The Song of the Wild Geese

by India Millar

  Finally, I laid the letter and my thoughts aside and fingered the silk bindings on the fat diary that accompanied it. Simon’s diary. I was shaking too much to untie the threads with my fingers and finally had to use Mama Simone’s wickedly sharp embroidery scissors to cut the knots.

  Simon’s familiar handwriting made reading his words feel almost as if he was sitting next to me, telling me of his adventures

  The diary began before he boarded the ship. I read of his excitement at being back in Washington. Smiled at his boyish delight in the adventure to come. Blinked back tears as he wrote of his determination to find Kazhua and bring her back, no matter what. And my hot tears spilled out as he spoke of his love for me. His pen had sputtered under the pressure as he had written. My poor Terue. I brought her to a foreign land and expected her to turn into an American lady overnight. And would I have loved her if she had? Of course not. When I get back, it will be different. I’ll make it up to her.

  “But you never came back, Simon,” I said softly. “The Floating World took you and claimed you for its own.”

  I skipped pages and pages dedicated to the voyage. The only thing that caught my gaze was when Simon wrote of the seagulls that followed the ship sounding like wild geese. Yes, I thought. I remember them.

  As soon as his ship neared the Japanese coast, the tone of the diary changed. Suddenly, all was anticipation. Soon after the ship docked, Simon wrote of boarding a Japanese ship with Biddle and how the captain had misinterpreted a samurai’s greeting and had drawn his sword in defense. I felt his delight as he recorded how he was sure that if he had not been there to smooth things over, Biddle’s head would have left his shoulders in a second.

  But that was the last moment of optimism in the diary’s pages. Suddenly, Simon appeared to be seized with doubts. The mission was not prospering. Biddle was talking of setting sail for home after only a couple of weeks in Edo. And it seemed to Simon that the whole of Edo was suspicious. He felt he, in particular, was being watched. He barely dared venture into the Floating World, even with an escort of sailors. I felt his rising desperation as he wrote how he could not even try and approach the Hidden House, as he was certain that Auntie knew of his presence. I’m sure Hana knows I’m here. Of course she does. She always knew everything that was going on. Does she remember me? I guess she’ll have had many lovers since I left. But apart from that, will she ever have forgiven me for stealing Terue from her? Stupid question. Of course not. Oh God, please reveal to me some way I can make contact with the geisha from the Hidden House. Please let Gin and Hiromi and Nami still be there. Let me get a message to them somehow. Make it possible for me to bring our daughter back to where she should be, safe with her mother and father.

  I flicked the pages over, but there was nothing more. That was it then. Simon had been unable to even get word of my poor Kazhua. I was drained, limp with weary sadness.

  For a long time, I could do nothing but sit and stare into space blindly. My mind was as empty and quiet as the room around me. Slowly, I came to understand that the melancholy that filled me was only a shadow of what it should have been. Word had just come that I had lost my husband. That he had been murdered in the most cowardly way and his body left a world away. I could not even visit his grave to speak to his spirit. I should be sobbing. Screaming. Overflowing with grief.

  Instead, I was simply sad. Almost absently, I wondered if true grief would come later, when I came to understand that Simon was gone from me forever. I sighed as I knew I was fooling myself.

  I had already grieved when the man I had loved had been taken from me by the good people of Virginia. The friends and neighbors who had gasped in horror when he married me. The same people who had made him ashamed of me. Would it have been any different if he had come back? Perhaps. But I knew it would not have lasted. Weeks or months later, he would have learned to become ashamed of me all over again. Would it have been different if Simon had found Kazhua, brought her back with him? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I would never know.

  The diary slipped from my absent hands and a loose sheet of folded paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up listlessly, my hopes rising as I saw the message inside was written in Japanese characters. A moment later, I understood that the gods had, indeed, turned their faces from me.

  The message was terse, and had obviously been flicked onto the paper by a feminine hand, unused to writing.

  The geisha you asked after are not here. Nami was bought out by her danna. Gin is dead of the fever, last year.

  “No!” I cried the word out loud in my distress.

  I do not know a geisha called Hiromi. There is no maiko or geisha in either house by the name of Kazhua.

  The end of all my hopes, in those few, hurried words. I had been wrong. Somehow, Simon had managed to get word to the Hidden House. Had he read the message? Or had it been delivered after his death? I prayed it was the latter and that he had died full of hope.

  Finally, I threw the letter on the fire and watched it curl and blacken. Felt all the joy in my life die alongside it.

  As did Mama Simone’s life. Once more, she retreated into deepest black. Even in the house, when we were alone, she hid her face behind a veil. I thought she was going to strike me when I refused to go into mourning.

  “It’s not the Japanese way,” I explained. “Or at least, not the way of my religion.” Mama Simone flashed me a glance of pure hatred; I remembered far too late that I was supposedly a Christian these days. I would not be cowed. I held her angry gaze and spoke slowly and carefully. “I became a Christian to please Simon. But I never forgot my own gods. In Shinto, the religion I was born into, the period of mourning lasts for forty-nine days. Simon has been dead for far longer than that. His memory is in my heart. There is nothing to be gained by mourning him for any longer.”

  “You ruined his life the day he bought you here.” I shook my head, but Mama Simone was not to be silenced so easily. “It’s all your fault he’s dead. When he told me the government had asked him to go back to Japan, I was pleased. I knew he would forget all about you, if he could only get away from you for a while. I was wrong about that. It would have been better if you had gone with him. If you’d been there, maybe you would have died instead. He would have come back to me and we would have been happy again.”

  She had thrown her veil back and her face was contorted with hate. I shook my head and spoke quietly.

  “Simon went back to Japan because he wanted to go. He intended to find our daughter. He was going to bring her here. Our daughter. Your grand-daughter.”

  She spoke through clenched teeth, barely moving her lips. “You’re lying. Simon would have told me.”

  “I—we—have a daughter,” I repeated. “She has green eyes and hair as red as her father’s. She is alive somewhere in Japan.” No matter what the unknown geisha who had dared to write to Simon had said, I knew that Kazhua was alive. If she were not, then my heart would have died with her.

  Mama Simone stood abruptly and walked over to me. “You’re a lying bitch. Simon would never have inflicted such shame on me. He would never have acknowledged a half-breed as his legitimate child. If he left her in Japan, it was because he didn’t want anything to do with her. He sold Shula’s daughter. Why should your bastard be any different?” I met her gaze calmly and her face twisted with fury as she realized I knew about Shula, and that her words could not hurt me. “You’re nothing but a beautiful, deadly spider. You sit in the middle of your web and watch the stupid males coming for you. They might think you’re lovely, but I know different. You just used Simon to get away from Japan. After that, you didn’t give a damn about him. Since he’s been gone, I’ve seen the way the men around here look at you, licking their lips and wondering what you know that their own wives don’t. I wish them well of you, I really do. If one of them took you away from here, I would go down on my knees and give thanks.”

  I said nothing, and after a moment, she walked out of the room, banging the door behind he
r. Her words meant nothing to me. She had always hated me, and it appeared now that she always would. I tried to think of Simon, and I was deeply saddened when I realized that I could not see his face in my mind. Nothing but the memory of green eyes and hair as red as a fox spirit remained with me. After a while, my thoughts wandered from the dead to the living, and the face that rose in my mind was that of Callum Niaish.

  Out of the whole of Virginia society, he was the only one who had not at least sent a card to express his condolences. Was it simply that he was too honest to pretend to be sorry about Simon’s death? I found myself hoping that was so. I was angry with myself for even thinking about him, yet my thoughts stayed with him.

  Thirty-Five

  Rocks break under the

  Stroke of a hammer. Sand moves

  Aside without hurt

  Soon after we heard the news of Simon’s death, I noticed that William seemed to be avoiding me. Unlike Mama Simone’s icy silence—which I welcomed—I was hurt by William’s neglect. I had become accustomed to wandering down to the kitchen to chat with him. If he was not there, he could generally be found fishing at the lake. Or, if all else failed, I could always ask one of the house servants to go down to the fields or to the slaves’ shacks and find him for me. I had come to think of him as my friend, and I missed him.

  But not a fraction as much as I missed Callum Niaish. I knew well enough he was still in Virginia. I heard the gossip about him from all the ladies who came to comfort Mama Simone and stayed to chat. They said that he was to be seen at every society event and was a popular and amusing guest. Of course he was. It was obvious that they all had hopes of snaring the aristocrat for their own daughter. It seemed that I was the only one who had seen neither hide nor hair of him.

  I finally decided with great bitterness that I had been a fool to be taken in by him. I began to think that he had spoken simply to amuse himself, thinking it was safe to flirt with a married woman whose husband was far away. Now that I was free, he had obviously taken a hurried step backward. And of course, now that he was a titled lord, he would hardly be interested in me.

  Lonely and alone as I was, I was cautiously pleased to welcome even Mr. Olders when he walked into the plantation house.

  He looked as if he was more at home on a horse than on his two feet, and he surveyed the parlor with an interest that bordered on rudeness. I guessed he was mentally pricing each piece of furniture. Although the room was far too cluttered for my taste, I was pleased that everything was of the best.

  “Good morning, Mr. Olders.” I held out my hand to him and remained seated. “This is an unexpected surprise. What can I do for you?”

  I wished I had said something else as soon as the words left my mouth. He turned his greedy gaze on me and the years fled. I was once again back in the Green Tea House. A shy maiko, hiding my face behind my fan as my prospective danna examined me openly.

  “Well, now, ma’am.” He took my outstretched hand and shook it enthusiastically. His palm was sweaty and hot and decidedly unpleasant. “I decided I was tired of Jim March’s havering about. Decided it was time I came to pay you a visit myself. And to express my condolences at your loss, of course.”

  “Thank you.” It took me a moment to place Jim March. Simon had always simply referred to him as “the attorney.” “And now you’re here, Mr. Olders. I imagine you want to talk business with me?”

  I spoke carefully, trying to find words that were as inoffensive as possible. I wanted this man out of my house quickly.

  “Oh, please. Do call me Abe. It’s actually Abraham, but I always say it’s a fancy name for a plain man and all my friends call me Abe.” He grinned and sat down without being asked. My dislike of him multiplied ten-fold.

  “What’s your business with me, Mr. Olders?”

  Anger made his face ugly and I stayed very still.

  “Now is that any way to talk to someone you owe a lot of money to, honey?”

  “You’ll be paid,” I said crisply. “I told Mr. March that. I thought you and he had come to an understanding?”

  The old man’s color deepened until his cheeks were the hue of well-hung raw beef. I watched him carefully.

  “Maybe. But that was before I lost a parcel of my best slaves. Spirited away, just like the rest of them from round here. It’s organized by somebody, and me and my friends are going to find out who. And let me tell you, when we get our hands on him, he is going to be one sorry son of a bitch. Pardon my language. But in spite of that, I ain’t what you’d call a poor man.” His tone was suddenly fawning. The redness faded from his cheeks and he grinned, showing surprisingly good teeth. “No, honey. In fact, I’m maybe one of the richest planters in the area. That being so, and you being all alone in a strange country, I wondered if you and me could maybe come to some private arrangement, just between the two of us?”

  I remembered Mama Simone’s savage comments about how many of the local men lusted for me and my skin crawled. But caution put a hold on my tongue and I spoke as sweetly as I could.

  “I assure you Mr. Olders, I will pay you back every cent High Grove owes to you as soon as I possibly can. But you must understand, my husband’s death came as a great shock to me. It will be a while before I can come to terms with things.”

  I let my voice trail off into silence. Olders nodded his head vigorously.

  “Sure, honey. I understand. But it seems to me a woman as young and pretty as you must be missing her home comforts, if you get my drift?” He winked deliberately. “Now, I know you was married to Simon Beaumont, all right and legal, but you’re a widow now. And things are different.”

  He paused and waited for me to speak. I said nothing, and he appeared to take my silence for encouragement.

  “Let me get right down to it. You owe me a great deal of money. Old man Beaumont borrowed heavily off me. But seeing how we were acquainted, I did the right thing by him and never pressed for interest on the loan. Never got so much as a single cent off your husband either, apart from the few dollars he fobbed me off with a while ago. By my reckoning, you owe me more than double the amount I advanced in the first place.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” I said again.

  Olders shook his head and patted his nose with his finger. “Honey, I wouldn’t expect you to have a grasp on such things. It ain’t lady-like. But I got to tell you, if you gave me the price of your entire harvest for the next five years, you would still owe me money. And if you did that, how would you feed your slaves and pay your bills?” He smiled at me, quite kindly.

  “If I have to sell the plantation, it will kill Mama Simone.” I spoke my thoughts out loud without realizing.

  Olders’ grin widened. “No need for that. No need at all. Like I said, you and me can come to an accommodation.” He frowned suddenly and thrust his head forward like a tortoise peering from beneath its shell. “Unless somebody got in before me? You ain’t spoken for already?”

  I was so surprised, I laughed out loud. Olders seemed pleased. He chuckled with me.

  “Thought not. Man got to be fast to get between Abe Olders and something he’s set his heart on. So, what do you say?”

  I stared at him, genuinely not understanding his question. “Are you proposing to me, Mr. Olders?” I blinked in surprise when he laughed out loud.

  “Well, I suppose I am, after a fashion. But I already got a wife, honey. Well, I’ll put my cards on the table. Generally speaking, I don’t have a yen for colored gals. But you’re way different. I heard tell you oriental gals got ways of pleasing your men our women would never believe. I’m offering you High Grove Plantation. You stay here, just as you are, and I visit whenever I’ve got a fancy for you. It wouldn’t work to move you into my place. My Julia would never give me a second’s peace. You agree to that little arrangement, and I’ll just forget about the money you owe to me. What do you say?”

  I said nothing at all. I couldn’t. Olders stared at me, his eyebrows raised and his grin fixed. I was rarely plea
sed to hear Mama Simone’s voice, but today was the exception.

  “Mr. Olders, how nice to see you.” She swept forward on silent, black-slippered feet. “I had no idea you were here. If Terue had sent word, I would have been down at once.”

  If she only knew how much I wished I had sent Suzanna up for her! No matter. Olders was getting to his feet, tapping his hat on his thigh.

  “Wouldn’t have dreamed of disturbing you, ma’ am,” he said politely. “Mrs. Beaumont here has looked after me real well. But it’s time I was on my way. I’m sure I’ll be back soon, in any event.”

  He bowed himself out. Mama Simone barely waited until the door had closed on him before she turned to me. I watched her face, wondering at the animation in her expression.

  “Well?” she demanded eagerly. “He came about the money, I suppose? Have you reached some sort of deal with him? He’s not going to try and take the plantation, is he?”

  I wet my lips with my tongue and shrugged. “He’s made a proposal, of sorts.” The echo of Olders words made me grimace sourly.

  “You agreed?” Mama almost fell into the chair opposite me. She reached out her hand to me and I thought I could almost see the pattern of the carpet through her flesh, her hand was so pale and thin. I had never noticed before, but her fingers were cruelly bent with arthritis. I thought absently that she would never be able to force her rings past her swollen knuckles.