The Samurai's Garden Read online

  The Samurai’s Garden

  by Patricia Kiyono

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  THE SAMURAI’S GARDEN

  Copyright © 2012 PATRICIA KIYONO

  ISBN 978-1-62135-099-6

  Cover Art Designed by For the Muse Designs

  For Mom.

  I've always been proud of our heritage because you made it fascinating and alive through your stories. I hope this story brings honor to our family.

  Prologue

  Aomori Prefecture, Honshu, Japan, 1872

  So it had come to this.

  Hideyori Kato paced the dirt floor, his face wrinkled in a frown of disgust. Unprotected by tabi, the silk stockings he was accustomed to wearing, his feet bled from the coarse straw of his sandals. At his palace, he would not have been wearing shoes at all, but the creatures scurrying about in this hovel had forced him into the unheard of habit of wearing shoes indoors.

  Kato, the great and once-powerful daimyo, was reduced to living in a mud hut on the outer pasture of what had once been the lands surrounding his castle. He should never have surrendered to that child-emperor, Meiji. He should have rallied his army and fought. His treasurer had given him some drivel about the coffers being empty, but he could have promised them riches, and they would have fought for glory, or whatever their silly Bushido decreed. Maybe he could have convinced the neighboring daimyos to join their armies with his, so he could have overtaken the emperor's forces. And then he, Hideyori Kato, would have ruled all of Japan. The thought of all that power made his mind spin.

  His grumbling stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten yet that day. He clapped his hands impatiently.

  A wrinkled old man, toothless and bent, hobbled into the hut. He bowed with difficulty and spoke from his lowered position.

  "Yes, Master?"

  "Where is my meal? I am starving!"

  The old man's emaciated figure shrank back. "Chu-san has not returned from hunting for today's food," he began.

  The crack of Hideyori's walking stick on the man's back ended the servant's reply.

  "Fool! If there is no meat, find something else! I cannot function without food. I smell something cooking outside. Bring me some of that."

  "Yes, Master." The old man grunted as he crawled backward out of the hut, his face etched in pain. A moment later he returned with a bowl of steaming liquid.

  "Take care! You are spilling the soup on the floor," Hideyori complained. He grabbed the bowl from the man's shaking hands and brought it to his mouth. He blew on the broth to cool it and drank. A moment later, he threw the bowl at the already battered man.

  "This is horrible! It's just boiled weeds! How dare you serve such garbage to me?"

  "Master, there is nothing else—"

  "Use your head and find me something decent to eat. I can't eat this slop!" He emphasized each word with another blow from his stick.

  This just wasn't fair. Not only had his lands been confiscated, the government had taken away his title. The daimyos who had cooperated with the government had been awarded a new rank in the emperor's court and allowed to keep their lands. Since he'd resisted, he was banished to this hovel. Only the servants too weak or too old to find other jobs had stayed with him. Too bad they were also idiots. Hideyori took out his frustration on the crouched figure before him. With every blow, he shouted another grievance against the Meiji government.

  Twenty minutes later, the walking stick broke from its use. The servant's lifeless body lay in a heap, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. Hideyori stamped out of the hut, resigned to the fact that the boiled weeds would have to satisfy his grumbling stomach for now.

  But things would change. Somehow.

  Two hours later, he sat on a rock outside the hut, still waiting for someone to bring him more food. The weak soup had done little to satisfy his hunger. The old man inside had said someone named Chu-san had gone hunting. Where was the fool? He had a vague memory of a young man, the son of one of his former servants.

  He really needed to get better servants. Boiled weeds, indeed! How was he supposed to eat that? If only he had some money, he could buy some decent food. Or better yet, hire someone to prepare it for him.

  The sun beat down, and he started to sweat under his thick robe. Reluctantly, he took the robe off, revealing the stained cotton yukata underneath. He hated to be seen without his full dress — he had an image to preserve — but it was too hot out here. And it was even worse inside the hut, especially with the servant's body lying there. Chu-san would have to remove the body when he finally returned with something to eat. His servants were totally useless. Where were they when he needed them?

  Disgusted, he removed his robe and threw it, not caring where it went. The garment landed on another rock with a "clink."

  Clink?

  Out of habit, he turned to call for a servant but realized there was no one to hear his summons. Grumbling, he rose from his seat and took the five steps to his robe. It was heavy, made of thick brocade, and the long, hanging sleeves were lined with several layers of silk. He picked up the robe, checking under it. Finding nothing there, he inspected the robe itself. The brocade was worn, the fraying threads a testimony to his dire financial status.

  Turning the garment inside out, he frowned at the dingy color. When he had a full staff, his court seamstresses would keep track of these things and replace the linings at regular intervals. But there were no more seamstresses. He was stuck with this lining. There were holes here and there, and the seams were worn. He smoothed the lining down. When he regained his fortune, one of the first things he would do would be to order some new clothes. No one would take him seriously as a leader if he had to wear rags like this.

  His hand ran across a hard bump in the fabric. Were the holes so large that a rock had lodged in between the layers? He inspected the bump more closely. No, it wasn't a rock. Eagerly, he picked at the fabric, trying to scratch a hole in the weave. No luck. He needed something sharp. Casting a look around, he spied a short branch under a nearby tree and hurried over to retrieve it.

  Ten minutes later, the robe was in tatters, but Hideyori didn't care. His hands cradled a beautiful hand-painted fan, its bamboo frame embellished with finely detailed carvings. For once, a servant had actually followed directions. He remembered the day he had instructed the little maid to "hide the valuables somewhere the emperor's men will not find it." The girl must have hidden the fan in the lining of his robe. Clever girl. Too bad he hadn't been able to keep her.

  His growling stomach was forgotten as he went back into the hut to look for other hidden treasures in his clothing.

  Chapter One

  Hokkaido, Japan, Spring, 1874

  Hanako Shimizu tightened her lips, struggling to maintain a measure of decorum and respect toward the unkempt man before her. The buzz of springtime activity in the marketplace faded to the back of her mind. She had work to do.

  Sato-san peered down at her, a menacing scowl adding more wrinkles to his sagging jowls. Drawing himself up to the fullest extent of his limited height, the livestock merchant looked down his nose and deigned to speak. She managed not to cringe outwardly from the stench of his stale breath.
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  "And why is your husband or father not here to purchase this livestock himself?"

  Hanako ground her teeth to prevent herself from lashing out at the pompous merchant. She curled her fingers into fists, lest she should give in to temptation and claw out his eyes. Sato-san knew very well why her husband was not here to purchase his own livestock. But she needed his cooperation, so she answered.

  "The men in my home live no more," she replied. "My father has been gone these past five summers, and my husband perished during the raid of the ronin last year."

  "Then you must take a new husband." Sato-san grinned widely, displaying the few brown crooked teeth remaining in his mouth. "You are still fairly young. Perhaps I could be persuaded to give up my bachelor ways. A beautiful widow should not be left to fend for herself on a lonely farm. Even though the shoguns have declared peace, there are still dangerous men roaming the countryside."

  Hanako knew all about the dangers. The memory of last summer's attack still haunted her dreams. Still, the thought of becoming Sato-san's wife was even more repulsive than the bloody memories. She willed herself not to shudder visibly. It wouldn't do to irritate him. Sato-san's livestock wasn't prime grade, but it was reasonably priced, and she needed these animals to help turn a profit from her shabby little farm.

  "Please, Sato-san. It has been scarcely six months since I was widowed. I need time to grieve for poor Kenji." She lowered her gaze, projecting the image of sorrow and tragedy.

  "Six months is a long time for a fertile young woman to be without a man in her bed," leered the portly merchant. "I think Shimizu-san would not want you to be alone."

  I was alone even when he was with me.

  "I am not alone. I have his spirit with me in the obutsudan." The tiny wooden box in which her husband's ashes rested hardly resembled a true shrine, but it was enough to satisfy the proprieties of a grieving widow. Reminding herself of her mission, she faced Sato-san with resolve, but kept her gaze focused on a point just below his chin. She knew he would not welcome direct eye contact with a woman.

  "You flatter me with your attention, Sato-san, but for now I must concentrate on rebuilding my farm. After all, I wouldn't be able to bring a respectable dowry into a marriage with the present state of my property. Now, I have offered a fair price for this cow and those two chickens."

  Sato-san was not fooled by Hanako's gentle rebuff. His lips pressed together and he scowled. "I deal only with men," he finally responded as he turned away from her.

  Hanako chewed her lip and took a deep breath, admonishing herself not to lose her temper. No matter how unreasonable Sato-san chose to be, she couldn't hope to conduct business with him if she lost control of her emotions.

  She opened her mouth, ready to present another argument, but another voice, one with deep, melodic tones, made all her thoughts disappear.

  "I see you have chosen well, my little flower. What price have you and this gentleman agreed upon?"

  Hanako's mouth closed as she tried to put a face with the voice. It was deep and rich, full of confidence and strength. It belonged to a man of power. The man's speech was much more formal than the casual dialect used by locals.

  "Who are you?" Sato-san demanded.

  Hanako wondered, too. She turned to look at the mystery speaker. He stood head and shoulders above the unsavory Sato-san, with muscles born of hard physical work, but his facial features radiated intelligence, and his bearing hinted at an aristocratic upbringing. Two swords hung at his side, a testament to his position as a samurai. She'd heard rumors of new laws eliminating their powers, but knew no one in this sleepy village would dare argue with this man's right to carry his swords.

  "I am Hiromasa Tanaka. I am not familiar with the merchants in this area, so I sent my intended to find the livestock and supplies we need. If all is ready, I will pay you, and we will be on our way."

  "Your intended? But Shimizu-san just told me she still grieves for her late husband."

  "Yes, she still grieves. It is normal. But her husband was a cousin and a longtime friend, and I promised him I would care for her. When she is ready, we will marry. Until then, I will take care of the business of the farm."

  Before Hanako could blink, the stranger had made the purchase and had turned to lead the cow out of the stockyard. He indicated with a regal nod for her to pick up the cage of chickens, ignoring her frustrated glare. Without a word, he started down the road leading away from the village. Helpless to do anything else, she followed at the customary three paces behind him. He had the animals she wanted, and nothing would be gained by making a scene here.

  Trudging silently behind the stranger, Hanako's mind raced. Who is this man? How dare he step in and purchase the animals I spent so much time choosing? Kenji had never mentioned a cousin. Besides, it's inconceivable for a samurai, especially one so tall and — virile, to be a relative to Kenji, who was smaller than average and — not so virile. And why would he pretend to be my fiancé? She gathered her thoughts, but before she could deliver her tirade, the stranger stopped, turned around, and held the cow's lead rope out to her.

  "This is yours. I only made the purchase because that idiot would not deal with you. I made up the story about being your husband's cousin, and I thought you could just repay me after we were out of his sight."

  Hanako tilted her head, confusion lining her face. She took the rope, but couldn't stop herself from asking, "Why would you do this for me?" She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What do you want from me?"

  The big man shrugged. "Nothing, except repayment for the animals you are holding."

  She felt her face burn. "Mmm, that might take a little while. I hoped Sato-san would sell me the animals and let me make payments later." Her embarrassment turned to anger as Hiro burst into laughter. "What's so funny? Do you doubt my ability to work the farm and turn a profit?"

  "I don't doubt your ability at all. But I can just imagine what kind of payment that vermin would want from you," he rasped. "I heard some of the things he said." He took her arm as she turned away. "If you don't have the money, then perhaps you could give me a place to stay for a while. The inn here is full, and there are no other accommodations in town. I've been traveling a long time and I'm tired."

  Hanako looked closely at the stranger. Her sharp eyes took in the rich fabric of his obi, the fine craftsmanship and fit of his clothing, and the bejeweled hilts on both his long and short sword. "I can't offer fine accommodations like you are accustomed to having." Her eyes narrowed as another thought occurred to her. "And why should I believe you would not expect the same payment as you suspect Sato-san wanted?"

  Hiro drew himself up. "I have taken the oath of the Bushido. You are not an enemy, so I would not harm you or anything that is yours."

  It was Hanako's turn to laugh. "It was a band of your honorable men who came and raided my home, killed my husband, and burned my crops last fall. I do not have much faith in your code."

  At the mention of the masterless samurai known as ronin, Hiro's lips curled in disgust. Though many former samurai had taken positions in the Emperor's army or had found new careers, a few wandered the country aimlessly, causing havoc. Now, Hanako wondered if her insult had pushed the stranger too far. If he chose to punish her for speaking to him so, she would have no defense against his strength. She watched his expression, wondering if she should try to run. Finally, he bowed stiffly and spoke. Hanako braced herself for the worst. But her jaw dropped in surprise at his words.

  "I apologize for the actions of my fellow samurai," he began, "and you may consider the animals partial payment toward retribution for your loss. In addition, I will work for you this season so your lands may be restored to their former value."

  ****

  Hiromasa Tanaka studied the tiny woman before him. Instead of the elaborate hairstyle or wig worn by the women in his world, Hanako's hair was scarcely visible. A faded scarf held it off her face and under a wide-brimmed straw hat, but a few stray tendrils had escaped,
gently framing her delicate features. Her complexion, though tanned, was not as rough as many of the farmwomen he had seen. Perhaps the straw hat she wore protected her somewhat. A cheap linen kimono hung loosely on her slender frame. The faded brown fabric had no embellishment, and an equally shabby strip of fabric wrapped around her middle was her obi, or sash. A coarse rope tied over the obi served as her obi-jime, holding everything in place. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, but she held herself with dignity and pride, giving her the illusion of height.

  "What is your name?" he asked when she didn't respond.

  She peered up at him curiously. "You know my name. You called me 'Little Flower' in the marketplace."

  "It was simply an endearment, the first that came to mind. Your name really is Little Flower?"

  "I am called Hanako — Flower Child." She turned her face and her cheeks pinked. "My mother loved flowers, and I was born in the spring when her garden started to bloom."

  "I see. So, Hanako-san, will you allow me to work in exchange for lodging?"

  She bit her lip and looked down, and he guessed at the reason for her hesitation. "I am accustomed to simple accommodations. After all, a soldier must learn to sleep wherever he is at nightfall, whether he is in a cave or under the skies. If you accept my offer, I will do my best to be of assistance to you. Which way to your home?"

  She hesitated another moment, and he realized he had been holding his breath when she finally nodded and indicated the direction they would take.

  They followed the road until the sun began its descent. The long walk gave Hiro plenty of time to think about his new employer. From his outdoor seat at the tavern, he had noticed her arrival in the village. Marching into the stockyard, she'd made her selections with knowledgeable assurance. Despite her delicate appearance, she had demonstrated experience and a firm hand with the animals. However, the antics of the slimy Sato-san had disgusted him. The merchant's refusal to deal with her had prompted Hiro to step in.