The Samurai's Garden Read Free

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.
    He hadn't intended to do more than help her make her purchase, but the chance to get acquainted intrigued him. Working on her farm would allow him to pass the time while he decided on his life's course, as well as pay penance for the wrongs done by his former comrades.
    Finally, they reached a pair of dilapidated huts. From this point, the road curved and disappeared in the woods. He stopped on the road, turning to her and raising his brow in a silent question. When she simply nodded toward the larger one, he walked to the doorway and entered it.
    The evening's dim light made it difficult to see inside, but when his eyes adjusted he could tell the woman kept a tidy home. The shabby contents were clean, and arranged comfortably. While Hanako dealt with the animals, he took stock of his new temporary lodgings.
    A simple wooden box to the right of the stove held two rusty urns. A bowl of rice and a few berries had been placed in front of the urns, along with a stub of candle. A man's garment, made from cheap coarse fabric, had been draped on the wall behind the box. This must be her obustudan , the home for the spirits of her husband and father. It was a far cry from the elaborate, lacquered wood and gold-painted arrangement holding his father's ashes. Yet, the simple tribute was equally profound.
    Her entrance into the room interrupted his perusal. She lit a lantern, further highlighting the shabbiness of the hut's furnishings. "I will prepare the evening meal. Will you have some tea?" Her voice, though marked with the accent of a peasant, was lyrical.
    "I would enjoy some refreshment. Thank you." He sat on one of the threadbare cushions in the seating area and watched, fascinated, as the young woman performed her task. Her motions were fluid and economical as she prepared tea and a meal of soup and vegetables.
    "Does someone live in the other building?" he asked.
    "When my father lived, he slept there. I hope it will be suitable for you. It's dusty, so I'll clean it for you while you eat."
    "I am certain it will be satisfactory. Thank you for your hospitality."
    "I apologize for the lack of substance in our meal," she said as she set the fare on the floor in front of him, "but I left early for the market and didn't go fishing today. I'll be sure to have a better meal tomorrow." She bowed respectfully and turned to leave.
    "Please sit with me." The words came from his mouth without warning. She froze in mid-step and spun back to stare at him. She may