The Abandoned Heart

by Laura Benedict

  “Did you bring the creeper vine? The reeds of the cat tails?”

  “Mason bundled them and put them on the back porch. They’re going to need to be soaked. You can use the laundry tub outside to boil them. Tell Mason when you’re ready and I’ll make sure he sets a fire under it. Be careful on the back stairs. They get slick, and there’s snow coming.”

  Kiku thanked her.

  “I wish you could get to church with us. At least for Christmas.”

  Kiku shook her head. “I would not know what to do there. And I would be seen.”

  “I guess it’s too late to worry about that.”

  That morning she had seen Randolph to the door, something she rarely did as he often left while she was still abed. As she passed a window, she had seen some movement in the snowy woods and forgot to be cautious. There were always animals in the woods: a pair of horses earlier in the fall that Mason had had to lead back to the stable; night animals, like coyotes and raccoons; and squirrels that raced through the trees and disappeared into their shaggy nests. But no one aside from Odette, Mason, and Randolph ever came to the cottage. Mason had told her that Aaron was still at Bliss House, but she was certain that he had forgotten her.

  Randolph stepped out onto the porch, and they both saw the little girl. “Well, what do we have here? It’s my lovely, mad daughter.” He didn’t say it loudly enough for anyone else but Kiku to hear.

  Tamora teetered at the edge of the clearing, directly opposite the cottage. Like Kiku herself, she was pale, and not very tall compared to Randolph. Her long neck, head, and hands protruded from her heavy woolen coat like the stark appendages of a wooden doll. Her untidy blond hair lay about her shoulders, a thick strand crossing her nose until she put up a hand to move it; if she had been wearing a hat in the cold, it was lost. Randolph had told Kiku that Tamora was seven years old, but she looked younger. Even from the doorway, Kiku could see the redness of the girl’s upper lip, and as though to demonstrate her runny nose, the child ran her sleeve across her face to clear it.

  Randolph continued slowly down the stairs and began to cross the yard. He had worn a faint path through the trees, across the winter grass and to the garden of Bliss House, but it was invisible in the dusting of snow.

  At first Kiku had thought Tamora was watching him. But no. It had been the cottage she was staring at, and Kiku herself.

  So this was the broken child, the one whose distant screams Kiku heard when she was out walking most days in the woods. What a sad thing she was, like a spirit already. An angry little spirit.

  An older, heavyset woman in a dark coat came close to Tamora, but didn’t touch her. Kiku heard Tamora’s name floating on the cold air, and there was Aaron trying to wave away another woman. From her height and expensive-looking clothes, Kiku guessed that this was Amelia. How strange to see the two people she was most curious about here at her front door. And Aaron. If only she could talk to him.

  Kiku’s eyes met Amelia’s across the fading snow. She saw her hate. Saw her pain. When Amelia’s eyes moved briefly to Kiku’s belly, Kiku knew in that moment that they were linked together forever. How happy Randolph would be that they had finally seen each other. He liked nothing better than to put two people in opposite corners and wait for them to put on a show for him.

  She would not give him the pleasure. Not now. Kiku shut the door and leaned against it, her heart hammering. The baby was excited, too, kicking and rolling. Kiku put her chin to her chest, surprised by the sadness that had welled up inside her. While she was still leaning against the door, wondering what was going on outside, she heard a violent shrieking and felt the door move against her back.

  Tamora was throwing herself against the door. But Kiku would not open it.

  Chapter 25

  KIKU

  December 1878

  Kiku sat on the floor in front of the fire, with all the lamps she could find lighted nearby. The basket for the baby was going well. Mason had brought her a disk of soft cedar for the bottom, and she had already woven the cattails over and around it to secure it. As she worked, she hummed into the silence. When she was at Mason and Odette’s house there was rarely silence, and tonight, Christmas night, had been no different. Odette had filled the house with evergreen branches and lighted every candle and had tried to teach Kiku the song “Silent Night.” They had shared their dinner of ham and biscuits and oranges and a quince tart with her. Randolph had given Mason a bottle of plum port along with a gift of ten dollars for Christmas, and the three of them had each had a small glass of the strong wine before Mason took her back to the cottage.

  Christmas seemed a nice thing to Kiku, and the story of the baby in the manger tugged at her heart. She had a home, of sorts, but she had no idea how or where her child might be born. The barn with the oxen and asses had, at least, been filled with life, unlike her lonely cottage. How she hoped that, like Mary, she would have a boy child.

  Randolph had come back for only one night after Tamora had come to the cottage and said that he would probably not be returning until the New Year. He had given her a Christmas gift: a brown-paper-wrapped package that contained a silk robe with kimono-style sleeves. It was too large for her, but was decorated with peony flowers that reminded her of the peony trees planted near the temple closest to her village. He had not given her any gifts since she had left Madame Jewel’s, and had told her not to open it until he was gone. When he did leave the next morning, she had not accompanied him to the door, but had stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

  He had harmed her so many times. But he was a sort of husband to her and had given her a home to live in and had kept her from the hands of strangers. Even if his hands were cruel and she feared him, he was now the constant in her life. And, she believed, he was the father of her child.

  What if the child were like him? She had only imagined that the child—a boy—would resemble her, with black hair and fair skin and dark, small eyes. He would be strong, as her father was. When she pictured her child, she thought of her young brother, Shingen. Always into everything. Running, running, running even when he was supposed to be doing the few chores required of him.

  Surely Shingen had not forgotten her yet. But would he recognize her? She still avoided the mirror on the vanity, but sometimes she couldn’t help but see herself.

  Her hair had grown several inches since Madame Jewel had cut it, and Odette had given it a slightly more feminine shape with a pair of shears made for haircutting. The face she saw in the mirror was much thinner than her face had been when the second mate had captured her. She had still had the look of a child then. It had been more than a year since she had seen her family.

  Now she would have a child that her mother would never see. Her mother, who hadn’t had a child until she was twenty-three years old. Quite old by the standards of the village. But her mother had told stories of how she had loved being married without children, even though her own mother and the ladies of the village chided her, saying that she wasn’t doing her duty as a wife. When Kiku finally came, they had all stopped talking. The next daughter hadn’t come until Kiku was four years old, old enough, everyone said, to be a help to her parents. How she had resented being the little mother to her siblings. How she would gladly take care of them all over again if she had the chance.

  Her mother had woven reed and bamboo baskets for the family’s fishing business, but also for all of her babies. When each one outgrew the basket, it became his or hers to keep their belongings in. The basket Kiku was weaving would be a copy of her own because she knew it so well.

  When the knock came at the front door, Kiku startled. Mason and Odette usually came to the kitchen door. Randolph never knocked.

  She rose and put her cheek against the door. No animal would knock, but a stranger would. But would a stranger that meant her harm bother to knock?

  “Kiku, don’t be afraid. It’s Aaron.”

  For a moment Kiku thought that Randolph might be trying to trick her. He had tol
d her to never let any strangers inside. Aaron was hardly a stranger, though Randolph could never know it.

  “Please let me in. I won’t stay very long. I just want to wish you a merry Christmas.”

  Kiku wondered if this was some Christmas tradition of which she was unaware: acquaintances coming to one’s house long after one was supposed to be asleep, to bring Christmas greetings. If so, it was a very strange custom. She opened the door.

  Aaron stepped quickly inside and, with a glance over his shoulder, shut the door. He wore the air of the frosty night about him. The lamplight showed his reddened cheeks and lips, and there was a dusting of snow on his hat and boots. He was smiling, obviously glad to see her, and though she was surprised, she found herself returning his smile.

  She held out her hands for his hat, as she would have for Randolph’s. He looked puzzled a moment, and she said, “Your hat?”

  “Ah.”

  When his coat and hat and gloves were off, she asked him if he would like to remove his wet boots. He sat, and she knelt to assist him. There was an awkward, confused moment when he tried to stop her, and she felt a bit hurt when he finally said that he wished to do it himself.

  She went to the kitchen to bank up the stove to heat water for tea, and when his boots were off, he followed her.

  “I don’t mean to put you to trouble. I only wanted to say merry Christmas, and to see how you’re doing.”

  “Randolph knows you’re here? Did he send you?” Her hope was that he had not, and she was not disappointed.

  “I wanted to bring you a small gift. I know that you don’t know many people here.”

  “Randolph would not have me know people. You are aware of that already.”

  “It was a surprise to everyone to see you the other day.”

  Kiku looked down at her burgeoning belly.

  Aaron said, “I’m afraid that it has rather upset things at Bliss House.”

  “It is not my wish to upset Missus Bliss. I would do nothing to harm her. Or her daughter.” The water in the pitcher was ice cold. She poured it into the kettle, which she set on the burner, and then took teacups and saucers from the shelf.

  “She’s upset, but knows she can do nothing. I wouldn’t worry. She feels threatened, but she is not a vindictive woman.”

  Kiku felt suddenly defensive for the baby inside her. “I guess we will know where her daughter’s madness comes from, won’t we, if my child is not also mad.”

  Taken aback, Aaron told her that he hadn’t meant to insult her. “As with so many things, Randolph likes to play with people’s lives. I’m sorry that he’s put you in this position. Amelia won’t harm you or the child. She really is a very kind woman. Patient.”

  “If you say that she is, I have no reason to doubt you. Of course she will worry for her child.”

  “Of course.”

  They were silent for a while as the water heated in the kettle. When it was ready, Kiku poured the water into the pot with the tea and Aaron carried the tray into the parlor.

  As they drank it, warming by the fire, he asked her about the basket, and she told him that she was making it for the baby.

  “It’s extraordinary. You show such skill.”

  She blushed. “I made baskets for my father. As I told you, he was a fisherman.”

  They talked, then, for an hour or more, about their childhoods, their families. He said that he didn’t want to make her sad, talking about Japan, but she said that it made her happy. Unlike Odette, he didn’t pry into how she had come to leave her home, or what she had done in New York. She liked him for that. She liked how the firelight softened his face. Randolph never sat beside the fire to talk with her. He might read and fall asleep in his chair. But most often he would simply bed her when dinner was through.

  “Wait. I almost forgot.” Aaron stood up so suddenly that he nearly upset the tea things, and they both laughed nervously.

  He took a package from his overcoat. It was not much bigger than his hand and wrapped in thick black velvet that was just about the softest thing she had ever touched.

  “I have nothing for you.” Her brow furrowed. She hadn’t imagined that she would see him, and certainly hadn’t thought that he would be giving her a gift.

  “I wanted to surprise you. Are you surprised?” He was anxious, like a child, and she smiled.

  “Very surprised.”

  She laid the package on the table and lifted away the folds of velvet.

  “I saw many books and paintings of Japan when I was in Europe. There was a Dutch sailor who was also a painter. As I painted this, I remembered some of his works from his travels in the East.”

  The small picture still smelled sharply of paint. It was a garden scene, with a single, blossoming cherry tree, and green plants arranged around large, smooth stones. Watching over the garden was a temple with a curving, many-layered roof whose points reached for the sky. She had only been to one such temple when she was young, and it, too, had had a brown roof, trimmed in black. But it was the sight of the cherry blossoms that brought tears to her eyes. Her mother had loved cherry blossoms, and friends would bring them to her when they traveled in the spring, packing the ends of the branches in water to keep the branches blooming.

  “Have I upset you? Kiku, please tell me.”

  Now the tears were coming quickly. Kiku, who rarely cried, could not stop crying.

  He came to sit beside her on the sofa and took her hand. “My dearest Kiku. Tell me that your heart is not broken. That you’re not angry with me. I couldn’t come, but I thought of you every day.”

  She could not stop sobbing long enough to speak. Her heart was indeed broken. Not just for herself, but for the child who would never see her home in Japan. For the man beside her who had seen into her heart just as if she had cut it open and bared it there on the table for him. It was impossible to speak.

  Seeing how it was for her, he drew her to him and held her against his chest while she cried. He stroked her loosened hair and repeated “hush, hush, my dear” and told her all would be well.

  She did her best to let herself be calmed, but she knew that all would not be well. If Randolph came to her door, he might kill them both and feel justified. She knew that she should tell Aaron to leave but felt too weak to do so. They were doing nothing wrong. He had given her a gift, the way that Odette and Mason had given her gifts, and as she had given them a small basket woven of Virginia creeper vines. Gifts of kindness. Of affection. She knew that she wanted more than kindness from Aaron, but kindness was what she was desperate for.

  “You deserve so much more than life has given you, Kiku. I want to help you.”

  She pulled back from him and took the handkerchief that he offered to dry her wet face.

  “You must go. I cannot accept such a gift from you.”

  “Please, you must take it. I painted it for you. You can hide it from Randolph, can’t you? Perhaps Odette can keep it for you. For now?”

  Kiku saw the sense of the idea and nodded. “Perhaps. But you must not come here again. It’s too dangerous.”

  Aaron collected their empty tea things onto the tray and rose to pick it up. “I know Randolph. I know his comings and goings. Neither of us will be in any danger, I promise you.”

  Mason was the only man she had ever seen gather dishes, and she would not have thought it possible from a gentleman like Aaron. The fact that he had done so made her like and trust him more. She badly wanted to believe that he would make sure that no harm would come to her. But both Randolph and Madame Jewel had pretended to be her protectors, and they had done her the most harm.

  When he was ready to leave, the skies beyond the dark porch were even darker. Several inches of snow had fallen, and he told Kiku to go back inside before her feet, clad in the thick socks she preferred to wear in the house, got wet.

  “I couldn’t bear to see you ill.” Aaron took both of her hands in his gloved hands. The gloves were warm from being near the fire, but she would rather ha
ve had the touch of his skin.

  “You could never cause me to be ill.”

  Aaron laughed softly. The closeness of the dark seemed to beg them to whisper. “I am many things, but I am not the winter cold, nor am I melting snow.”

  “You have no lantern. How will you see your way back in the dark?”

  “Someone might still be awake in the house. I would rather not draw attention to myself. Don’t worry. I know the way.”

  She smiled. Of course he would know the way. He had built the cottage. But he looked at her so intently that she understood that he had been to the house many times, but simply had not come to her door. The thought made her heart beat faster in her chest.

  No one had ever risked so much to be with her.

  Later, lying in her bed, alone, she knew that he was also taking risks that might affect her. If Randolph found out, he might hurt the child. She didn’t want to think about that. Christmas night, which was so special to so many people, was now special to her. She had rewrapped the painting and tucked it behind a loose wall panel behind her vanity. She could take it out and look at it any time she wished.

  Before Aaron left, he had shown her how his initials were set far down in the corner of the picture, against the fronds of a palm plant. A. F. She could not read any English words, but Odette had started to help her learn her letters. Now she would know the letters A and F forever.

  Chapter 26

  AMELIA

  December 1878

  As Christmas came and went, Amelia could never have guessed that she could be so happy. How curious it was to her!

  In the first days after seeing the girl in the cottage, she had been upset. Randolph had gloated noticeably, but hadn’t once directly mentioned the encounter after the long walk back to Bliss House. She had felt humiliated in front of Aaron and Harriet and had felt badly for Tamora. But then that strange understanding of normalcy had reasserted itself inside her, and she felt sorrier for the girl in the cottage than she did for herself.