchtime the next day. Our travel papers were inspected then we passed through the gate. A little further down the road Shimizu pointed out a post which marked the halfway point between Edo and Kyoto. From here it was about a ten-day walk to Edo, he told us, as we set off for Yabuhara, where we would spend the night before climbing the Torii pass.

I knew of Yabuhara; the town was renowned for combs made from the local birch trees. Apparently their
reputation had travelled beyond the Kiso Valley, as when we reached the town Lord Shimizu paused outside a shop, saying, ‘I have to buy one of their famous combs for Misaki.' Isamu and I followed him inside; I was hoping to learn more about the woman who would be my mistress.

In the back of the shop, the comb-maker sat cross-legged behind his work table. His wife laid out a selection of combs for Lord Shimizu: fine-toothed to clean the hair, wider teeth for arranging and unpicking, and ornamental combs.

Shimizu's hand hovered for a moment over the useful combs before finally settling on a small red-lacquered decorative comb with rounded corners, painted with flowers. He picked it up and showed it to me.

‘What do you think, Kasumi?'

For a moment I just stared; it was such an exquisite object. Finally, remembering that I had been asked a question, I stammered, ‘It's beautiful. I've never seen anything so lovely.'

‘Will Misaki like it?'

I shook my head. ‘Without knowing the lady, I can't say whether or not she will like it.'

Shimizu laughed. ‘Well, that's an honest answer.'

I could hear my father scolding in my head.
Don't tell him what
you
think — who needs your opinion? Tell him what he wants to hear
.

‘I'm sorry, sir. I meant to say of course she will like it,' I corrected myself.

‘Ah, Kasumi, you were right the first time when you spoke from truth and not from manners. But you say
it's beautiful, which means it will be a perfect match for my wife.'

As the comb-maker's wife wrapped the gift in a cloth, I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a husband who bought me a comb and called me beautiful.

A voice close to my ear said, ‘I would buy you a comb, but you don't even wear your hair up yet.'

Had Isamu guessed my thoughts? ‘I'll have you know that I turn sixteen in the new year,' I said, turning away from the combs.

I moved outside where the crisp air could ease the hot flush in my cheeks. Why was I so disturbed? It was not like I had been imagining
him
as my husband . . . Anyway, not only was I a commoner, he clearly saw me as a child. None of which excused the fact that I had snapped at my master's nephew. Despite my father's dire predictions, I had made it past Fukushima — but at this rate I would be sent home before we reached the Torii pass.

Isamu mustn't have told his uncle about my outburst, though, for I wasn't sent home. The next day we ascended the pass, walking up and up and up, through tall straight trunks that swayed and whispered in the slightest breeze. I clutched the amulet Chiyo had given me, imagining the mass of trees as warriors.

The two men walked in front and I a little way behind them. They were talking about the foreigners.

‘Is there much trouble in Edo, Uncle?' Isamu asked.

‘Some,' Lord Shimizu replied. ‘And I expect there will be more. Many people think the Shogun should
have refused to negotiate with the foreigners when they demanded a treaty, but they're not seeing things from all sides. It's all very well to spout slogans —'

‘You mean like
sonnō jōi
: revere the Emperor, expel the barbarians?' his nephew interrupted.

‘Yes, like that. There are those who want to overthrow the Shogun and restore power to the Emperor. But it's not so simple. The Shogun is trying to avoid war with the foreigners. Their weapons are superior; either we negotiate or they'll take what they want by force. As you mix with people from other domains, you'll hear conflicting opinions, Isamu, but remember: the Matsuyama domain has always stood with the Shogun. The
sonnō jōi
movement —' He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘They are just low-ranking samurai discontented with their lot, encouraged by domains that would like to see the Shogun's government weakened.'

As the pass grew steeper, their discussion ceased, as no one had breath to spare.

Higher and higher we climbed, the porters bent nearly double under the weight of the luggage. The wind was so loud through the trees it sounded like the torrent of the Odaki and Medaki waterfalls near my village; it made me feel both close to home and far, far away.

At the top of the pass we stopped at a small shrine to give thanks for our safe ascent.

‘I have never seen a lady walk so well as you,' Isamu said.