But Tamako smiled. “Never mind! I have always liked this room best. It gets sunlight most of the day and yet the garden is like a private world. It will be good to garden again. No more long winters and crushing snows. We shall sit on this veranda and sip tea, admiring the azaleas and camellias, peonies, and autumn chrysanthemums.” She turned to him impulsively, her eyes shining. “Oh, Akitada! It is good to be home.”
Akitada was so deeply touched by his wife’s words that he did not realize for a moment that he was about to lose the room he had always occupied, the place where he had slept and worked and found refuge from the disdainful eyes and words of his parents. Well, he would find another room if Tamako wanted this one. “You know,” he said, pulling her against him, “I was never happy in this house until now.”
Instead of answering, Tamako buried her face against his shoulder with a happy sigh. Outside, a breeze picked up a handful of brown leaves and whirled them into the air. He shivered and wrapped his arms more tightly around her. “It has turned winter early,” he said. “And there is no heat in this room. You must be cold. I wonder what happened to the servants. I have not had time to see about hiring more staff, either. Let me go get your maid and see about some tea and braziers.”
She chuckled and released him reluctantly. “It does not matter, though a cup of hot tea would be nice.”
He closed the veranda doors and went in search of the maid. Except for the distant chanting of the monks, the house seemed deserted, it was so quiet. When he went outside, he saw that the carts still stood in the courtyard only half unloaded.
In the low kitchen building he found the cook and his mother’s tall rawboned maid in eager conversation with Tamako’s dainty maidservant, satisfying their curiosity about the new mistress and Akitada’s people. Apart from a bit of a small fire under the rice steamer and a small pile of chopped vegetables on a board, there was no sign of food preparation.
Feeling more than ever that this negligence was his fault, he snapped, “Why are there no braziers in my room? And where is the hot water for tea?”
The cook and the big housemaid rushed toward the stove and the empty braziers.
Akitada glared at Tamako’s pert little maid and growled, “You are a terrible gossip, Oyuki. Go to your mistress immediately to make her comfortable!” The girl rose, grinning impudently, and disappeared.
The cook was pouring boiling water into a teapot, and the housemaid transferred glowing charcoal from the hearth to one of the braziers.
“When you have taken that brazier,” Akitada ordered, “come back for another. The room is very cold.”
The maid goggled at him. “I can’t. The old mistress won’t allow more than one brazier, sir,” she protested.
“I am the master here now,” Akitada corrected her with a flash of anger, “and from now on you do what I say, or what my wife tells you to do. Do you understand?” He directed a quelling glance at the gaping cook and added, “Both of you.” Then he extended his hand for the teapot. “Get busy with the morning rice,” he told the cook. “There are many mouths to feed.”
The cook wailed, “There’s not enough food for the rest of the day.”
He almost cursed. But it was not, after all, the woman’s fault. “Get more and do the best you can!”
Carrying the pot of hot water, he preceded the big maid with her brazier to his room, where he found Tamako admiring Noami’s scroll painting and her maidservant unpacking a clothes box someone had brought in. Piles of gowns lay strewn about the room, and mirrors and cosmetics cases covered his desk. He sighed inwardly, but said only, “The scroll is a present for you. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I don’t think I have ever seen anything so lifelike. You can see every whisker on the puppies and every hair in their tails, and the little boy is charming. Wherever did you find this?”
The maid had placed the brazier next to his desk and left. Akitada poured hot water and brought Tamako her cup of tea. “Akiko’s husband Toshikage found the artist. He commissioned a screen for her room. When I saw the screen, I knew I wanted you to have one, too, but the painter is a very strange creature, not at all pleasant even if he is very skilled. He insisted that he would have to observe the flowers for a whole year to paint a screen of plants for all seasons.”
“How odd! I would like to meet the man sometime. How is Akiko? Yoshiko told me she is expecting a child.”
“Yes. She seems in excellent health and very happy.” He decided not to mention Toshikage’s troubles and said only, “I like her husband, and he seems to dote on her.”
Tamako studied his face. “Good! I shall look forward to meeting him.”
The door opened, admitting Tora and Genba with more boxes. When they had gone, the second brazier appeared.
Akitada put down his empty cup. “There is much to do. I forgot to let Akiko know about your arrival. And I suppose I had better speak to Seimei about finding me other accommodations. And then I will lend a hand to the stable repairs. The place is not in good condition, I am afraid.”
Tamako smiled at him. “Never mind! It will all come right now.”
Akitada encountered Seimei in the hallway leading to his father’s room. The elderly man was lugging a heavy box of documents.
“Wait,” cried Akitada, rushing up to relieve him of the load. “You should not be doing this,” he scolded. “It is much too heavy. Tora or Genba can carry the boxes and trunks. Where are you going with it?” He recognized his own writing set and personal seals among the items in the box.
“To your father’s room,” said Seimei. “It is fitting that you should be there now.”
Akitada stopped abruptly. “No! Not there!”
Seimei looked up at him, his eyes sympathetic in the heavily lined face. “Ah! Old wounds are painful.”
“You should know better than anyone,” Akitada said harshly, “why I cannot work in a room filled with such memories.”
The old man sighed. “You are the master now. And your father’s room is the largest and best room in the house. It is expected that you should occupy it.”
The thought crossed Akitada’s mind that Tamako had assumed the same thing, but he simply could not face the prospect. “Some other room will do for the time being. Until we get my father’s things cleaned out,” he promised lamely.
“They have been put away already,” Seimei informed him, and headed down the corridor. “There will be talk if you do not assume your father’s position in this house. A man does not forget what is owed to either his home, his family, or himself.”
His master followed dazedly with the box. When Seimei flung back the lacquered doors to his father’s study, Akitada made one last desperate appeal. “My father did his best to prevent my taking his place. No doubt he will haunt this room if I use it.”
At this Seimei chuckled. “Now you sound like Tora. I do not believe you. In any case, remember that patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. I have dreamed for many years of this day, hoping to live long enough to see you installed in your father’s place.”
Akitada looked at Seimei in astonishment. The old man had been with him all his life, doing his best to protect the child and youngster against his father’s anger and his mother’s resentment, but he had done so without ever committing the offense of criticizing, either. His loyalty to the Sugawara family had been exceeded only by his love for young Akitada. Akitada was more deeply touched than he cared to admit and gave up his resistance.
“Oh, very well,” he said, and lugged the box into the room. Then he looked around. The light was dim, with the doors to the garden closed against the weather. The air smelled stale and musty.