Shadows on the Moon Read Online Free PDF

peace, and Mother had been left to the business of the house alone. The only person who had been allowed to interrupt Father while he worked was me.
    At her agreement, the tension left Terayama-san’s face. “Of course. Come along, my dear.”
    They left, Terayama-san holding Mother’s arm with a grip that could have been possessive or protective. Alone and with nothing else to do, I decided to take a walk in the garden.
    The parasol cast a pink shade over my face as I left the shadow of the house and went into the sun. The garden was very quiet: no servant children running errands or cats sunning themselves. No escaped chickens. Normally the quiet here bothered me, but now I did not let it. I reveled in it. I felt distant, as if nothing could touch me. In this mood, I was able to run back over this morning’s scene calmly.
    How much of Mother’s apparent desire for Terayama-san was fear that, unless she pleased him, he would cast us out and we would starve or be killed? And how much was because Terayama-san flattered her, paid attention to her, demanded
her
attention, as my father had never done?
    Was it my place to judge? Terayama-san had saved us. I must try harder to be grateful and fond of him, as Mother expected.
    From the corner of my eye I detected a movement, a human movement. This happened rarely enough — Terayama-san’s servants were so well trained, they seemed to have the ability to be invisible — that I turned to look. A servant, a bent old man, was framed in a circular opening in the wall that hid the kitchens from the rest of the grounds. He was drawing water from the well there.
    My parasol hit the ground and tumbled away in the breeze. I flew down the path and through the circular gate, crying out,
“Youta!”
    My impetuous greeting did not make him drop his wooden pail or even flinch. He calmly set his burden down and smiled at me. “Little Mistress. You have grown.”
    “Youta — oh — how — what are you doing here?” I babbled, flustered and out of breath.
    He indicated a little stone bench against the wall. “Will you sit with me?”
    I laughed as I sat; I was so pleased to see him that I could not keep it in. “I have thought about you. All the time. I hoped you had recovered and were doing well. But I don’t understand, Youta. You would not let me tell my mother and Terayama-san about you and what you did, but you came here anyway.”
    “Ah, well,” he said, sitting next to me. “I thought it might be better — simpler — if Terayama-sama did not know the details of what happened.”
    “Simpler?
What do you mean by that?” I asked slowly.
    “Nothing, really. Sometimes I have feelings that I cannot explain, but I have found it best to pay attention to them. Let us just say that I did not wish for their thanks. I made my own way here and gained employment in the kitchens without telling anyone where I had worked before. Cindermen are not usually required to provide references.” He smiled a little.
    It seemed presumptuous to ask, but Youta had already hinted at it, and I wanted to know. “Did you come all this way for me?”
    “I have an interest in you now, do I not?”
    It struck me for the first time that Youta spoke
keigo:
formal, educated speech. That seemed very strange for a man who worked in the kitchens. I wanted to ask about it, but instinct held me back.
    “I thank you,” I said at last. “I have no other friends here.”
    “Except your mother,” he reminded me gently.
    I laughed again, but this time the sound was harsh and bitter.
    Youta reached out — a little hesitantly, I thought — and touched the back of my hand with the tip of his index finger. It left a dark smudge. “I am here,” he said. “I sleep in the kitchen at night, and no one else is there. If you ever need me . . .”
    I could not reply. My throat had gone tight. I sniffed and nodded.
    He stood, picking up his pail again. “Good day to you, Little Mistress.”
    He walked back toward