Spring 1865, Part II
My family has been kind, leaving me space to air my sadness. For the first time, I rattle around the house like a little ghost, but I’m shooed off from the things that make me feel useful, needed. After all, there’s a lot fewer to cook for now. The Shinsengumi ended up being tidy houseguests and did a lot of the heavy cleaning on the way out, but there’s a thousand little things to do to get our house back to order. But no, I’m told to rest. I’m tired of resting; I was always the healthy one, the child who missed most of the usual illnesses, I could count on one hand the number of days I’d spent in bed.
Resting leads to restlessness. If I can’t get out to clean I clean my own room, airing my kimono and finding one last crumpled linen strip that I used as “Hidejiro”. I find it and I wince, the pain still a fresh memory. My more recent pain, though, just feels… dull. Like there’s a window between me and what I’m feeling.