I would not enter the garden while the sun was up. Not willingly. As events unfolded, however, the choice wasn’t mine. The weavers had conspired against me, and I couldn’t oppose them.

On the first morning after the rain cleared, Cook appeared by the side of my loom.

“The plums are ready. Today is the day.”

“No. It is still early. Give the fruit another week, at least.”

“It must be today, or they will be spoiled.”

“Then ask the gardener to preserve them. I have enough work here at the loom.”

“Ansei is already busy harvesting one tree. You must help with the other.”

It was my usual task to ferment the plums from Madame’s garden, but I did not think Cook’s urgency had anything to do with plums.

“Cook. I am busy here.”

“Shall I tell Madame you refuse?”

I bit down hard. If Madame knew of my disobedience, she would punish me. And I would still be forced to harvest the plums alongside Ansei. There was nothing to do but take the bucket and ladder and hope Ansei would be wise enough to avoid me completely. Cook and others would be watching us and would take encouragement from any form of friendly exchange.

I marched out to the plum tree and examined the still green fruit. It was as I expected, days earlier than ideal. Plums are always harvested green and fermented in salt, the product transforming from green to a pale pink. But they were too early. I noticed Ansei already making fast progress on the other old tree. At his rate, we would soon be harvesting from the same tree. I wished he would work a little more slowly.

If Ansei had seen me, he gave no sign of it. And I gave him credit for sharp instinct in the apparent slackening of his pace. I worked more quickly on my tree, harvesting first the low hanging fruit. Soon, however, I needed the aid of a ladder. As the morning wore on, I was beginning to feel easier about how little satisfaction Cook would be taking from watching us, busy at our different trees.

I began, even, to enjoy the warmth of the summer sun on my back and the fragrance of pleasant garden life among the greenery. I climbed higher, to reach the fruit, and it wasn’t until I had filled my basketful that I heard a loud crack from below. I tumbled to the ground, spilling my basket, and twisting my leg in the broken rung. I yelped in pain and instantly, Ansei was bending over me. Faster still, I sent him a warning glance and a sharp signal with one hand.

“Go to the house,” I whispered.

He frowned, perceived my meaning, and steadfastly ignored it.

He bent down on one knee and untangled my right leg from the piece of broken ladder. Then he carefully examined the injury, applying gentle, but firm pressure to the wound. It was bruised, even I could see, and swollen, but I thought not broken. He rested the ankle on the grass, snapped up a piece of the ladder, then marched into the house.

I had a long wait, before Tatsuo, not Ansei, appeared, standing above me and staring at my swollen foot.

“Can you stand?” he asked, one hand squeezing my ankle and sending tremors of pain up and down my leg.

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“Ah. Not without help, I think.”

Tatsuo bent low and pulled me up onto my good leg, then he lent me a boney shoulder, by which aide, we slowly returned to the house, me hopping and wincing as we went. Tatsuo helped me into my sleeping quarters and prepared my futon for me while I leaned against one wall. “What a rag this futon is. Don’t you have anything better?”

I shook my head no and he muttered something I didn’t hear clearly.

I rested for the remainder of the afternoon before Madame appeared. She glanced askance at my swollen foot and then asked me for my account of events. Then she murmured some complaining words about lost labor and left me.

My evening meal was forgotten, and had I not begged Kame for some tea, I would not have had even that for sustenance. I was fairly certain of Cook’s, or someone’s, having sabotaged the ladder. Or why else had Ansei examined it with such a grim expression before carrying the evidence away with him? Tatsuo, at least, seemed to believe his account. And perhaps Madame, too, when faced with the evidence. Cook would be warned, for the losses in umeboshi and labor, if not for the personal harm to me. But where was Ansei now? And how could I safely meet him as long as my ankle throbbed so angrily?

Cook and Kame were long asleep when the scrape of the shoji doors came slowly, sliding open along their track. Someone was entering the room.

My gaze darted to the opening door where Ansei stood, peering in at me. He tiptoed inside and knelt beside my futon. “How is your ankle?”

“Never mind my ankle. You’ll awaken Cook and Kame! You have to leave at once!”

Unworried, he whistled faintly at the sight of my swollen ankle, then winked.

“Neither Cook nor Kame will awaken. I promise.” He helped me to a sitting position while I stared at him, eyes wide.

“Another secret revealed,” he said, holding a dried herb I did not recognize between his index finger and thumb. “It’s a potent insomnia antidote. They will sleep well into the morning.”

I gasped, “How did you manage it?”

“That secret, I will keep for now.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It grows in my herb garden, among other medicinal plants. And I brought some of these to care for you now. Do you trust me?” Ansei’s warm expression met mine and I gave a mute assent.

First, he removed my blanket and folded up the hem of my night robe. Then he opened a salve and began applying it gently to the bruised and swollen foot. His hands were gentle, and conductive of something more than warmth. Under his touch, I found myself relaxing even toward sleep. Did he drug me too? I wondered, without daring to accuse him.

“I didn’t drug you, if that is what you are wondering.” He said, apparently reading my thoughts.

“But it was you who applied the pine salve to my back,” I said, forcing the subject I really didn’t want to visit.

“There was no sedative, and the way I applied the salve without discovery is a secret I’m unable share.”

I half stifled a tremor.

“Whatever you did healed me completely. It was like magic.”

“Only because you don’t understand it,” he said, steadily avoiding meeting my gaze.

“Where did you learn to heal people?” I asked, and averted my eyes to avoid detecting him in yet another lie.

“I once had a friend who was a very learned herbalist.”

When he withdrew his hands, an involuntary sigh escaped my lungs before I caught myself, and the hint of a smile quirked the corners of Ansei’s mouth.

“Your ankle will be well soon.”

“Only to be tricked and sabotaged again.”

“And if so, I will help you get well again.”

“Ansei,” it was the first time I had ever called him by name and he responded with a soft touch of his hand on my knee. “Will you drug them every night?”

He withdrew his hand.

“No. I don’t have the stores, for one…”

“And…?”

“Over using herbs is a good way to be discovered.” He seemed to be speaking from experience.

“But the weavers are conspiring against me, and they will use you against me.”

“They will only harm themselves,” he predicted. He seemed so certain; I almost believed him.

“They’ll find a way eventually.”

He put a finger to his lips and as quickly as he’d come, disappeared back into the garden.

That night, I slept deeply and continuously until morning.

Ansei’s prediction about my recovery proved accurate. By mid-morning I was ready for a crutch and could sit and work at my loom with some propping up with a zabon cushion.

I worked all afternoon under the frustrated glances exchanged between weavers. And there was more than frustration; there was grim determination, and another plan ahead.