Chapter 21

The Right Thing

Misao fled Aoiya the following morning. Her footsteps cut a familiar path through the streets, taking their first unfamiliar turn when she reached the river. There, a few pale cherry blossoms still clung to the trees, like little stars wilting in the dawn. The sight of them left a familiar ache in her heart. She paused for a half a breath to gaze upon them before moving on.

The morning was bright and clear despite the prior night's promise of rain. As she reached the northern edge of the city, she turned to the west. This formed the first corner of what would turn to into a triangular course as the day wore on.

Back at the Aoiya, the others were just rising. The first to note her absence was Omasu. She immediately went to Kaoru. When word reached the rest of the house, Aoshi was awake as well, and settling into a smoldering sort of anger that was marked by the slightest wrinkle of his forehead.

By the time Kenshin and Yahiko slipped out into the city to find Misao at Kaoru's behest, their quarry was already at the front gate of the Namataga's.

They would arrive too late.

…

As Misao entered the house, her wrap was taken from her by a humble serving maid. The woman's eyes remained trained on the floor. Her face flushed with the heat of the day and the labor of the early morning. She informed Misao that Haru had left early, but that Mrs. Namataga would be more than happy to see her. Misao could find her on the veranda.

It was not the older woman's usual custom. She was always right at the door. It was her habit to answer it herself and to make a show of convincing the visitor, no matter their purpose, to stay for dinner.

Misao proceeded the way the maid directed her. A growing sense of dread shadowed her footsteps. Up the stars, first door on the left, across a sunlit study and through two open doors that had been left open in expectance of her arrival. She went out, blinking and timid. Waiting for her, the Lady of the house dismissed her trepidation with a smile.

"Don't look so confused! This house is large, but word travels as across the space between two strangers. That, and I saw you creeping up the front lawn like a mouse." Mrs. Namataga greeted her with her peculiar bow and settled back down onto her creaking bones. "Sit, girl! Sit!"

Misao obeyed, but there was a war in her head so fierce and brutal that she still must have looked terrified. Mrs. Namataga laughed and began pouring a cup of tea. Misao watched her every, careful motion like a moth watches a spider as it weaves its web.

Misao greatly admired her, and also feared her. Haru's mother represented a steady, unyielding flame. Somewhere in her heart, Misao wanted to burn fierce, hot and quick. The thought of slowly crackling into nothing but stubborn embers imprisoned her hopes. She wanted to disappear like the last whorls of a fearsome blaze in the first flash of dawn.

Alas, her life had become a series of bows and nods like Mrs. Namatagas. There was a part of her that was comfortable with the structure and stability that brought. A part of her sighed in contentment when she smiled and cast her eyes downward as she spoke to Haru. She loved the gentle teasing and tender kisses; the arguments were like brief storms passing in the spring night. When she thought about it, the marks on her arm would always be a reminder of the worst that could be. She worried about that – a small star of pain in her heart – but she also knew that Haru had never acted thus until pushed. He loved her; she felt it, saw it, knew it, thirsted for it. They would burn out together within the perfect edges of a hearth they themselves built and tended.

She still wasn't sure about Aoshi. His love was nothing of fire, crafted instead of steel and ocean horizons. Shinomori Aoshi kissed her as waves kiss the shore. Each time he pulled away, she feared he wouldn't come back. When he did, there was a rush and noise in her head, shadowed by his deep and empty mystery. As his tide pulled out, she was left to stare after him. What fixed point was a young woman to set her heart upon?

As she shared a cup of tea with Mrs. Namataga, the morning wore on and she began to feel more at ease. The Namataga's airy house was as good a home as Aoiya had ever been. They talked of how beautiful the cherry blossoms had been that spring. They chattered on about how it was so dreadfully easy it was to ruin good fish with a heavy hand in the kitchen. In time, they spoke a little distantly about how silly men could be.

"My venerable husband! What an idiot! You know, the first time we met, he was in the middle of a gaggle of samurai. Such preening roosters! He stepped out of their midst to help steady me…it was so muddy that day and I was carrying a heavy box of silks! He steadied my arm and took the silks from me, despite my protests. He then commented on the weather and I blushed. Quick as wink, he asked if I might like to meet him at the blossom festival that evening – with proper escort, of course! How he stammered!"

"He was samurai?"

"Hai! Such a handsome rooster, so nervous despite all his pomp and plumage. The other men laughed! But he cared not a whit. I loved him immediately and fully."

Misao smiled and stared into her tea. She felt a tears threatening and she wasn't sure why.

Mrs. Namataga pressed on. "I was a trouble-maker. Always late, always contrary; I just about drove my mother to insanity. She was both distraught and immensely pleased when I showed up at the door with a handsome young man and parade of bemused samurai in tow. She wondered what trouble I had gotten myself into. Still, she immediately dragged my younger brother in from the dojo by his ears to inform him that he would be accompanying me and a gentleman to the blossom festival. Yasuke and I were married at that same festival a year later."

Misao tried to imagine Haru's dignified father stuttering and laughed.

Mrs. Namataga giggled. It was such a girlish response, Misao laughed harder. When they both stopped, both women were out of breath and had cheeks colored bright red by mirth.

Misao has so many questions – from woman to woman – in that moment. They were not to be revealed. The chance to ask them was stolen from her by a tentative, familiar voice. It filled the space left by their laughter and settled on her shoulders like a terrible weight.

"Namataga-dono? Misao-chan? May this one intrude?"

The warring emotions must have been clear on her face. Mrs. Namataga watched her closely, even as she called out.

"Is that Himura-dono? It is not an intrusion! Please, won't you join us for some tea?"

Kenshin slipped out and onto the balcony. Misao turned to look at him and was awed, as always.

So unassuming, he stood with one hand on the back of his head. Yahiko, lanky and dour, was naught but a raincloud; he was easily outshone. Kenshin was much shorter than the young man beside him, but he was so much more solid. Indeed, he was still wiry and as ready for battle as ever, but Yahiko was a distracted wisp of thought. Kenshin bowed low and moved forward, stunning Misao silent with his very presence. He walked like a mouse, but felt like a dragon.

"This one cannot stay. I only came to fetch young Miss Misao. Those back at Aoiya are very worried about her, that they are."

"Coulda left a note, is all." Yahiko rumbled.

Misao cringed inwardly and Mrs. Namataga clucked her tongue teasingly.

"My, my, whatever will they do with her?"

"Hang her by her toes?" Yahiko pounced, and sounded a little too hopeful.

Mrs. Namataga laughed. "Now, now, young man. That's only for hardened criminals. I think we can settle for having her walk back to Aoiya with you. That'll be punishment enough."

The corner of Kenshin's mouth twitched. Misao had to bring a hand before her mouth. Yahiko grumbled and glowered even harder.

"Be careful: your face will get stuck that way. Even a sweet little swallow would be frightened away." Mrs. Namataga winked and demurely took a sip of tea. Yahiko sputtered.

With a groan, the lady of the house set down her teacup and drew to her feet. Kenshin and Yahiko both took a half-step towards her as if to steady her. She tsked, waved them away and called into the house. After a moment the maid who answered the door came sweeping in to clear the tea things. Misao got up and moved out of the way. Together, the four of them went back inside.

They exchanged pleasantries, spoke of the wedding and weather. Yahiko had been stunned into politeness. Kenshin and Misao exchanged a glance behind Mrs. Namataga's back and fought to keep a straight face when he asked about the sword hanging on the wall in the study just a little too respectfully. Mrs. Namataga only encouraged the behavior when she had him go and take it down.

"Yasuke's sword. It hasn't been used in years."

"This one has heard told that Haru can handle a blade well enough."

"Ah, my little sunbeam." She smiled. "He says it is too good to be used by one such as himself. He prefers the one given to him by the station. He says his father's sword is one of dignity and his is one of justice."

"The two are not exclusive."

"No indeed, Himura-dono."

Mr. Namataga entered the room with a powerful stride. He stopped long enough to exchange bows and went to his wife's side. When he spoke again, it seemed the world paused to listen.

"What a pleasant surprise! I didn't think to see you all again so soon. Tell me, how is Shinomori-san?"

"He is well."

"I am glad to hear it. Such a world we live in! Ah! Misao-chan – you look lovely this morning. It's no wonder my son is looking for you so frantically. He's downstairs calling for a carriage. We should probably stop him."

Misao had been standing to the side, observing the exchange like a passerby. At the mention of Haru, everything came crashing back around her. She was suddenly very present. Yahiko was watching her closely, setting the sword back in its place. The Namatagas were smiling expectantly. Kenshin was unreadable, but she imagined she saw his hand on his sakabatou. She must have imagined it, because he answered for her.

"So we should! After that, Misao-chan is needed back at Aoiya."

Yahiko sighed a little too loudly and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, or Omasu will go insane. She's been griping about kimono all morning."

Mr. Namataga chuckled and led them all out of the room.

"Doubtless, Misao-chan will want to hurry home all the more."

…..

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Namataga excused herself and went away towards the kitchen. Misao was itching to leave, but Mr. Namataga waved her on. He had an arm around Kenshin and Yahiko and was speaking in a conspiratorial tone as she made her way out the front door. A small part of her wanted desperately to eavesdrop, but the rest of her was trying to catch sight of Haru before he caught sight of her.

Outside, the sun was blinding. The men stopped on the porch and continued to talk in whispers while Misao went on ahead. She raised one hand to block out the midday sun. It was no small feat, locating her fiancé amidst the bustle that had replaced the early morning quiet. Up on the balcony, she and Mrs. Namataga had been immune to most of it. Mr. Namataga ran a very well organized ship, and there were many plants and trees lining the pathway down to the road that had obscured some of the view. Even there, amidst the messengers running back and forth and businessmen congregating around fountains and carriages jostling too and fro, it was almost as quiet as a temple. She exchanged more than a few bows before she finally stumbled upon Haru. He was talking animatedly with a tall gentleman in western clothes. As she approached and Haru caught sight of her, he introduced her quickly and excused them both, all without seeming to take a breath. The tall man was already halfway across the lawn and grabbing the attention of Mr. Namataga before Haru managed to pull her aside and into the modest privacy offered by a nearby willow tree.

He had worked himself into a state. He looked every-bit as put-together as usual, but there were lines on his face that hadn't been there the day before. Faint shadows under his eyes betrayed a lack of sleep. His mouth was closed tight, lips a pale line. Before her even properly greeted her, he gently pulled up her sleeve and dropped it again at the sight of his handiwork. He turned a peculiar shade of purple and turned away to gather what was clearly his swiftly fraying composure. Misao watched it all with a certain measure of nasty satisfaction.

"Omasu came to the station. She said you were missing." He remained facing away from her, but she could see his jaw working.

A little piece of animosity towards her Oniwaban friend lodged itself in her throat. There would be a scene later. She swallowed her anger and said coolly: "can you blame me?"

"Oh Misao."

He turned back to her; whispered her name so softly, she felt the edges of her anger blurring. She cupped one palm over the place where her kimono hid crescent scabs. She told her heart to remember they were there.

"I did not – I couldn't – how?" Haru stammered, and repeated himself. "Oh, Misao."

There was a tiny well of misery in his voice, and his words rattled around the bottom. What happened next would stay with her until she was old and feeble. It would remain a tiny black mark that would make her ache and leave her feeling tired for having remembered it. Haru Namataga got down on his knees and took the hem of her kimono in his hands.

"I have done the one unforgivable thing. I – "

"Get up. Don't think I'll ever let you do it again." She wanted her words to crack like ice between teeth. They came out cold, but failed her in every other way.

Still, Haru obeyed. On his feet again, took her face between his palms. When he looked down at her, there was a hardness hiding in his eyes, but it was not towards her. It peered inward.

"I'm afraid, My Misao." He said. His words were strong, and she believed them. "I'm afraid that I have lost you entirely."

"There's my boy!"

Haru's eyes never left hers, but his hands dropped like stones. One trailed gently past her injured arm and found a home at the small of her spine. The last she saw of his face before she turned towards Mr. Namataga, he looked like a hunted man. Misao, for her own part, couldn't seem to catch her breath. She surprised herself and reached back to squeeze his hand between her own. He returned the gesture, and by the time she had again folded her hands in front of her and painted her face with a smile, her heart had stopped trying to throw itself out of her chest.

"Ah, two little lovebirds." Mr. Namataga's eyes were sparkling. Misao couldn't help but notice Kenshin and Yahiko did not look nearly so pleased. She favored them with a pleading stare before she bowed and answered.

"You've caught us red-handed!"

"And red-cheeked!" Mr. Namataga winked and gave Haru a pointed look. "Don't keep your lady too long. Himura-dono and young Yahiko here need to get her back to Aoiya. On wedding business, young man."

From behind her, Haru's crestfallen voice assented. "No, father. I have to get back to the precinct, now that we have found her. There's an officer in from out of town. He's running me ragged."

Misao thought she caught a brief twinkle in Kenshin's eyes. She thought to ask him about it later. But Mr. Namataga was speaking again, and when he spoke, you listened.

"Well set him straight, son! He's not to wear you out before the big day. The bride would no doubt include him on the menu at the reception, hmmm Misao?"

Misao put on her best serious face and nodded once. Mr. Namataga laughed and excused himself before heading off across the lawn, cutting a path towards the Western man who had been talking to Haru before.

He was gone just in time to miss Haru intoning dolefully "but he will be at the wedding. As a guest; not as dinner."

Yahiko began laughing at that, quite uncontrollably. Kenshin barely kept Misao off of him, insisting she would ruin her kimono, that she would. Haru took the chance to slink off miserably.

And just like that, they day went on. On the road back to Aoiya, Misao followed Kenshin and Yahiko, taking the opportunity to slow her again treacherous heartbeat and steady her breathing. While they prattled on like father and son ahead of her, she managed to do just that. She also found resolve, and in that moment, knew what she was to do.

…

When they arrived back at Aoiya, Omasu began her tirade before everyone was inside of the kitchen. Yahiko made his escape almost immediately, but Kenshin lingered just long enough to get himself yanked out of the tiny space by the ear. He was just making a third attempt to suggest that Omasu should calm down – she had been to see her fiancé, afterall – when Kaoru blew into the kitchen like a cyclone-wind. She dragged Kenshin out, carping about how their son was having a righteous fit outside. Poor Tsubame was bearing the worst of it and he had better come and put an end to it right that instant.

Misao looked at him, beseechingly. He apologized with an embarrassed and a harried smile. Thus, she was left alone with the harpy.

" – were worried sick! And Aoshi! What a state you have him worked up into! Not that it's easy to tell when the man is in a state, but he's been brooding in the dojo for the last hour and a half. You might have left a note!"

"Aoshi? Brooding? I'm shocked."

"Oh! Don't be so sarcastic!" Omasu slammed a fist into her palm. "He's in no condition to be worrying about you! You and I know he's not the type to pace or rage or cause a stir, but he's been sharpening that strange sword of his since he went in there. Maybe he'll use it on you!"

"Good! He'll spare me hours of your venom!"

Omasu saw a chance. Misao knew it by the way her eyes flashed as she rounded on her. There was the smallest curving of her lips. She struck.

"Is that what he's doing when you're in his room all night?"

It would have been silly to think the others at Aoiya had not noticed, still Misao felt a little embarrassed.

"How dare you suggest – "

"Misao! You silly, stupid woman! Have you no sense? You're engaged to be married in four days! It was different when it was just us here. It was different before. That was a long time ago."

"Five years." She whispered.

Omasu continued on. "And now this close to the wedding? You'll ruin everything you've worked for. You'll hurt Haru beyond repair. He certainly doesn't deserve this kind of treatment so close to the wedding. Stop being so selfish or you'll see Misao: you'll lose the love of that man!"

"If only."

She immediately wished she could take those two little words back. They stunned Omasu into what appeared to be fury. She turned a shade of red that Misao had not known existed until that moment. Her voice came out thin and strained.

"What did you say?" Omasu tightly knotted her fists at her side. "Dare you repeat it?"

Misao responded with defiance. She ground her teeth and glared back.

Omasu's right arm seemed to float up of its own volition. She pointed at the kitchen door.

"Out. Go and apologize to Aoshi now and go upstairs immediately. You have kimono to try on."

Misao thought of fighting back. She thought to root herself to the spot and give all of Omasu's shouting right back in kind. She wasn't even certain what she would shout about, but how she wanted to make the rafters shake! In any case, she was right about Aoshi, however. If his obsessive, public sword-sharpening was indeed an indication of mental anguish (and it very well may have been, Misao couldn't recall having ever seen him care for his weapons; that had always been a private task) than she had certainly done him a great wrong. It was not easy to unsettle Shinomori Aoshi, and she knew that better than anyone.

So she settled for looking to the floor, bowing low, and then drifting out of the kitchen. If she had looked back, she would have seen Omasu watching her, chest heaving and tears spilling onto her cheeks. Ever-strong Omasu waited until she was gone to bury her face in her sleeves. It was a heavy burden and she wondered if Misao could see that. She was the lady of the house by all means, and she guarded what was right and what was honorable.

But sometimes even she knew when right was wrong. If Misao had paid more attention, she might have seen the unspoken truth her friend's words concealed. She might have seen how Omasu really felt.

…

She found Aoshi, not sharpening his sword, but standing in the entrance to the dojo. He was silhouetted in golden afternoon light. It took her eyes a moment to adjust and for a split-second he was more shadow than man. When she saw him fully, her heart quailed. Before her was a rail-backed warrior in a shinobi's costume. Jaw set and eyes hard; he did not return her stare.

She pressed carefully and got right to point without so much as a hello. "I went to the Namataga's."

"I know." The words were like stones. The buffeted her resolve.

"I spoke with the Lady Namataga."

"And Haru?"

There was no bitterness in the question. It was delivered in a polite tone, tainted by a hint of disinterest. It made her angry.

"He was well. Very busy, but he came down from the station to make sure I was all right."

"Did he now?"

Aoshi gave her a look that almost broke her in two and stepped down into the garden. He waded through the sunlight and afternoon heat, over to where Omasu's roses were languishing in fading springtime reverie. After a moment, Misao followed. She didn't notice until she was halfway across the space between them: Tsubame and Kaoru sitting beside one another, watching Kenshin tousle with little Kenji. As she went, their eyes turned to her and she faltered a half-step. It was with all her strength that she dragged herself the rest of the way to Aoshi's side. She was sure to place herself behind him, out of the view of the others. She couldn't bear their stares.

"Omasu has a flare for this. For flowers." She murmured.

"I see."

"She started with azaleas, but found she likes these better. There are pink one's out front, if you've seen those. It took her a long time to find – "

"Misao."

He said her name and it set a static hum in her ears. If it had been later in the year, she might have thought it was cicada-song. She let her next words die on her tongue. Just so, out of sight of the others, he placed a hand on her arm. It rested on the same spot her own hand had earlier. The warmth of his palm settled the humming that still rattled around her skull.

"A-aoshi-sama." She breathed his name and she felt his fingers curl to find the pulse in the crook of her elbow. "I-I'm sorry I worried you so –"

He removed his hand and she felt the world grow a little darker.

"Go." He commanded gently. "Try on your kimono. Omasu will be looking for you soon."

….

Shortly thereafter, a clamor rose up inside the house – Misao's shouts warring to be heard over Megumi's voice and Ochika's uproarious laughter. As it settled, Omasu came outside and beckoned Kaoru and Tsubame. There was an amused glint in her eyes that could have been mistaken for evil.

"Girls, it seems Misao has put on a little bit of weight. I need your hands."

Tsubame began to giggle with abandon. Kaoru had to help her stand.

"O-oh dear! Hang on. I brought sewing things."

"As did I. Call it a woman's instinct." Kaoru shared a wry smile with her before they were both snickering and stumbling across the lawn, drunk with mirth. Kaoru called over her shoulder once for Kenshin to mind Kenji, and then they disappeared into the dojo. Inside, the shouting was starting again.

Kenshin was enjoying a chuckle himself when he noticed how stricken Aoshi seemed. Certain that the women were now otherwise engaged, he pinned his son and called out.

"Shinomori-dono! This one seems to have caught a vagabond! He's strong, that he is! But with your martial arts and this one's swo – oof!"

"I'll have you, samurai!" Kenji fell right into his part and cried out triumphantly, taking advantage of his father's distraction. He wriggled out of Kenshin's grasp and jumped on his shoulders, sending them both tumbling. Aoshi, looking on, perked a brow. He pulled his attention from the goings-on in the house behind him and went over. When he reached them, he lifted Kenji up by the collar of his little kimono. He made the sternest face he knew how.

Kenji, for his part, initially appeared terrified. His eyes darted from his father to Aoshi and back again. Kenshin was still patting dust out of his clothes, but when he met his son's eyes, he simply shrugged.

"You would not find yourself in such a predicament if you had not behaved badly and mistreated your mother, that you would not."

Kenji's jaw dropped. He looked back up at Aoshi and squinted. He wiggled his little toes and took a moment to consider his options. Then, without skipping a beat, he crossed his arms and returned Aoshi's fearsome glare.

"I can take you both."

"Been spending too much time with Yahiko, have we?" Aoshi asked.

Kenshin chuckled and settled back on his heels. Aoshi set Kenji down. The boy immediately scampered off to chase a butterfly as it fluttered around, while the adults got down to business.

"You and the others came in awfully early this morning."

It wasn't quite an accusing tone, but Kenshin reacted as though it were. He brought a hand to the back of his head and offered an apologetic smile.

"That we did. We were off to meet an old wolf."

"And how did you find him?"

"He was almost eager to assist."

"It is good." Aoshi nodded once and turned to glance at Kenji. He was beside the roses watching the butterfly cross-eyed as it wandered up his nose. When he turned back, he found Kenshin watching him with a smile.

"It will be all right, that it will, Aoshi. You will see. You have friends here, and people who love Misao and do not wish her hurt. We have been working to do what must be done while you were…unable to."

Aoshi only nodded. He tried to ignore the ache in his side.

"So what has been done?"

"The night before the wedding, we shall all meet to discuss our final plans. Yahiko and Tsubame will be handing out invitations this afternoon at the police station. Only Haru and the men we can trust there will receive one. It has been arranged that Haru will then not be able to attend."

"But we must keep up appearances."

"Indeed. Is there anyone we should tell, amongst your – "

"Not Okina." He snapped gruffly. "But Shiro and Kuro must know."

Kenshin bowed and Aoshi returned one in kind.

"Very well. This one will see that it is done. You, on the other hand, must focus on being ready to fight when the time comes."

Aoshi all but rolled his eyes. There was a response on the tip of his tongue, but he was not able to deliver it. Kenshin was off with lightening speed, to catch Kenji, who was wandering out of sight and around the house. Aoshi watched him go, almost smiling as the manslayer cried out.

"Kenji-chan! Not so far! Your mother will be angry, that she will!"

…..

Misao tried very hard to watch the entire exchange out the upper floor's windows, but with all the other women bustling around her it was impossible. She tried to read lips and get a better view. Each time she stood up on her toes though, Megumi would smack her with a closed fan and warn her the hem was going to be absolutely ruined. At that point, Omasu would pipe up from the other room, where she was frantically working on the still-mystery kimono and tell Misao exactly what was going to happen to her if said hem was uneven.

By the time she managed to inch her way over to the window the exchange had ended and both Kenshin and Kenji had disappeared around the side of the house. Only Aoshi remained. He stood still and silent, staring out into what appeared to be nothing. All the years gone by, she could still read the words written in that posture. She read a measure of defeat and an ounce of defiance. She fancied she saw something of sorrow.

"Misao! Head out of the clouds, idiot! I can't see if this obi needs to be lengthened if you insist on standing on it!"

"All right!" she snapped and tore her attention away from the world beyond. Once she was again allowed a little freedom, while standing with arms out, she looked back out the window.

But Aoshi was gone and with him, she thought, a little bit of the sun's warmth.

Later, they would all go to the river together. By then, nothing of the sun would remain.