Laura Rowland: Black Lotus

“How are you feeling?” Hirata asked. He’d lost his cockiness; he sounded young and uncertain.

Midori drew a calming breath of moist, pine-scented air. “Much better, thank you.”

They walked for a while without speaking. Hirata picked a leaf off a bush and examined it studiously. “About what you did at the temple…” he began.

Desperate to forestall the humiliation of a scolding from Hirata, Midori blurted, “I know it was wrong. I shouldn’t have gone.” Her voice shook. “You were right-I was stupid to think I could be a detective.”

Hirata halted, flung away the leaf, and faced Midori. “That’s not what I was going to say,” he said urgently.

“I thought I was so clever, getting into the temple, but they only took me in because I’m the kind of person they wanted.” Midori had figured out that her simple, submissive, vulnerable nature had won her admission to the sect. “And they caught me before I could even report what I’d seen!”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought I could be brave, but I was so scared.” Overcome by emotion, Midori confessed what she’d never intended Hirata to know: “I did it to get your attention. I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”

“Midori-san.” Hirata grasped her shoulders. “Listen.”

Gulping back a sob, Midori looked up at his face. The concern and warmth she saw there startled her.

“You were clever and brave,” Hirata said, his voice rough with sincerity. “You got inside the temple when professional spies had failed. You risked your life to find evidence against the Black Lotus. Of course you were scared; who wouldn’t have been? But you endured your fear. You survived.”

Suddenly shy, he released Midori and stammered, “What I wanted to tell you is that-even though I would have stopped you from going if I could have-and I hate that you suffered-I admire you.”

“You do?” Midori stared, confused. “But I don’t deserve your admiration. I was such a fool to get caught.”

“No, no.” Hirata waved his hands in eager contradiction. “You weren’t caught because you’re a fool. You were caught because you’re good and kind. You couldn’t leave that girl Toshiko in danger, and I think you would have tried to save her even if you’d guessed she was a spy. “ He bowed his head, mumbling, “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve your admiration.”

Rain spattered through the trees. Hirata hurried Midori into the pavilion that had sheltered them from another storm two years ago. Side by side, hands clasped, they watched the rain, as they’d done then. Midori’s heart raced with the same anticipation.

“It’s I who should apologize to you-for the way I’ve treated you,” Hirata said humbly. “I was the fool, to throw away your friendship, and to think that all those other women mattered, or that moving up in society was so important. Now I know there’s no one else in the world who would do for me what you would. When I found out you’d gone to the temple and hadn’t come back, I realized-”

Turning to her, he said in an ardent voice, “How much I love you.”

Midori felt a radiant smile erase the misery from her face. Her tears spilled, for joy.

“Then it’s not too late?” Hirata said, gazing hopefully at her. “You still care for me?”

Midori blushed and nodded. Hirata’s face brightened. The rain streamed down, blurring the world outside the pavilion. Then Hirata turned serious.

“I want us to be together always,” he said.

Too shy to echo his bold declaration, Midori signaled her agreement with an adoring glance and heartfelt smile. But a marriage between them required their families’ approval. “What shall we do?” she whispered.

Hirata tightened his warm grip on her hand. “Whatever it takes,” he said.

Alone together in the nursery, Sano and Reiko sat facing each other. The distant sound of Masahiro’s laughter emphasized the uncomfortable silence between them. Reiko, rigid with apprehension, braced herself for recriminations. She deserved punishment for her mistakes, and for her disobedience to Sano. It was his right to divorce her and send her away from Masahiro if he chose. That he hadn’t yet done so might only mean he’d been too busy working. Fearing heartbreak, she waited with dread to learn her fate, just as she’d waited for the past four days.

She’d spent that time going through the motions of domestic life. For Masahiro’s sake she’d tried to act as if nothing had happened, while the unfinished business from the investigation hovered over her like a storm cloud. She felt suspended in time, still caught up in the horror of her experience at the temple. Her mind was a shifting collage of terrible scenes-savage nuns and priests, bloody corpses, flashing blades, fire, dim tunnels, and Anraku slain by her hand. But the image of Haru’s death was more vivid, more persistent than any other.

Even now, with her future threatened, Reiko couldn’t forget Haru. The girl’s spirit was still here between Reiko and Sano, a haunting reminder of Reiko’s errors of judgment, a debt unpaid, and a relationship severed without conclusion.

“It’s natural to grieve for her,” Sano said quietly.

Reiko was surprised that he’d guessed she was thinking of Haru, and that she mourned the girl. Though still fearful, she drew cautious hope from Sano’s apparent sympathy. “But Haru was a selfish, immoral person. Why should her death haunt me more than all the others?” Reiko lifted empty hands. “Why do I miss her?”

“Because you were her friend. And she proved herself yours in the end.”

“How did you know?” Reiko said, puzzled; she hadn’t told Sano about Haru’s choice.

“When I interrogated Abbess Junketsu-in, I learned that you’re alive because of Haru,” Sano said. Irony tinged his faint smile. “To think that after I worked so hard to convict her, she did me a great favor.”

His implication set Reiko’s heart racing. She murmured,”Was it a favor?”

Sano’s expression turned tender. Wordless communication crumbled a barrier, filling Reiko with relief and joy. Difficulties still precluded complete reconciliation, but now Reiko had the courage to confront them.

“You were right all along to believe that Haru was dishonest,” she said. “I regret all that I said and did to hurt you. Please accept my apologies.”

“If you’ll accept mine,” Sano said with equal, pained contrition. “You were right that Haru didn’t kill Chie or the boy, or set the fire. I should have heeded your suspicions about the Black Lotus sooner, instead of concentrating so hard on her. I drove you to protect her.”

Humbled by his honesty, Reiko said, “But she was manipulating me, just as you thought.” Even as she acknowledged Haru’s fault, sorrow for the girl overwhelmed her.

“It turned out to be a good thing that you did form a bond with Haru,” Sano pointed out. “Her feelings for you saved your life, and Midori’s.”

His willingness to assuage her humiliation didn’t excuse her other mistake. “I let Midori see how much I wanted a spy in the temple. I should have guessed she would go, and I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to her,” Reiko said.

As Sano’s features clouded, despondency undermined her happiness at discovering that their love had survived. Certainly her lapse of caution regarding Midori had cost her the privilege of ever again participating in investigations.

Then Sano said grimly, “Midori is alive. But Minister Fugatami, whom I might have helped, was murdered. As was his wife. And their children are orphans.”

They sat in shared self-recrimination until Sano said, “The worst of our problems wasn’t that you made mistakes or that I did, but that we worked against each other. No good will come of accepting blame unless we learn from our experience and do better next time.”