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The Choshu Chronicles: Chapter Nineteen

by Omasu Oniwabanshi ::: 2005

June 4, 1866. It was now two years to the day that the Shinsengumi raided the Ikedaya Inn in Kyoto and slaughtered many of the Choshu loyalists, setting in motion the events that led Kenshin and Tomoe to flee together, events that ended in her death.

Katsura drove himself relentlessly that day. Walking alongside him through the streets of Yamaguchi Castletown, Kenshin couldn't help but wonder if Katsura was keeping himself too busy to remember. Each had their own ghosts to contend with that day.

The Bakufu forces were massing along each border of Choshu. The southeast, east, northeast, and western areas all reported seeing armies setting up camp just outside Choshu territory.

Katsura was checking and double-checking defensive plans, making sure supply lines were set up and protected, and talking to his generals.

"We'll go to Shimonoseki tomorrow." he told Kenshin, as they walked away from the government building.

Katsura was silent for a few paces, then went on. "I'm worried about Takasugi."

Kenshin gave him a sideways glance. Katsura didn't usually discuss his worries with him. His reticence was one of the things Kenshin found restful about guarding the man.

"Takasugi will be in the thick of battle once it starts. He isn't well. Just as he persuaded me to give up the sword and orchestrate others in battle, I must persuade him to do the same." Katsura dipped his chin to his chest and stared at the ground in front of him as his gait slowed. "It's galling to know that others are in danger while you are kept safe."

"Ikedaya." Kenshin breathed the word.

Katsura glanced at him sharply. "Yes. I wasn't there when the Shinsengumi raided it. I was supposed to be, but I was delayed. Miyabe and the others died without me. When this battle begins, many will die without me as well."

Katsura sighed. "Takasugi must realize that he is too important to sacrifice. I would rather lose a legion than Takasugi."

After several more meetings, Kenshin walked Katsura home. Shunme was off running one of his errands for Katsura, and he'd taken Oshio and Hojo with him. Takahata was on night duty. He was waiting for Katsura at his front gate, barely acknowledging Kenshin's presence with a curt nod before following the weary Choshu leader inside. Kenshin waited until he heard Katsura's front door partition open and close before leaving, his duty done for the day.

Of the bodyguard squad, only Nakamura would be at the inn, assuming he wasn't with Tamako, his concubine.

Turning the corner leading to the inn's street, Kenshin paused. Just outside the gate was Midori, crumpled into a heap. The girl was sobbing quietly, her head in her hands.

She didn't notice when Kenshin stopped beside her. He knelt, and touched her shoulder. Her navy blue kimono was printed with a tiny white cherry blossom pattern.

Midori lifted her head and showed him a tear-stained face. The little girl's cheek had a red mark, roughly the size of a hand, on it.

Kenshin's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

She gulped. "My mistress, she's dead." A furious burst of sobbing stopped her from speaking again for some time.

Kenshin hesitated. When he lost Tomoe, he would have cut the hand off of anyone who touched him in sympathy, but he wasn't an eleven-year-old girl.

What would Shunme do?

Gingerly, Kenshin reached out and touched her shoulder again, this time leaving his hand there. The little girl's shoulders heaved with her sobs. She leaned into him automatically, and sat slumped against his side, her face burrowing into his kimono in the vicinity of his armpit.

At a loss, Kenshin patted her shoulder, rather like he would a dog's head, until her sobbing lessened. Eventually she pushed away from him and sat up straight, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

Kenshin sat back on his heels and regarded her warily. What if she started crying again?

"What happened?" he asked. If she started talking, perhaps she'd forget about the tears.

Midori gulped raggedly, but pulled herself together enough to answer. "Master Nakamura, when I told him that Tamako was dead, he yelled at me. He kept asking why I didn't bring him in time." Another tear streaked down Midori's cheek.

"I told him when I came back from the market she was dead. I didn't know she was going to die! I wouldn't have gone to get food if I knew she was going to die!" The girl's voice was rising. Her appeal was becoming hysterical.

"Why did he hit you?" Kenshin asked quickly.

She raised a hand hesitantly to her wet cheek. "I asked him what was to become of me now that mistress Tamako was dead. He told me I didn't matter at all. Then he slapped me and told me to get out of his sight." Midori's eyes began tearing up again. "I don't know what to do."

The last time Kenshin had a helpless female on his hands, he'd taken her to an inn, and left her with the innkeeper, a formidable woman, who'd given her a job.

Tomoe.

This time the memory came without an ache. He'd carried her to the inn that night. It had been raining, and he could remember how difficult it had been to navigate the streets with her limp body in his arms. He let that memory guide him. At least little Midori was awake.

Kenshin stood and held out his hand. "Come."

Midori sniffed, then with a child's lack of hesitation, she put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Remembering her manners, she bowed. "Thank you."

Kenshin pushed the gate open and held it for her. He led her across the courtyard to the porch. Tama, seated on the porch looking after Sota, saw them first and jumped to her feet. Sota immediately grabbed the doll she let fall on the wooden planking and shoved its porcelain head in his mouth.

As Kenshin and Midori came up the stairs Tama walked over.

"Why are you crying?" she asked the older girl.

"Oh…I…"

"She needs a place to stay." Kenshin told Tama. "Where is your mother?"

"I'll get her." Tama backed away, staring at Midori with a mixture of curiosity and worry.

Sota dropped the doll, crawled a few paces, then pushed to his feet and toddled over, grabbing onto Midori's kimono.

The girl's face clenched. Kenshin was afraid she was going to start crying again, but then her forehead smoothed out and she knelt on the floor to become eye level with Sota.

"Hello. My name is Midori. What's yours?"

"Sota!" crowed the toddler.

Mariko, the innkeepers' wife, opened the door and came out on the porch. She bowed, glancing curiously between Kenshin and Midori as she pulled herself upright.

"This girl is Midori. She needs a place to stay. I thought you could use the help."

Mariko's eyes widened, and fastened on Midori. "I don't know. I'd have to ask my husband."

Sota promptly fell face forward against Midori, who instinctively reached out and set him upright again.

Mariko's expression softened. "I suppose she could sleep in the kitchen. Tama." The woman touched her daughter's shoulder. "Go and see if we have an extra sleeping blanket."

Tama nodded smartly and ran off inside.

"Mariko!" The innkeeper's voice came from further in the inn. "Where are you?"

She bowed distractedly to Kenshin. "That's my husband. I'll go ask him now." She turned to Midori. "Could you watch Sota for a minute?"

"Yes ma'am." Midori answered promptly.

Mariko bowed again to Kenshin and fled inside.

Sota retreated a few steps then sat down and began chewing on Tama's doll. Midori walked over, placing herself between him and the edge of the porch.

"Kenshin?" her voice came softly, hesitantly, as she looked at him.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. I was praying for help and you came. You saved me."

Kenshin could feel heat rising in his cheeks. He felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"It was nothing." He said gruffly, and leaned against the post supporting the eaves overhead. He glared into the inn as if he could make Mariko return by force of will alone. He was no one's savior.

The innkeeper and his wife returned. Isao was a small boned man, exactly his wife's height. He'd inherited the inn from his grandfather, and was trying hard to make a success of it. Kenshin had never spoken to the man directly. Every time he'd seen him he'd been rushing around doing chores.

Isao took one look at Midori, standing protectively over his son, and bowed. "My wife and I would like to welcome Midori to our inn."

"I can stay?" asked Midori, hope in her eyes.

Isao smiled. "Yes. You will do your best?"

Midori nodded. "I will try my hardest."

Isao smiled again, weariness in his eyes. "Then come. There's plenty of work to do."

Midori followed the Innkeeper and his family inside, flashing a last backward smile at Kenshin as she carefully pulled the door panel shut behind her.

She thought he was her savior.

Kenshin wasn't sure what to think about that. His hands were stained with the blood of so many men. How could making one little girl smile make up for any of that? It was a drop compared to the ocean of crimes he'd committed.

Still, Kenshin had to admit as he went down the steps, he felt warmed by Midori's gratitude, as though a small ember turned up from a fire he thought long dead. Kenshin drew a breath and stared out at the empty courtyard.

He would atone for his crimes. As soon as this war was over, he'd devote his life to small acts of kindness and perhaps someday, after years of helping others rather than hurting them, the ember would become a flame and burn up his internal record of his past crimes.

It was his only hope of salvation.