Hooray two weeks rather than four! Hooray! And special thanks to those who are showing this story such love, Clearheart, Pickle, Team-Theft, Sunni D, Akward Turtle, Sandwich, Raikira, sunshine, angel897, Prescripto, Rin O' Gen, nick, linnorria, and Port-~-WOW. I love all of you! If I forgot anyone, know that I love you too, I'm just forgetful...

Historical note which I didn't explain quite properly last chapter: Haruno Sakura is her name in the series, in this story she has no family name because she is a commoner. Only elites in Japanese society had official surnames during the Tokugawa period, and she is not among them...yet. So to get around this and to tie her family firmly into things, the family has the nickname of "Haru no" (Masaki/Ume/Sakura), which in the story is making reference to the fact of either Masaki's successful business as a merchant or of his wife and daughter's unusual, spring-time sort of coloring.

Also: Ryo can be looked at as an analog to Rock Lee. I just...couldn't...bring myself to use his actual name. So: Ryo = Lee.

And why do they eat miso all the time? Well, because miso is the side-dish to like...everything in Japan. It goes with breakfast, by itself, with dinner, as a midnight snack...etc, etc.

Also, if you are itching to look at the exact time which this story is being set, it starts in the summer of 1656. These two will be getting hitched, in the story, in spring of 1657 after Sakura's 17th birthday. Long A/N is long, and my beta is going to find creative things to do to my fingers with a spoon for not running this final-draft by her first but...willing to take that risk...

Well, enjoy!

The summer sun refused to allow the fog of the morning to linger as long as it had the previous morning, and so they planned to set out from the inn much earlier in the day. Sakura's mother, Ume, wept with relief as she combed Sakura's hair into an elegant bun, the more conservative hairstyle of an engaged woman. She had started to believe that a day such as this would never come, not for her Sakura. More than a year ago, she and Masaki had gotten their hopes up that the village lord would allow his son, Ryo, to marry Sakura. He was the fifth son of a large house in the city of Edo, and had been adopted to better financial fortunes by a cousin of his father's. He had arrived in their village two years ago, and he had been in love with Sakura since almost the moment he had stepped into the village and laid eyes on her. He claimed that she was the person who made his life in the country not only bearable, but enjoyable. The young samurai had even gone so far as to formally speak to Masaki about marrying Sakura, and many hopes of a happy marriage had been expressed between the two men. Those hopes had been dashed when Ryo's adoptive father had forbidden his son to even associate with their family any more, and the only thing which had comforted them was that Sakura was not attached to the young man.

Life was very different for Sakura than it had been for Ume, whose father had been a tall and imposing figure compared to the statures of native Japanese men. Oran Farren—Farren-san, kept because a surname allowed those who met him to express their puzzlement about him at him—had been a sailor on a merchant vessel who had decided to stay in Japan rather than go back to a life of poverty wherever he'd come from before. He had lived in Edo for a few years before relocating to the countryside—the capital was no place for a red-headed foreigner, and he'd eventually found a wife in the mountain village he settled in. Ume was his only daughter, which, he confided to her on her wedding day, he was glad for. Oran had in essence monetarily bullied Masaki's family into the marriage, and in his fifties Oran felt too tired to have ever tried repeating the experience. That fight to get his daughter married served as magnification of Sakura's position, since there was a little less prejudice against Ume when she had been Sakura's age than her pink haired daughter experienced these days, because there had been a few more foreigners on the ground, or at least heard of, when Ume had been young. The shogun had banned foreigners from entering Japan, however, before Sakura was even born—and men like Oran had been few and far between even before the ban. Masaki was not the extroverted foreigner that Oran had been, and he was unwilling to step on toes to get his daughter married, preferring to wait for someone to step forward of their own volition.

So with no one to truly stand up for her in her own village, her daughter was well on her way to becoming an old maid, or worse. It was this striking turn of events, as unexpected as blossoms in winter, which changed Sakura's fortunes. Ume was overjoyed for her daughter, who was set to marry out of the merchant class to a man who seemed that he would treat her well. The sadness of seeing her pink haired little girl this morning was alleviated by both the thought of Hatake Kakashi as well as the knowledge that Sakura would not have to endure a cruel mother-in-law or a stern father-in-law. She assured herself that Sakura was getting the far better end of the deal, marrying Kakashi—he could choose from a far larger group of women than Sakura could of men, and it was every woman's dream to not have a mother-in-law to whom she was enslaved. Masaki's mother had threatened to confiscate all of the beautiful hair ornaments which she had been given for her wedding, and Ume had hated her until the woman's last breath a dozen years ago. But even before her mother-in-law's death, she had won, she reminded herself as she tucked the last strands of Sakura's delicate pink hair into the bun. Ume petted at the beautiful, painted wooden combs which she herself had worn the day she and Masaki were engaged, some eighteen years ago now. They were the combs which her father had bought for her mother, Tsukiko, to prove his affection to both Tsukiko and her family. Tsukiko had given them to her orange-haired daughter as an early wedding present and the start of an heirloom collection, and here Ume was, giving them to her pink haired daughter on the day of her engagement.

Asuma and his wife joined them later on for a small breakfast, rice, miso, and natto. They spent the meal in relative quiet, listening mostly to Asuma's vivid descriptions of Kakashi's servant, Tenzou. He was apparently a man of similar stature to Asuma, but of a painfully practical personality, near to the point of idiocy. Ume could tell that her daughter was entranced by his tales, such as the failed bamboo experiment, the mystery of the missing fish, and several others—each perpetrated on him by either Kakashi or Asuma in their youth. The best compliment of the morning came from Kurenai, who commented on the nature of Sakura's laugh. When they finally left, halfway through the morning, it seemed that nothing could contain Sakura's ebullient mood. Ume watched in helpless and slightly worried bemusement as her daughter spoke with a liveliness to her voice which did not seem quite appropriate—they were walking towards the lands of the man who would end Sakura's time as a daughter and have her begin her time as a wife. This time in a woman's life was supposed to be one of seriousness, almost mourning. But Ume didn't have the heart to tell her daughter that, not on this happy and quite unreal day.

As they arrived to Kakashi's home, the day became even less formal and strict. The singing which had been only faintly heard the day before, and only truly understandable when outside, had moved much closer to the house—likely coming from the garden. Ume marveled that on what had been a serious occasion for herself and Masaki was today lighthearted in its tone from each side of the agreement. Her daughter had just spent the morning of her official engagement laughing, and here singing could be heard in the garden which in less than a year would be her own. Ume could only—privately, quietly—gaze open mouthed at the warmth in the white haired samurai's face as he greeted his guests and allowed them into his home yet again. She had never seen a man so happy to be married—excepting, possibly, Ryo, but he was generally excitable as a rule. As she thought, she glanced speculatively at Masaki—he was three years older than herself, and when they had gotten married he been truly ambivalent towards her for the first few years, mostly leaving her to the devices of his horrid mother. They had been matched because of money, just as Sakura was to be matched, but Masaki had only acquired a happier spring to his step just before Sakura was born—thinking, no doubt, that he was about to have a son. This samurai walked as though he already had a son and was eagerly awaiting the birth of a second.

The actual agreement between the two families, mediated by Asuma of course, was fairly simple. Kakashi readily agreed to the terms which his friend and Masaki brought, asking his own terms as well—building supplies for the room which he would add to his home in preparation for Sakura's arrival, among other things. They also set down a good date for a marriage ceremony, in the middle of the following spring. It was decided that it would be unfeasibly soon for the couple to marry within the summer, and unlucky for them to marry in fall or winter, and Kakashi firmly made it known that he and Sakura had discussed a spring wedding—he failed to make mention of the length or detail of the discussion, however, because it was a private matter between him and his future wife.

The women were not present for this, which Kakashi felt was mainly to shield Sakura from feeling as though her family were shipping her away to a new village, and neither was Tenzou. Kakashi's servant had laid out the terms which Kakashi needed to fight for, and the ones he shouldn't accept—at least in his mind—and then the brown haired man had gone out to begin the day's chores. Those chores typically weren't so numerous, but they had each felt that it would be better if Kakashi weren't distracted by what needed to be done and when, and so Tenzou was taking care of them all. The last he had heard from his servant, shortly before Asuma had arrived with Sakura's family, was that the next project was the garden.

They called it Sakumo no niwa, Sakumo's garden, because Tenzou had been hired on many years after Kakashi's mother had died, and since Sakumo maintained it to keep the memory of his wife alive, they called it his and had little to do with it. It was in this last year since the elder Hatake's death that either himself or Tenzou maintained it, ensuring that the tiny crop of household vegetables was healthy and that none of the trees were disrupting the fence. Kakashi had lain awake the previous night, thinking about everything he was going to have to teach Sakura, or if he even should. She had mentioned the day before that she excelled at embroidery, but that the sumptuary laws for non-samurai prevented her from actually doing very much of it for herself or her family. There had been no mourning for this in her tone, but the feeling wormed itself through Kakashi that he might never have to have Sakura join himself and Tenzou in keeping the farm going, if she could just take in a bit of work embroidering for the village women.

If the village women would even take their embroidery work to her. Kakashi knew that not everyone in the world was as strange as he. The stunning conversation of last night with Tenzou, the resultant blow he'd cuffed against his servant's ear, had illuminated that fact painfully. Even Tenzou, who should know better than most the dire predicament which faced the Hatake house, was instantly prejudiced against Sakura. As he spoke with his future father-in-law about less serious things than marriage and exchanges of dowry, Kakashi knew in the back of his mind that it would take far longer than he'd like for his village to accept Sakura. All they would see would be someone Other rather than the infectiously warm young woman Kakashi saw. The thought struck him that perhaps it was a good thing that he lived an hour's walk from town, his closest neighbor being Asuma, who kept a house for himself and his wife at the far end of the east field. It was a good thing because his wife would not be subject to the daily gossip, and that she would be accompanied by Tenzou whenever she needed to go to the village. She would also have Kurenai, Asuma's wife, close by for someone to talk to.

Kurenai and her mother somehow managed to begin discussing children—Kurenai expressing her hopes of becoming a mother, Ume sharing her insights—and while Sakura knew she should pay attention, she just couldn't bring herself to. At the heady pace everything was going, she was not sure she could cope with mentally preparing for potential children—she herself had been cursed with her mother's hair, who was to say that she wouldn't pass it on to her own children? And thinking about children also carried with it the implication of the things which would be expected of her, of the great gap of understanding between herself and Kakashi. He seemed a nice man, a good man, but she knew so little about him that a measure of intimidation had returned between the previous evening and this morning. She knew nothing of what he might want from her, not really.

It was when her mother and her future neighbor started to shoot knowing little glances at her that Sakura decided to leave them in the small room which they'd settled in—she needed out, away from these older women who were keeping secrets, away from the indistinct murmurs of her father and his companions—her feet remembered the way, even as her mind did not, taking her to the back of the house to the garden. As she slid the door open, the singing, which they had been hearing all morning, abruptly stopped.

So this was Tenzou, then, with his hands buried wrist deep in the onion patch. They sat still for a moment, staring at one another—Sakura with her hand still on the shoji, one foot outside, and Tenzou kneeling, crouched over his work. As the moment stretched and he didn't speak, Sakura took another step onto the porch, her hand rising from the doorframe to cover her mouth politely. She fiercely repressed a giggle at this wooden looking man—a stick in the mud—but there was something weary and resigned in his look which effectively killed that silliness before it had a chance to completely ruin his first impression of her. She had to save that ruination for her greeting, eloquent as it was.

"You seem very well today," she said after arranging herself on the porch. Something twisted inside herself immediately at the botched introduction—Introduce yourself, ask their name, compliment, her mother's voice drilled into her ear a moment too late—but Tenzou sighed and attempted to lose himself to intense contemplation of the radishes which he turned to after the onions had been properly tended.

She cast around for some sort of neutral conversation since he seemed determined not to speak to her on his own. He wasn't mute by any means, or they had all been hearing a spirit for the last day and a half. To her further horror—this man would become her karma for not having a living mother-in-law, she began to think—all that came out as follow-up to "You seem very well today," was an observation on radishes, particularly, "What is your favorite dish to prepare with radishes?" Tenzou stopped cold, and shot an insolent look up from said radishes at her, but since they were going to be sharing this household with one another within a year, Sakura doubled the insolence and shot a look right back at him. It wouldn't do to let him think he could bully her in the expectation that she would allow herself to be bullied—she was marrying a samurai, which meant that, even though she was the woman of the house, she was several levels higher than he was.

They remained in silence for a few minutes more, the only sounds being those of nature and of the ripping sound of weeds being pulled. This was when Sakura not only sealed the deal on Tenzou's impression of her, but fought back against his silence in the manner which her grandmother Tsukiko had fought back against Oran-jii-chan's periodic insolence: with fire. Tsukiko-baa-chan would begin to have one-sided conversations with jii-chan, responding to his unvoiced half. It usually did the trick of dragging him out of whatever funk he had gotten himself into.

"Well, that is certainly one way to prepare them, but then they just dominate everything. What you should do is slice them up and add them to the miso only just before serving it, that way their flavor gets into the broth but they stay crunchy. It's how my mother makes miso in the winter, when it's harder to find fresh things and have them last as long as possible. I can help you—"

A stifled giggle sounded behind her from the house, and both she and Tenzou looked up to see Kakashi leaning up against the doorframe, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other wrapped around his middle. Sakura couldn't vouch for Tenzou, but she was so shocked at Kakashi's reaction that she could only gape at his behavior. Behavior which continued for several more seconds before he managed to reign himself into a more composed man. Mirth still bubbled in him, she could tell, at the tremble of his lips whenever he glanced between her and his servant.

"Sakura, I see you've met Tenzou already." He stretched out a hand to help her get up and once she stood next to him, arranged her hands on his arm. "I apologize for not introducing you formally yesterday, but Tenzou was suffering me a day of rest and he was much occupied. Tenzou, this is Sakura, my fiancée. I'm glad the two of you had a chance to speak together," he looked like he was going to burst into giggling yet again at this, "before Sakura's family returned to the village today, and before they return to their own home tomorrow."

Tenzou gave his master a long, measured look—a look which Sakura was sure spoke volumes between the two men, but left her a little out of the loop—and scrubbed his dirty hands together for a moment before anchoring them on his hips and executing a low bow from his kneel, murmuring, "You have my congratulations, Hatake-sama, I hope that Sakura-san and yourself will have good fortune." Once he lifted himself out of his bow, Kakashi held his eyes for a moment longer than seemed comfortable. At least for Sakura it seemed a little too long, mostly because it gave her the chance to feel the warmth of his arm coming through his sleeve as well as the tingle of good cotton under her palms. This moment was precisely why she had tried to escape from her mother and Kurenai's discussion—how could she possibly begin to really know Kakashi, how could she really do this?

"Thank you, we have hopes of that as well." How could she become part of a new "we," one other than the one her father used?

Tenzou was left to his own devices for a second night in a row for dinner. It was going to be miso and fish again, because they saved a lot of their vegetables by having something simple a few nights a week. It was when his eye fell to a stray runt of a radish—fiendishly wandering from its pile—that a strange mood came over him. The soup was just nearly done, and had next to nothing with it than rice and boiled fish. A very short time later, a nice radish, freshly cut, found its way quickly into the nearly-finished soup, which then found its fully finished way to his master's table and to his own. It was the first time in a long time that he actually finished before Kakashi, who ate notoriously fast, and refilled their bowls with the dregs of the soup, serving the very last drop of the delicious broth. Perhaps the oni onna wasn't so bad—her soup tip had made an excellent meal for them, and at the cost of a radish almost too small to keep.

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