“Haru-san?” Reiko said quietly.
The girl gave a violent start. She turned toward Reiko a face whose wide brow; tilted eyes, and pointed chin gave her the appearance of a pretty kitten. When her delicate lips parted, Reiko imagined hearing a tiny mew of fright.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Reiko said, approaching with cautious steps. Sympathy for the girl eased Reiko’s apprehension. In a soothing voice she said, “Don’t be afraid. My name is Reiko, and I’ve come for a visit with you.”
She knelt near Haru. The girl didn’t speak, but her wary gaze betrayed a flicker of interest. Encouraged, Reiko said, “You met my husband yesterday. He’s the shogun’s sōsakan-sama, and he’s investigating the fire at the Black Lotus Temple -”
Haru recoiled, huddling low to the floor. She cast a terrified glance toward the door, as if simultaneously seeking escape and anticipating danger.
Reiko belatedly realized that she shouldn’t have mentioned Sano, whom she knew Haru feared, or introduced the subject of the fire so soon. In her anxiety and her eagerness for information, she’d forgotten common sense, a detective’s most important tool. Yet Haru’s reaction demonstrated that she had the wits to understand words, if not the ability to speak. Hastily Reiko said, “The sōsakan-sama isn’t here. I promise he won’t bother you again.”
Haru relaxed, but watched Reiko doubtfully.
“And we won’t talk about the fire if you don’t want to. We can just get acquainted. I’d like to be your friend.” Reiko smiled, offering the package to Haru. “Here, I’ve brought you a present.”
A shy smile curved Haru’s lips. She seemed younger than her fifteen years, and she accepted the package with the eager curiosity of a child. Carefully she removed the cord and wrapping and opened the box, revealing small round cakes dusted with pink sugar. She gave a little gasp of happy surprise.
“They’re filled with sweet chestnut paste,” Reiko said.
Haru looked up at Reiko, a question in her eyes.
“Go ahead, try one.”
Daintily picking up a cake, Haru took a bite and chewed. Delight lit up her face.
“You like it?” Reiko said.
Haru bobbed her head enthusiastically.
Knowing how girls liked sweets and guessing that orphans seldom received them, Reiko had reasoned that her own favorite treat would win Haru’s appreciation. Now she congratulated herself on the success of her gift. She waited until Haru had eaten several more cakes, licked the sugar off her fingers, bowed in thanks, and set aside the box. Then she said, “Are the nuns treating you well?”
Ducking her head, Haru nodded.
“How are you feeling today?”
The girl remained silent, eyes downcast, biting her thumbnail. Reiko suppressed her impatience. Time passed; from downstairs came the scrape of a door sliding open or closed. Then Haru whispered, “Much better, thank you, Honorable Lady.”
A thrill of glee ran through Reiko: She’d gotten Haru to talk! “I’m glad to hear that. And please call me Reiko.”
“Reiko-san.” Haru spoke louder this time, her voice clear and sweet.
Easing toward her subject of interest, Reiko said, “How long have you lived at the Black Lotus Temple?”
As though rendered mute again by the effort of producing her previous words, Haru raised two fingers instead of answering. Reiko interpreted, “Two years?” At a nod from Haru, she said, “Are you happy there?”
“Oh, yes.” Now Haru lifted her eyes, appraising Reiko. What she saw evidently reassured her, because she flashed Reiko a timid smile.
“That’s good,” Reiko said, charmed by Haru and pleased at the growing harmony between them. Not wanting to intimidate the girl or accentuate their class differences, she’d worn a modest dark green kimono printed with pine cones and dressed her hair in a simple knot. Now Reiko felt a renewed confidence in her judgment. “What do you like about the temple?”
“I like taking care of the children in the orphanage,” Haru said softly. “Children are so sweet.”
“Yes, I know,” Reiko said. “I have a little boy.”
“The nuns and priests are so kind,” Haru said, “especially High Priest Anraku. He took me in when I was lost and alone. He gave me hope for the future.” Faith shone in Haru’s eyes. “He brought joy and meaning to my miserable life.”
New sects attracted members by dispensing charity and spiritual guidance to impoverished or otherwise troubled citizens, Reiko knew. The novelty of new rituals, conducted by charismatic priests eager to gain a following, could bring these sects a wild popularity that faded when a different sect caught the public fancy. However, the minor Black Lotus sect, established nine years ago, had an unusually wide appeal. Many Edo Castle servants had joined, but the Black Lotus also boasted followers among merchants, bakufu officials, daimyo clans, and numerous samurai women of Reiko’s acquaintance. Reiko, whose family belonged to the main temple of Zōjō, shared the prevailing view of upstart sects as diversions that posed little threat to society, because even if they exploited human weakness for material gain, their subjects received benefits in return, as Haru had.
“Anraku is the Bodhisattva of Infinite Power,” Haru said reverently. A bodhisattva was a holy man who possessed the wisdom necessary to attain nirvana, but instead devoted himself to helping other people achieve spiritual enlightenment and release from suffering. Some religious leaders earned the title through doing good works or performing miracles; others merely proclaimed themselves bodhisattvas to attract followers. Reiko wondered which type the Black Lotus high priest was.
Now sadness veiled Haru’s pretty features, and she clasped her arms around herself. “Anraku and the Black Lotus are the only family I have, now that my parents are gone,” she said.
Even as Reiko experienced a pang of sympathy for the girl, her instincts quickened. “Would you like to tell me about your parents?” Reiko said gently. Perhaps one confidence would lead to others more relevant to the investigation.
Eagerness and worry mingled in Haru’s expression. She gazed out the window. Below the convent, an old nun led a group of novices along a path. The novices giggled as one by one they scampered ahead of their elder while she remained serenely oblivious. Haru said, “Oh, but I couldn’t impose on you.”
“I want to hear,” Reiko coaxed.
Haru bit her lip, then nodded and spoke in a voice soft with nostalgia: “My father owned a noodle shop in Kojimachi, near Yamasakana.” This was a popular restaurant. “I was an only child. My mother and I helped my father cook and serve the food. We lived in rooms behind the shop. We worked very hard, and we never had much money, but we were happy. My future prospects were good. Someday, after I married, my husband and I would inherit the shop. But then…” Haru’s voice broke. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“That’s all right,” Reiko soothed.
Blinking away tears, Haru continued, “My parents took ill with a fever. There was no money for a doctor, or medicine. I nursed them as best I could, but they died. The day after the funeral, a moneylender seized the shop as payment for my father’s debts. My home was gone. I was old enough to marry, but no one wants a bride without a dowry. I had no relatives to take care of me.” Sobs wracked Haru’s body. “I was so alone, so scared. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn.”
Overcome with pity, Reiko murmured, “Shh, it’s all right,” as she did when comforting Masahiro. Haru seemed a mere child, arousing Reiko’s maternal instincts and her outrage against a cruel world. The girl’s woeful story made her ashamed of her own good fortune. At the same time Reiko felt a glow of achievement because Haru trusted her enough to confide in her. “Don’t cry. You’re safe now.”