Darcy-san and the Sensei

    By Renee B

    Beginning, Next Section

    (Prologue)

    Posted on 2012-08-13

    February 2011

    "Who was that?" asked Jane, as she reentered the guest room to find Elise clicking off her mobile with a pained expression.

    "Will."

    "Really?" Jane couldn't keep the hope from her voice. "What did he want?"

    "To go out." Elise's tone was flat.

    "That's fantastic! He always picks the most wonderful places. Why don't you borrow my brown dress? I know you don't like pink, but I have a new wrap -"

    "Jane," interrupted Elise.

    "Hmm?"

    "I told him no."

    "What?" exclaimed Jane incredulously. "What are you thinking? It's been 'Will this' and 'Will that' ever since we returned from our honeymoon!"

    "I'm leaving tomorrow. It didn't make any sense."

    "Won't you change your mind? He might want to visit."

    Elise shook her head resignedly. "I don't think so. He's been different since your wedding. Even Charles noticed."

    Jane couldn't deny it, although she and her husband had their pet theories, which her sister categorically rejected.

    Elise continued, "Last fall, I thought he might be interested. Seemed like a miracle, considering, but I must have been wrong. Whatever. It's over, and you know what a Godsend this opportunity is." She grasped Jane's hands and fixed her eyes solemnly. "You and Charles promised that you wouldn't tell, and I'm counting on you."

    Jane pulled her younger sister into a compassionate hug, wishing there were more she could do to soothe her wounded heart. Maybe she'd call Will Darcy and give him a piece of her mind, but she quailed immediately. He could be downright intimidating. "I'm sorry he's hurt you, but you don't have to go so far. You know you're always welcome."

    "I know." Elise stepped back and tweaked her sister's nose. "You and Charles are very generous, but you deserve to launch your marriage without me lurking." She laughed with forced brightness. "Besides, I couldn't let Charlotte down, not when she had to cancel and I've already committed. It will be a grand adventure."

    Long after her suitcases were zipped and she had endured a chick flick with a sighing Jane and her groaning husband, Elise tossed sleeplessly on her bed. Had she made the right choice? Should she have agreed to meet Will, given her circumstances? But he had specifically said that he was "just passing through" and he had made it painfully clear that he considered them "just friends," when now, finally, all she wanted was his heart. She would only have been torturing herself with the impossible, again, would only have made her departure that much more difficult. No, it was better this way, providential really, to step through the open door without looking back. But not until the wee hours did her tears finally succumb to fitful dreams of a tall, handsome man, with chestnut hair and searching hazel eyes, who once had told her that he loved her.

    (1)

    Sleeps the seed
    In winter warmly wrapped
    The buried dream

    January 2012

    The scenery whizzed past in a brown-green blur, mesmerizing Will Darcy as he stared out the window of the Shinkansen. His northward race along the picturesque farmland on the eastern coast of Honshu had left Tokyo's outskirts hundreds of miles behind. Further south, the rich soil was fringed in green, but here the furrows were increasingly striped with snow.

    He should have been halfway across the Pacific, en route to his historic townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia, but Rich had intercepted him on his mobile the morning prior. "Think you can fly all the way to Japan and not bother to visit your own cousin? I'm devastated. Plus, Anne would shoot me. I won't take no for an answer."

    Darcy resisted, rallying every protest, but Rich prevailed. "Don't tell me DARK can't run without you. We both know all those executives are more than capable. Make them earn their keep. What are you rushing home to anyway?"

    Indeed, with Georgiana returned to Harvard after Christmas break, he had nothing and no one waiting for him, except an empty house and a Crystal City office filled with loyal staff. He would need to be present for the Pentagon briefing, but that wasn't for another two weeks.

    Rich pressed, "I could schedule an appointment with the wing commander. I'm sure he'd trip over himself to meet with one of DoD's elite. You could write it off for business."

    "Nice try, but I'd prefer a low profile."

    "Look, Will, all you've done is work, work, work since 'The Great Disappointment.' You could use a little R&R. January is a winter wonderland up here. You'll love it."

    The Great Disappointment, understatement of the century. Two years ago this coming Easter, Darcy had proposed to Elise Bennet, and she had refused him. Called him a pompous fool and a host of other epithets that did not bear repeating, well-deserved though they had been. But worse yet, he took her objections to heart and embarked on a personal course of reformation. Even Georgie praised him: "Will, what happened? It's like the secret brother whom I've loved and admired all my life has finally made a public appearance." But the one person he wanted to notice hadn't.

    Was it already a year since he last saw her at Bingley's wedding? Sometimes it felt like yesterday; sometimes like eternity past. As Charles' best man, he'd escorted Elise down the aisle, his heart thumping in anticipation of the day she would take his arm as his bride, not Jane's maid of honor. After six months of unofficial "double dates," or at least that's how it felt; after setting the record straight about Wickham and rescuing her youngest sister in the process; and after reuniting Jane and Charles, he'd eliminated her concerns one by one, as if from a checklist.

    That night, among the white candles and crimson poinsettias, her gown caressed her curves in an emerald shimmer, the low back exposing her flawlessly fair skin, a fetching contrast to her dark hair swept into an elegant twist. The sight made his pulse race and his throat clench. Did so again, even in memory. That, and the fact that he was determined to declare himself once more. They sat beside one another at the head table, toasted champagne goblets, danced at the reception, made polite conversation throughout the evening. She was atypically reticent, not her witty and fun self, cast him a number of odd looks, but there was nothing encouraging in her manner. He knew her better by then, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The right moment never arrived.

    When business gave him the excuse to stop through Durham, North Carolina, maybe six weeks later, he asked if she wanted to meet for coffee or dinner, but she declined diplomatically, said she was packing. He texted his email and mobile, though he knew they were already in her contacts, and asked her to call him when she came home or if she found herself in the DC area or for any reason, really. He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. She agreed readily enough, but he never heard from her: The Great Disappointment. A year of silence. At least he quit checking his screen for her name whenever his cell vibrated.

    He threw himself into his work with renewed vigor when DARK, a subsidiary of Darcy Systems, was awarded a coveted contract in the Department of Defense's cyberspace division. He tried to drown the memories, logging countless hours flying his planes, but it was impossible. She was unforgettable. No number of dinner dates, even the endless series of social-climbing debs and ivy-league professionals, could erase her from his mind. None approached girlfriend status, no matter what the tabloids reported. Some were beautiful and some were brilliant, but they didn't strike that perfect chord of loveliness and intelligence and joy that made his heart ring harmonically. Elise was incomparable. Rich was right; he needed a break. Maybe the hinterlands of Japan were just the place to start over.

    If his executive assistant had been startled by his call yesterday, her voice had not betrayed her. She rang off with an efficient and professional "very good, sir, enjoy your holiday" and within the hour the arrangements were made. So, here he was, bulleting toward Aomori prefecture at dizzying speeds.

    The view from the window registered, Will blinked in surprise and then checked his watch. Black as night and only half past four in the afternoon. Last he remembered was the stop for Fukushima, site of the nuclear power plant disaster, where heroic energy company employees had sacrificed their lives to save their country. He must have been lost to his thoughts longer than he realized; it happened more often than he cared to admit. An automated female voice announced Sendai, which he knew to feature premier baseball, as well as one of the larger cities inundated by last year's massive tsunami. The giant quake generating the wave had shifted the entire island eight feet. He traveled frequently in Europe, but this was his first trip to Japan and he was impressed. The nation was still rebuilding, quietly and doggedly, without complaint.

    He rose, needing to stretch his legs, and strolled the length of the train. The coaches repeated themselves in a string of utilitarian grays, not as lavishly furnished as his first-class compartment and less than half-filled with passengers. What struck him was the silence. The electric hum and clack of the express on its tracks was minimal. People murmured rather than spoke and quickly moved to the inter-car space to take mobile calls. Conscientious. Respectful. Quiet. A striking contrast to the brash noisiness of the States. The peace whispered into his soul.

    A small woman in a crisp uniform pushing a cart of beverages and snacks paused at the head of an aisle for him to pass. He selected cold sake and an unidentifiable snack carton that read "Calbee" and turned out to be something like dehydrated French fries. She printed a receipt from her portable register, handing it to him with a bow and a few words he didn't understand. Not planning to be in country for more than the three days his business meetings required, he hadn't reviewed local customs and courtesies further than knowing a bow was appreciated and tips weren't. By the time he reached his seat, he'd emptied the sake, surprisingly good, and discarded the snacks.

    Darcy was still reading the Journal's International Edition when he heard his stop announced and confirmed it with a glance at the screen above the door.

    "Ha-chi-no-he," Rich had repeated the name of the station several times, exaggerating each syllable. "Unless we have a freak snowstorm, I'll be waiting. The trains are never late."

    "Don't trouble yourself," Darcy objected. "I can take a limo."

    "No, no." Rich laughed with gusto. "I'll pick you up. It will be enough of a culture shock."

    Darcy stepped onto the platform and closed his trench coat against the icy blast. He stood for a few moments, disoriented, before riding the escalator up and following the signs to a bank of automated turnstiles. Inserting his ticket opened the gate and when he exited, Rich was striding toward him, a broad grin splitting his pocked face. Whatever he lacked in looks, he made up for in joviality.

    "Will, it's good to see you." The men shook hands before pulling each other into a back-pounding embrace.

    "You look well, Rich." Darcy made to playfully punch him in the stomach. "Though maybe a little soft around the middle. Too many home-cooked meals?"

    "Watch it," he retorted, "or I'll drag you out at oh-dark-thirty for PT. I passed with a ninety-seven last month." He puffed out his chest.

    Darcy smiled, already pleased with his uncharacteristically spontaneous decision. He'd missed Rich since he'd married and been reassigned. They had practically grown up together, often mistaken for brothers. Even now, the resemblance was uncanny. At six feet, his cousin was a couple inches shorter and rather stouter than Darcy, but both sported strong jaws, sharp hazel eyes, and what he considered nondescript brown hair, though Elise termed it something more.

    They continued their banter into the car park. Astonished as he was that Rich would have traded his sports coupe for an old SUV, Darcy refrained from commenting until they were poking along twenty minutes down the road. "I could jog faster than this."

    The dash lights illuminated Rich's mischievous expression. "Forty klicks on this road. Sixty on the highway. Thirty on base, which is eighteen miles per hour to you."

    Darcy scowled. "You don't have to convert it for me."

    "Don't blame me. Last you saw klicks must have been the autobahn, and Germany this isn't."

    He was wrong, but Darcy ignored the comment.

    "Anne thinks the slow speed makes the island feel larger, makes everyone more patient."

    "And how is Anne?"

    "Fantastic, but you can see for yourself. We'll be there in twenty." Even after a year and a half, his voice held a newlywed's adoration.

    Rich's wife was the daughter of an old family friend, Aunt Catherine. They'd known her by that appellation since before they could speak, though she wasn't an actual relation. Catherine befriended the Fitzwilliam siblings on the day her family moved into their posh neighborhood. When Darcy's mom, for whom Catherine's daughter was named, died, she took it upon herself to "mother" Will and Georgie, not that he or his father welcomed her officious interference. It had made her insistence that he marry her daughter feel vaguely incestuous. But Rich, the sly devil, courted the invalid Anne under their noses on the very visit Darcy proposed to Elise. He was too preoccupied with his own failed romance to notice theirs and was pleasantly shocked by the announcement of their engagement some weeks later.

    Their conversation shifted to Rich's current position as a flight surgeon and deputy commander of the Medical Group at the air base, until they pulled into a driveway bordered by meter high snow banks.

    "Anne, you look," Darcy tried not to stare, "marvelous." She stood on a step in the foyer, a little elevated from where he entered, the backlight haloing her petite frame and straight blonde hair. Her green eyes were vibrant with health. Last he'd seen her, not long after her wedding and shortly before their move overseas, she was thin and pale, though extraordinarily improved from the nearly bed-ridden state to which she had been confined since childhood.

    "Thank you, Will." She looked down, a becoming blush the color of her oversized sweater climbing into her cheeks.

    He glanced back at Rich, who was smiling lovingly at his wife. "I told you."

    Handing him a pair of house slippers, she directed him to remove his shoes and stow them in one of the vacant cubicles. He declined, making a half-jesting comment about "going Japanese," and both took offense, professing the "no shoes" policy was part of their lease and assuring him they had no intention of slighting their host nation. He followed them on a quick tour of the small house, astonished that they had chosen to live so far below their means. It smelled indistinctly of the kerosene that burned in each room, making the unheated hallway and bathroom chilly by comparison and affording him instant appreciation for both the slippers and the heated toilet seats.

    When Anne served tea and they were relaxing in the living room, Darcy reintroduced her health. "Forgive my rudeness earlier, but are you completely recovered?"

    "Yes." She shyly patted her husband's thigh, where she was nestled against him on the sofa. "Rich saved my life."

    "That's a bit dramatic," the doctor protested.

    "No, but it's true. Rich diagnosed me with celiac. I'd probably been suffering since infancy. By the time they did the biopsy, all the villi in my upper intestine were destroyed. It's no wonder I grew so slowly and had no energy; I was essentially starving. Nearly two years gluten-free and I'm as healthy as can be."

    "Though you'll never be tall." Rich ruffled her hair playfully, and she needled him in the ribs.

    Darcy's lips curved up, enjoying their antics. "A special diet must be hard in Japan."

    "Not really." She shrugged. "I have a card in Kanji, and we frequent several restaurants where the proprietors are delighted to oblige. They'd please even your discriminating palate, I think."

    "We'll take you. Anne could use the calories," interjected Rich. The couple exchanged a wordless look before he glanced back at his cousin and continued, "Turns out treating celiac had an unintended, though not unwelcome, consequence. You can congratulate us. We're expecting baby Fitzwilliam."

    Will snapped his jaw closed. "That's exceptional news! When?"

    "In August, around our second anniversary," answered Anne.

    Between her poor health and her age, though she was only thirty, Will had never considered Anne as a mother, nor Rich as a father, for that matter. Two years senior to Anne and two years junior to Rich, he was overcome with longing for a family of his own. But that required finding a woman who could outclass Elise. "I expect Aunt Catherine is pleased."

    "Exceedingly!" chimed the couple, quoting one of Catherine's trademark words, much to the amusement of all three.

    When they exhausted baby talk (and who knew so much could be said about a child who had not made any sort of appearance), Darcy excused himself to sleep. He half expected a futon on a tatami floor, but was relieved to find a solidly Western bed awaiting his weary bones.

    Utter stillness pressed into Darcy when he opened his eyes. He checked his watch, expecting the insane hour at which jet lag had been waking him, but it was nearing 7:00 am. He hadn't slept this well since his arrival in country. And there was a quality to the silence, like an almost palpable cocoon. Leaping from the mattress, he swept aside the curtains to have his prescience rewarded. In the pre-dawn dimness, his eyes met a wall of white, descending with that absence of sound peculiar to a snowstorm.

    Darcy carried his toiletries and clothes down the hall to the only bathroom boasting a shower. Having shaved and disrobed, he stepped into a small room, floor to ceiling fiberglass with no curtains or sliding doors. There was a drain at his feet, a low stool perched before a wand at hip level, and a deep tub to his left. He was mildly perplexed by the arrangement, until he located a hook that raised the hose to neck height, and he performed a gymnastic backbend to rinse his hair. But at least the water was warm and, after nearly two years of practice, gratitude for the small things came naturally.

    He found Anne in the kitchen browning bacon and stirring cocoa over a gas flame. A bowl of pancake batter and another of beaten eggs awaited their turn.

    "Smells fantastic! Where's Rich?"

    "Out shoveling. Delayed reporting until 10:00 am, but if it keeps up, it will be a snow day for sure." She tucked a stray lock behind her ear. "You look more rested."

    "First night I haven't been twiddling my thumbs between 2:00 and 4:00 am. Shall I help Rich work up an appetite?"

    "Not dressed like that." Anne snickered, as Darcy surveyed his raiment: a white oxford button-down tucked into chinos, also the most casual clothes he had brought. A quarter hour later, he was passably provisioned and decked in jeans and a flannel, though a trifle short in inseam and sleeves. When had he last worn flannel? Ever? Even at Pemberley, his winter clothes were primarily wool sweaters or technical fabrics better suited to skiing.

    Having borrowed a coat, gloves, and slightly small boots, Darcy marched into the flurry. Rich had cleared three-fourths of the drive and already another inch was accumulating. The cousins fell into rhythm beside one another, Darcy unzipping his jacket and wiping his brow as he warmed with the effort. He liked manual labor, liked the way it made his mind feel more alert, though he normally paid someone else to do it. By the time they finished, both were famished and the all-American fare proved thoroughly satisfying. They dawdled over coffee and cocoa, discussing possibilities for the day.

    "I feel like I'm playing hooky," Darcy chuckled. "I'm too much of a scrooge to close the office for DC snow days."

    "I don't blame you," agreed Rich. "Wait til you see the dump here. It's a snow day because you literally can't go anywhere."

    "I knew it snowed considerably on Hokkaido, but I had no idea about the main island."

    "We're near the same latitude as New York City," explained Anne, "and six miles from the Pacific, which creates our own 'lake effect.'" He glanced out the window. Already the driveway had disappeared from view, and Rich anticipated shoveling every couple hours to keep up with the heavy, wet precipitation.

    Suddenly, Darcy's chair shuddered under him, as did the plates on the table. With mounting alarm, he observed concentric rings spreading in his coffee mug, the chandelier beginning to sway and the blinds banging gently against the glass.

    "Earthquake," remarked Rich casually.

    "Do we need to take shelter?" asked Darcy with a surge of adrenaline.

    "If it will make you feel better." Rich's smile was lopsided. "But there are so many tremors that you'd be forever seeking a 'triangle of safety.'"

    "This happens often?"

    "We had 1,200 aftershocks in the first three months following the big one. You'll probably experience a few during your visit. Don't worry. They tend to build slowly. If it grows more violent, that's your cue."

    The tremor abated, and they discussed at length the Fitzwilliams' experience with the magnitude 9.0 earthquake and consequent tsunami the previous March, as well as their involvement in supplying clean-up and critical aid through Operation Tomodachi. Though they didn't say so, Darcy deduced much of their disposable income had been donated to relief. The thought made him proud.

    "While we're not breaking our backs," Rich grinned wickedly, "can I tempt you with chess, for old times?"

    "Certainly." Darcy knit his brows threateningly. "Sure you're up for it?"

    They played not once but twice, Darcy losing the first when he misjudged Rich's improvement under Anne's tutelage. Feeling compelled to recoup his reputation, he strategized a closer game and won, though not by the margin to which he was accustomed. Darcy bore it with good humor, as he did the remainder of the day, which was spent alternately shoveling snow and pursuing indoor activities. By the time he crawled between the sheets that night, they had plundered the game cabinet, raided the modest library, consumed an entire batch of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies (gluten-free, of course), and made an assault on the pantry shelf that passed for a wine cellar. Except for one email to his office and another to Georgie, Rich and Anne good-naturedly barred access to the computer and threatened to confiscate his mobile, lecturing Darcy about activities appropriate to vacation.

    He bunched the pillow beneath his head in contentment. It had been many years since he had relaxed and enjoyed himself with family. Not even with Georgie, not completely, at least since he became her guardian. But Rich and Anne reminded him what it was like when both his parents were alive, before his mother died and his father buried himself in work. They reminded him what daily love looked like: the meaningful glances, a kiss on the back of the neck, a word of encouragement. What he might have shared with Elise. He swallowed hard and yet he felt better somehow, as if a knot he didn't realize existed had pulled loose.

    (2)

    Posted on 2012-08-20

    A soaring hawk
    The north wind unfettered
    Freed to fly

    "Darcy-san."

    Will looked up abruptly. For the umpteenth time.

    The Fitzwilliams' aged mama-san grinned at him, gesticulated dramatically, made some remark he did not understand, and then resumed her task of cleaning everything under five and a half feet. The dust on the topmost shelves had not escaped him, though it must not trouble Rich.

    He returned his attention to his book, and she disappeared into the kitchen. He managed several pages before her chortle jolted him. Again. In rhythm with the squeak and swish of the mop. So much for stereotypical quiet.

    She clearly found her monologue humorous, though he could not, especially as his name featured in it prominently. He wished Anne were home to interpret.

    If he had transportation, he could escape to the fitness center for a workout or to the golf course for cross-country skiing. He had noticed that his executive assistant tucked his International Driver's License into his briefcase; he needed to look into renting a car. He didn't like his wings clipped.

    Not that he had any interest in the surrounding city, which was tidy but fell short of scenic. The Fitzwilliams had navigated around streets so rutted with ice that it felt like driving in tracks. Darcy asked why salting and snow removal seemed to be eschewed, but they only shrugged and continued to point out various landmarks with an almost hometown pride. When he commented on the frequency of a sign that looked like a shallow bowl with steam emanating in three red waves, Rich explained it marked an onsen, the nationally popular bath houses. Darcy mentally added it to his avoids.

    By evening, after Rich arrived home and changed from his uniform, the dark sky was aglow with the refracted light of gently falling snow, and Darcy anticipated quiet hours spent in conversation or chess. But Rich and his wife had another idea.

    "Don't be such a snob," coaxed Anne.

    "It's a mall," Darcy said.

    "So? Malls can be a cultural experience."

    Will enlisted Rich to intercede. "Don't tell me you've gone over to the dark side."

    "It's not about me. Who's spent too many nights alone with a book? We'd fail as hosts if we didn't drag you out."

    The truth of his cousin's statement stung Darcy a little, and he reluctantly agreed to dinner in the food court, another item on what was becoming a long list of firsts.

    Standing in a sea of sterile tables, he surveyed the options: udon, tempura, and stir-fry; something like a rice-filled omelet topped in gravy; and the obligatory McDonald's, with its teriyaki and fried egg burgers and bright green, melon-flavored Fanta. The number of English words interspersed with the Kanji, hiragana and katakana surprised him, not that all the phrases made sense.

    "How about takko?" Will asked. "Any relation to tacos?"

    Anne bit her lips. "Takoyaki, fried octopus balls. Very popular and quite tasty."

    "Maybe I'll save that for later." He consoled himself that he need not be an adventurer to be a gourmand. "What do you recommend?"

    "Pepper Lunch?" Rich suggested and Anne agreed with a nod.

    They ordered by inserting yen into a machine and pressing a button for the desired meal. The smiling attendant handed Darcy a pager, and within ten minutes he found himself seasoning and then stirring rice, beef and an egg as they cooked on a super-heated iron plate.

    "That was good." Darcy set down his chopsticks, foiled by the last, elusive bites of rice. "But doesn't cooking your own food defeat the purpose of going out?"

    "Not when freshness is highly prized," said Anne. "Japan's like Europe that way. You know, small fridges and daily shopping?"

    "Yes, but when I pay for a meal, I prefer it ready to eat, not ready for me to mangle."

    Rich snorted. "What, you mean you didn't like your burnt offering?"

    "As if you were any help." Darcy recalled their earlier outing for yakiniku. The waiter had ignited a grill in the center of the table and produced platters of raw meat and vegetables, which they barbequed themselves. The experience confirmed that authentic Kobe beef really did melt in one's mouth, at least when it wasn't charred to a crisp, and that he had nowhere near the facility with chopsticks as he once believed.

    "I assumed you'd developed a taste for well-done," said Rich, with feigned innocence.

    Anne rolled her eyes. "You two are like brothers."

    Darcy leaned across the table to sock his cousin in the shoulder, and Rich jerked back. "Hey -"

    "Brother." Will's eyes smiled.

    "Let's go." Anne stood. "The movie starts in a half-hour, and the cinema is at the other end."

    They ambled through the mall. Smaller, cleaner, brighter, quieter than in the States, but still comprised of the expected stores, although, even if he could find clothes in his size, Darcy would never sport fashions so eclectically modern. Somehow, the farmer's market overflowing like a cornucopia with colorful produce did not seem out of place. He paused at one of many sock shops to choose a selection of two- and five-toed socks for Georgiana, knowing she'd appreciate the novelty. In the global import store, he was mortified to discover boxes of instant mac-n-cheese from the US, right next to the Belgian chocolates. Did the locals think this was what Americans ate?

    The movie with which they concluded the evening was forgettable, an animated feature of all things, since the other non-dubbed films belonged to genres even less appealing. Darcy did enjoy the bottle of Sapporo beer and bucket of lightly-sweetened caramel popcorn, though it reminded him of Elise. He was unprepared, however, for the cartoon-induced onslaught of memory that kept him awake long after he went to bed.

    On a hot afternoon before his sophomore year in high school, their chauffeur had driven them to the cinema so that Will could take his five year old sister to see a fairy tale. He wanted to cheer her, to assure her that her brother would always be there for her. The movie seemed to work, at least until she realized the princess didn't have a mother either. Then, Georgiana crawled into his lap, buried her head in his chest and cried silently, her tiny shoulders shaking. Pressing his face to her ponytail, drinking in her little girl scent, he vowed he would be everything she needed, that he would protect and love her, come what may. That cartoon ironically commemorated the day he grew up, the day he gave over the trappings of childhood and became a man.

    A few days later, when his father returned from his business trip, Will sought him in his study. He declined the offered chair, standing resolutely before the desk. His father turned from the computer to grant him his full attention.

    After presenting his argument, Will made his plea. "Dad, I know you miss Mom; we all do. And I know Darcy Systems is at a crucial point, but in the end, it's just ones and zeros. Georgie needs you." He swallowed hard, willing himself to remain strong. "I need you."

    His father studied him, his eyes filled with regret. Then he rose, coming around the desk slowly and they stood eye to eye. His father squeezed his shoulders and said in a cracking voice, "I'm proud of you, son, and I'm sorry."

    When his father was home, which was no more often than before, he was kind and attentive, but nothing changed, not really. Their faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, did what she could, but even seventeen years later, on a mattress in northern Japan, Darcy felt an echo of the anger and bitterness, grief and shame. How often he'd wanted to yell at his father, to coerce him into compliance, and then he was overcome by guilt. His dad died from a heart attack, the stress of work, his doctors said.

    Darcy curled onto his side, flames of resentment licking at his soul. How many times must he relive this? But he knew from painful experience it was wiser not to resist, and he allowed the emotions to burn through him. Irrational though it was, he was angry with his mother for surrendering to cancer. Angry with his father for leaving them. Angry for being obliged to relinquish his youth. Angry over friends who wouldn't take life seriously or who cared for nothing more than his prestige. Angry that the pressures which had molded him into the man he had become had also cost him Elise. And he was angry with himself. For losing her and nearly losing Georgie.

    Three years ago, the summer before his sister's freshman year at university, he intervened just in time to prevent her from eloping with George Wickham.

    "But I'm in love with him," she entreated, her hazel eyes round with tears.

    He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest as she sobbed, and he kissed the crown of her head.

    The smell of her hair returned him to that moment so many years before, and he instantly saw his youthful vows for the pretensions they were. He saw that she needed more than he could ever give, that a brother's love would never be enough. The realization had driven him to find strength beyond himself.

    Drained by the memories, Darcy rolled onto his back, inhaling and exhaling slowly, waiting for the release he knew would come. Gradually, the anger yielded to sorrow. The words rose for the thousandth time, part prayer and part confession. I miss you, Dad, and I'm sorry. Forgive me. A tear tracked down his cheek.

    After Rich showed his cousin the Medical Treatment Facility and the air base, they lunched at Café Ogawara, perched on the brow of a high hill overlooking the semi-frozen lake for which it was named. The air was cold and clear, the Hakkoda mountain range aligned like white picket staves in the distance.

    "You've been holding out on me." Darcy gestured to the panorama. "The view is unsurpassed."

    "I remind myself of that when work is crazy. The Hakkodas have some of the finest back country. Skiers and boarders come from the world over. I could line you up with Hakkoda Powder Tours."

    "I'll think about it. Thanks." Darcy sat back, stretching his legs under the table. "Truly though, thank you. I didn't realize how much I needed this."

    "I know. Your dad wasn't the best example. It's hard to see you do the same."

    "What do you mean? I hope I'm like my dad in the ways that count."

    "I was referring to how he handled your mom's death. Work took over his life. That's how you've been mourning Elise."

    "Mourning? It's not like she died."

    "But your relationship did. Don't you think it's time to move on?" Rich's voice was quiet. "It's been what, a year?"

    "And a month." Darcy crossed his arms. Rich was wrong; he wasn't like his dad that way. He was intentional to spend time with Georgie, and he had outside interests, not to mention going out with other women. "Just because I'm not seeing anyone seriously doesn't mean I'm not trying to move on."

    "If you're thinking of your dates du jour, they don't count."

    Will scowled. "That's bold of you."

    "Have any met your standard? I doubt even Elise could measure up to herself anymore. You're in love with a phantom. Do you even know where she is or what she's doing?"

    "That's hardly fair. Would you have me settle?" Darcy did not admit that the thought plagued him. She might be dating. She might even be married.

    "Not at all. You're a great guy and you deserve a great woman, and I'm not just saying that because you're my cousin. I might have pursued Elise, had circumstances been different. I can't think of one good reason why she would let you go, but she did, and you deserve better than that. You need to set her aside and live again."

    "Very helpful, Rich." His voice was edged with sarcasm. "You think I don't want to?"

    "If she walked through that door, would you take her back?"

    Of course. The truth bit into Darcy like a screw, twisting his insides. He'd known he wasn't over her; even a blind man could have seen that. But surely it wasn't for lack of effort.

    "Ah," Rich nodded, "I'm right. But it's never going to happen unless you really want it."

    "What's not? Getting over her or back together with her?"

    "Either one."

    It seemed an odd excursion for January, but Rich insisted on taking Will to the beach. On their way, he pointed to the myriad farm and rice fields sleeping under their white blankets. They parked and then hiked a short path to an access point.

    Darcy strode the top of the sea wall beside his cousin, their coat collars raised against the cold, hands thrust into pockets like twins. The Pacific coast was a barren windblown strip, bordered by enormous concrete barriers vainly attempting to curb the riptides slowly consuming the land.

    He squinted into the distance, the wind drying his eyes. Was someone approaching? Several minutes later, the figure resolved into a Westerner, average in height and build, ordinary in every respect.

    The man approached the cousins briskly and halted before them. "Fitzwilliam Darcy?"

    "Yes." Will furrowed his brow. "May I help you?"

    "Just checking. Thank you." The man nodded sharply, spun on his heel and stalked off as quickly as he had arrived.

    Rich turned to him. "What was that about?"

    "I have no idea." Darcy tracked the stranger, already fading from view. "Funny. Same thing happened at Tokyo station. I need to call my office when we get back."

    They resumed their walk, Rich indicating where the tsunami had flattened groves of trees and carried boats far inland from the harbor. Darcy was startled to see that some Japanese pines actually grew like they were portrayed in stylistic artwork, though closest to the coast they were bent and stunted by the perpetual wind.

    "When the tsunami broke," explained Rich, "it flooded over this wall as easily as surf over a sand castle."

    Darcy tried to envision it. In some places, the barriers were twenty feet high, their pyramidal bases twice that in thickness.

    "But it wasn't the incoming wave that did the damage," he continued. "When the waters receded, all the pressure was forced into the smallest openings in an escalating rush. That's what swept everything out to sea." Rich pulled Darcy to one side, pointing toward a section of the base that was still under repair.

    Darcy was staggered by the massive segments of interior wall which had been shorn away, leaving gaping holes ten, twenty, and thirty feet wide. Except where the wall had been breached, the exterior appeared untouched. Destroyed by the pressure on the inside. It seemed fitting.

    Before they left, Darcy faced out to sea and standing there, buffeted by the gale, something rough and bracing gusted through his soul. It murmured of life untamed, of recklessness, of risk. Another knot gave way.

    As if by premeditated coordination, Darcy lunched with Anne at Shiroi Mori, her favorite tea and cake house. The stove crackling behind him and the sun, magnified by the snow, through the greenhouse walls created a cheerful oasis in the heart of winter. He tucked into a delicate confection, so artistic in presentation and intricate in flavor that it could rival any from a Parisian patisserie, and then he noticed her eyes following his fork.

    "Where are my manners? Forgive me for starting without you."

    "I'm enjoying yours vicariously. Gluten-free, remember?" He pushed his plate away, and she chuckled. "Don't stop on my account. It would make me too sick to contemplate. Besides, I have banana-milk tea. May I?"

    "Please."

    She lifted the quilted cozy from the teapot and held the strainer over his cup. The delicate turn of her wrist as she poured reminded him of a quiet afternoon when she had been a frail six year old, her skin nearly as sallow as her hair, carried to her seat by an au pair. He and Rich folded their longer legs under her toy table and played along as she pretended to serve, lecturing them on etiquette. She didn't last more than a half-hour, and the cousins scampered out to plague Rich's elder brothers.

    He looked up to find the grown Anne studying him, her chin resting in one hand. "You're far away."

    "I was remembering how you used to treat me and Rich to tea as children."

    "You were very kind. Amazing, really, that two active boys would entertain a sickly girl."

    "It wasn't a chore." Darcy spoke affectionately, though his statement was only half-true. "I'm glad we're cousins now. I can't tell you how pleased I am for you and Rich."

    She reached across the café table and patted his hand. "You know we only want the same for you."

    Darcy grimaced.

    "Rich told me about your conversation; he can be rather blunt. If you'd like a woman's perspective, I would love to listen." The sincerity in her clear green eyes was inviting.

    "There's not much to say because I still don't understand." He shrugged. "I suppose it started with my botched proposal. Rich ever tell you?"

    "Don't be too hard on yourself. You're certainly a better man for it, I had a front-row seat for the metamorphosis."

    "You make me sound like I was an ogre."

    She laughed appreciatively. "You had your moments, but I suspect the lion has been tamed."

    "Elise, apparently, didn't agree with you."

    "How can you say that?" She angled her head. "I thought you dated."

    "Sort of. We doubled when Charles and Jane got back together, but it was never official."

    "Semantics." She waved her fingers. "And you were in Durham often?"

    He smiled fondly. "Guilty."

    "Tell me about it."

    "We spent most weekends together, but it didn't matter what we were doing. Elise was just plain fun, and I loved the turn of her mind. She surprised me; she challenged me. She was never down, and she delighted in even the simplest pleasure. It's like her inward orientation was one of joy, and it colored everything. She made my life brighter, richer, deeper." An echo of that joy coursed through him with the remembrance. "It felt like we could have talked and laughed forever. Obviously, one-sided."

    "I doubt it," said Anne. "I was around her enough to gather she was lively and frank. I can't imagine her doing anything she didn't want to do."

    "That's Elise." How often had she vivaciously asserted her opinions whether in regard to food or books, adventures or photos, but with such impish sweetness that even when he disagreed, he was charmed?

    Once, he reluctantly allowed her to drag him into a deserted street.

    "Dip me, Will," she said, pirouetting around him, her freckled cheeks rounded by her smile, and he was powerless to resist. He might have kissed her then, if Jane and Charles weren't standing on the sidewalk laughing and if he were confident she was actually flirting.

    "What was that for?" he asked, when they rejoined their friends.

    She flipped her brunette waves over her shoulder and flashed her dark eyes at him. "Because I've always dreamed of a handsome man dancing with me in the middle of the street."

    It was not an isolated event, but he was reluctant to interpret such occurrences as more than her normal liveliness. He made that error the first time, thinking she was attracted to him, when in fact, she felt the opposite.

    "Then what happened?" prompted Anne, pulling him from his reverie.

    "The Bingleys' wedding. I planned to tell her how I felt, that I wanted to continue seeing her, but she was so quiet and kept giving me the strangest looks."

    "If you'd made up your mind, I can't imagine that would have stopped you." Anne smiled and leaned on her elbows.

    "It was more than that. She was polite, but distant and cool. If I tried to do something for her, she rebuffed me. She must have said 'No, thank you' a hundred times. I kept asking if she was okay and she'd say 'I'm fine' with this tight smile. I knew she wasn't, but I couldn't figure it out and she wouldn't talk to me. I thought maybe she was upset about Jane leaving." He lifted his shoulders. "It was bizarre."

    Anne frowned. "But everything was fine until then?"

    "Pretty much, though she was busy with wedding details and we spent less time together those last weeks."

    "You never told her that you still had feelings for her?"

    "No, but she should have known." He sighed bitterly. "When I went to hug her good-bye, she shook my hand, if that tells you anything."

    "It does, but maybe not what you think." Anne laced her fingers together. "Was that the last you saw her?"

    "I called her at Christmas. I think she felt obliged to return the call on New Year's. It was all very formal, very civil, completely unlike the preceding six months. We chatted a few times in January, but she was obviously busy. Whenever I asked what was wrong, she'd say, 'Nothing.' It dawned on me that I was pestering her, so I backed off. And then, in February, I gave her one last chance, and she expressed her regrets. It felt like I was prolonging our relationship on life support, so I made sure she knew the choice was hers. But I never heard from her again. She pulled the plug."

    Darcy looked at Anne expectantly, wondering if she would second her husband's recommendation, but was surprised when she merely offered her sympathies.

    "That's all? Where's the sage feminine insight?"

    "Do you want my opinion?"

    "Sure." He was as puzzled as she appeared. "Why else would I pain myself with explaining?"

    "To feel better." She said this as if it were the most common sense pronouncement in the world.

    "I'm sure I would, if I could resolve it."

    "Classic."

    "What?"

    "Men and women." She dismissed the comment with a flip of the hand and was quiet for a moment. "I'm no businesswoman, so forgive me if I bungle this, but let me try an analogy. Darcy Systems has acquired a number of smaller companies, hasn't it?"

    "Yes," he wrinkled his forehead. "But what -"

    "And you brokered some of those deals?"

    "I did."

    "What's the risk if the initial offer is too low?"

    He answered with some impatience. "You risk the prospect either leaving the table insulted or withdrawing if it prolongs negotiations. What's your point?"

    "Maybe that's what you did to Elise."

    He blinked. "I don't -"

    "If you offered low, just friendship, maybe she was waiting around for a something more, but finally gave up and left the table."

    Uneasiness tickled his gut. He'd never thought of it that way, and it was true that he hadn't wanted to rush her. "But I was very clear at the end, that the counter-offer was hers, if you will. She couldn't have mistaken my intent. Plus, it's been a year."

    Anne's shoulders climbed briefly. "People tend to hear either what they want to hear or what they're afraid of hearing. The only way you're going to find the truth is if you ask her, and surely that can't be any worse than what you've been through."

    Could it really be that simple? An idea began to niggle at the back of his mind.

    After dinner that evening, Rich and Anne exchanged a glance before announcing they had arranged a surprise for him. Time was, he might have balked, but in the end, he ceded to their preferences with only a vocal objection. The humorous yet knowing manner in which Anne sent them off was not reassuring.

    En route, Rich revealed their destination as the Grand Komaki, but even when the edifice came into view, it seemed neither grand nor more than a sprawling hotel. However, when he escorted them down a long escalator, paid fourteen hundred yen for two tickets, and ushered them through the decorative noren hanging in the doorway and into a dressing room populated by men in various states of undress, Darcy began to worry in earnest.

    Rich only laughed. "Don't look so anxious. Onsens are one of Japan's best-kept secrets, and this is the nicest in town."

    "It's a public bath," protested Will.

    "But you can't go home without trying it once." Rich removed his shoes, placing them in a rack near the door, and scuffed across the floor in the complimentary slippers. "I'll show you the ropes."

    They stripped, leaving their clothes in a pair of baskets on long rows of shelves, and proceeded to an opaque sliding door, which revealed, to Darcy's even greater astonishment, a room lined with low stools and buckets, each placed before its own mirror and shower hose. The air was thick with steam. As Rich led him toward a pair of vacant seats, he tried not to notice the other men lathering and dousing themselves.

    Spying a pool, Darcy made for it, but Rich stopped him. "Not so fast. We wash first."

    "That seems redundant."

    "You want to soak in someone else's bathing water? The idea is to scrub fully," he said, as he flipped a small bucket under the spigot. Darcy copied his cousin, squatting on a stool so tiny that his knees nearly reached his underarms.

    Rich delineated the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body soap, and rattled off more instructions as he scoured and sluiced repeatedly. The guidelines amounted to being considerate of one's neighbor: watch overspray, tidy the shower area, rinse soap completely, only small towels allowed outside the changing room, and don't disturb the tranquility with too much noise. By the time they completed their ablutions, Darcy felt his skin had achieved a new shade of pink, and he couldn't believe he was subjecting himself to more.

    Rich marched him past the indoor pools, explaining they were heated by volcanic springs and encouraging him to toe each one. They proved to be cold, hot and extremely hot, respectively.

    A small woman of advanced years scuttled toward them, and Darcy leaped backward in shock. His heel caught the lip of a pool, and he teetered, adrenaline instantly pumping. But Rich clasped his forearm and righted him. Snatching the small towel from his shoulder, Darcy attempted to cover himself with some degree of modesty.

    The matron smirked at his antics, deepening the heavy lines of her face and revealing several missing teeth, before scurrying away. He couldn't believe no one else in the crowded room either noticed or was bothered by her passage.

    "Mama-san," chuckled Rich, his voice low. "They're in and out cleaning; you'll get used to it. I had a similar reaction the first time that happened." At Darcy's continued look of horror, he added, "Nothing they don't see all the time, except we're much taller and whiter."

    "And that's supposed to make me feel better."

    Another foggy door deposited them in the freezing night, but within a few steps, they were wading into an oblong pool, thigh deep and lined with smooth river stones. A dozen Japanese men lounged against the walls, some with eyes closed and others in low conversation. Darcy was stunned by the almost unbearable, burning heat, but by the time he reached the side furthest from the building, he was ready to submerge his cold torso next to Rich.

    When he turned to see what had captured his cousin's attention, Darcy was amazed. An ice-glazed pond, surrounded on three sides by tree-topped white cliffs and lit artfully in the darkness, gave the sensation of having stumbled into the wilderness. The water spilling over the edge of the onsen amplified the peace, and Darcy exhaled the breath he had been holding.

    He felt Rich's quick glance. "What do you think?"

    "Marvelous. Are all onsens like this?"

    "Yes and no. Not all have outdoor baths, and many that do are humble, just a courtyard pool. There's a variety: scented water; private 'family' rooms; konyoku, the co-ed baths; even whole resorts designed for connoisseurs. Anne and I found a gem a couple hours away. Electric pools are probably the most unique."

    "Electric? You're kidding, right?"

    "Nope. There's a low current when you step into the water; more, if you lean against the panel. I have friends who swear it's therapeutic. I'll take you, if you'd like."

    "I'll pass. And you're going to have to teach me the symbol for the kon-whatever."

    Rich shrugged. "Anne and I went often before she was pregnant. It's not a big deal. This sort of nudity is healthily asexual, not like the national obsession back home."

    Though he did not consider himself prudish, Darcy nodded doubtfully. He wondered how long it would have taken him to become acculturated.

    They fell silent and Darcy rotated, resting his head against the wall and staring up into a vivid Milky Way, the negligible light pollution making the stars shine more brilliantly than he had ever seen. They reminded him of Elise's dark eyes and how they sparkled with intellect and kindness and humor. Her enthralling eyes were what first attracted him. And in that moment, with the onsen relaxing his muscles and his mind, he opted in favor of the idea that had been percolating.

    When he returned to the States, he wouldn't simply call Elise, he would appear on her doorstep and tell her that he missed her, that he wanted a future with her. Anne was right. "No" was the worst she could say, but even that would propel him, finally, from the limbo to which he had condemned himself. Why he hadn't done so sooner seemed suddenly incomprehensible, and another knot, perhaps the last, released. As the tension receded, freedom and lightness expanded in his chest, and he felt almost giddy. He smiled up into the dark-bright sky, gratitude rising as a prayer.

    (3)

    Posted on 2012-08-26

    Sheathed in liquid fire
    Frost breathes upon the springs
    Hope rising

    The unexpected pleasure of his adventures in the onsen suggested an idea to Darcy, and he was not slow to act. With one of the Fitzwilliam's Japanese friends serving as an interpreter, he made reservations at Aoni Onsen, the little gem that Rich had mentioned. A few days in silence to read, reflect and soak in the hot springs seemed made to order.

    In simply choosing to find and confront Elise, his heart had unclenched. But making the decision was only the beginning. He needed a plan, and plans required careful deliberation. DARK and the upcoming Pentagon briefing would consume his attention as soon as he landed in DC. This was his chance to strategize.

    However, both Anne and Rich tried to dissuade him.

    "Afraid I'll make a muck of things?" Darcy was affronted. "It's not as if I'm culturally illiterate."

    "No, it's not that at all." They traded an amused and slightly concerned glance. "But it's a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn, very rustic, lit solely by lanterns. There are only two rooms with private toilets and most are 'squatties...'"

    Sharing a common bathroom gave him a moment's pause, but he assured them he was perfectly capable of meeting any challenge.

    The threesome was walking back to the car park, after purchasing a few items for Darcy's excursion, when Anne stopped to peer in a window at a display of baby clothes, the dresses and jumpers appliquéd with anime characters.

    She lifted suppliant eyes to her husband. "Do you mind?"

    "'Course not." Rich smiled indulgently at his wife and then shrugged an apology to his cousin.

    Darcy pointed to a jewelry store across the street. "I'll just step over there, see if I can find something for Georgie." He'd started bringing her charms after his first business trip, over a decade ago, and never stopped.

    The store was modest, but neat and well-lit. He quickly settled on a fragment of cobalt sea glass, smoothed to an opaque luster by the tumbling surf, as well as a tiny pair of silver geta, the traditional wooden clog-like sandals made famous by geisha.

    As he approached the register, a glitter of yellow snared his eye. He leaned over the case and examined what turned out to be a round canary diamond encircled by small white diamonds. The ring reminded him of a daisy. Darcy was transported to an early Saturday morning, when Elise had taken him to her local farmer's market, and she had nearly skipped through the long rows of cut flowers.

    "Which do you like most?" he asked.

    "Oh, I like them all," she clasped her hands before her, "but daisies, I think."

    He was momentarily tempted to purchase one of each variety, which would have filled the entire backseat of his convertible, but having learned she would not be impressed by that sort of extravagance, he bought her a large Gerber daisy the color of a ripe peach.

    "I would have pegged you for roses," he said, as they resumed walking.

    She glanced up at him. "I love roses. They speak to a woman's soul, but daisies are special for another reason." She rolled the long stem between her palms. "Not this kind, lovely as it is, but wild daisies, the little ones that look like the stars have fallen into the grass." The wistful turn to her countenance entranced him. "Are you familiar with Chesterton?"

    "A little," he admitted, curious about her change in subject.

    "There's this illustration in Orthodoxy." She stopped and faced him, a smile lighting her eyes. "You know how children have that insatiable appetite for repeated pleasures? They'll say, 'Do it again, do it again,' until you're sick of it."

    He nodded. He could ask her to smile again and again and never weary of watching her.

    "What if, when God created the first daisy," she held up the flower between them, "and delighted in its beauty, what if, instead of speaking an entire field into being, He said, 'Do it again' and again and again, delighting in the beauty of each individual flower with that same insatiable, tireless joy?" She contemplated the bloom for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Even though God's eternal, He's younger than we are. He isn't jaded, hasn't lost His ability to marvel." The manner in which she unconsciously stroked the petals against her cheek was alluring and he marveled, at her, at the insight, at the wonder of such a Creator.

    The image stayed with him and he looked up the reference later, on one of his long, lonely evenings. Daisies spoke to him of Elise, of small miracles and an infinite love.

    The jeweler withdrew the ring from the case and offered it to Darcy, who revolved it in his hands, wrestling with temptation. He had not multiplied his inherited wealth by succumbing to impulsive luxuries, but he made a split-second decision. The ring was perfectly suited to her, and if he never had an opportunity to give it to her, then his jeweler could sell it.

    When Darcy signaled his intention, the merchant hid his shock with a bow. He recovered swiftly and slid the band onto a measuring rod. Will debated for a moment, before pointing to a number. He recalled the size of her ring finger from the first go around. How ironic that he had endeavored to obtain the measurement without arousing her suspicions, when a proposal was the last thing she'd suspected. But this was not an engagement ring. That one, the historic Darcy diamond, languished in a Virginia lock box, though hopefully he would have reason to retrieve it again.

    The seven digit sum on the receipt briefly immobilized his fingers, until he recalled the figure was in yen and mentally recalculated. He tucked the receipt into his wallet, the ring box into an inner pocket of his coat and its papers into another.

    When he rejoined the Fitzwilliams and they questioned him about his purchase, he honestly replied that he had been successful in his search. More than successful, actually. But that was getting ahead of himself.

    Darcy stepped from the ryokan's shuttle into a crowd of fellow guests, head and shoulders shorter than he, and immediately gauged "resort" to be generously euphemistic. Humble, indeed.

    A tiny woman, swallowed by her apron, stood at the top of the steps, speaking and bowing, to which the crowd replied and bowed nearly in unison, before moving en masse through the double doors. Darcy shuffled with them. In the vestibule, he exchanged his shoes for the obligatory slippers, although, as on every previous occasion, his heels extended a full two inches beyond the back. He waited with growing irritation as every other guest was helped.

    How unexpected a turn his vacation had taken. He'd departed after chapel services that morning, and despite a few navigational errors, the drive proved scenic and uneventful. Since the Towada pass was closed to private vehicles during the winter, he'd left his rental at the rest stop some twenty minutes down the mountain. There would be no easy escape, not that he wanted one.

    When the clerk finally turned to him, he gave his name gruffly.

    Her face lit and she bowed in earnest welcome, though the only words he understood were "konnichiwa" (good day), "Darcy-san" (Mr. Darcy) and "kudasai" (please). Chastised by her hospitality - after all, he was the one unfamiliar with the language and customs - he curbed his impatience and bent over the counter as they embarked on an elaborate pantomime to complete the forms she thrust before him. She then produced a map, rapidly circling and explaining as she went. He peered closely at the tiny illustrations and deduced the location of the four onsens, as well as the banquet hall just to his right. After another round of improvised sign, he felt reasonably certain about the breakfast and dinner hours.

    Her final intonation sounded like a question and she tilted her head, looking at him expectantly.

    He shrugged his shoulders and offered an apologetic half-smile.

    She repeated her question, and then again, before giving up and beckoning him to follow.

    Darcy was impressed by how efficiently she bustled down the long hallway lined with numbered doors. Muted conversation drifted out the open transom windows.

    She paused at a linen closet and shook out a folded garment, standing on tip-toe to hold it to his shoulders with a "tsk-tsk." She reached for another and then another, until she seemed satisfied. He inferred his height was problematic for the correct length of yukata, a casual, lightweight robe and cousin to the more formal kimono. Rich had prepared him to expect it as the uniform de rigueur at onsens and less-metropolitan hotels. He accepted with supplicant hands and a bow of thanks.

    She smiled and waved him to the rear door, where they exchanged indoor slippers for an outdoor pair, and then he followed her along stone paths that crisscrossed steaming creeks.

    They passed one building in which the guestrooms were visible through large picture windows; privacy was not a premium. The path terminated in another structure, reminding him disconcertingly of Bavaria, with its white-washed, half-timbered walls beneath a steep, thatched apex. His hostess led him upstairs where she gave him to understand he must remove his slippers when entering his room. He thanked her again and she had nearly disappeared before he rose from his bow.

    The room was spacious, covered wall to wall in tatami mats, the only furniture several cushions around a low table on which were arranged a thermos, mugs and a small canister. He crossed to the rear window, where he could see the ascending vapor indicative of an outdoor onsen. To his left, another window overlooked a steaming waterfall splashing down a hill and slicing through the snow, presumably the hot spring that fed the ryokan.

    Before he lost motivation, Darcy swapped his clothes for the thin yukata and wished he had accepted Rich's offer of thermals to wear beneath it. He fiddled with the long belt, eventually settling for a square knot, and shrugged into the light vest that served as a coat.

    He was pleased to discover, just outside his door, one of the private bathrooms and a Western commode at that. If only navigating the operations panel were as simple as stepping into the toilet slippers. However, unlike prior experiences, there were neither English labels, nor an explanatory sign posted for the convenience of gaijin. It struck him, with passing humor, that only in Japan would a toilet require an instruction manual.

    He pressed a random button, but it merely produced a flushing sound, without actually flushing. He tried another, which made a mechanical noise, and then he jumped when the bidet sprang to life. Water spouted everywhere, and he sat quickly. Pressing what he thought might be the off button made it hotter. He growled, relieved no one could see or hear him. He gritted his teeth and waited until the spray ceased, and then tentatively pressed buttons and turned knobs, managing to start the air dryer, a thoroughly odd sensation, and increase the seat temperature, before he finally achieved success. As if that were not enough, he looked for a sink and was bemused by the small bowl inset in the tank's lid, which produced a fountain just large enough for rinsing his fingers.

    Feeling slightly foolish, he walked back down the hill. He had mapped a plan to conquer all four onsens, starting with the one furthest from the guest rooms, in the hopes that it would be the least crowded.

    Pleased to make his debut without an audience, Darcy straightened his legs, nearly spanning the outdoor pool. The snow blazed with illusory warmth as it reflected the orange and yellow tones of the sinking afternoon sun. He traced the shadows from the towering pines as they lengthened in cold contrast across the narrow valley.

    Lately, flying his planes was the one place he could "slip the surly bonds of Earth" and "touch the face of God."1 Maybe it was the perspective, but he always did his best thinking in the air. Onsens seemed to have a similar effect. And he did need to think. About Elise and what exactly he was going to say to her.

    He turned his mind to it, but another thought kept distracting him, pulling at him in the manner his little sister had, when he was trying to study. He was uneasy with the way Rich accused him of being like his father. He could not deny that he had been especially busy with work in the past year, but that was because DARK was in its initial deployment. It was true that when he was thinking about work, he wasn't thinking about Elise. But that was a welcome consequence and not his motivation. He needed, wanted, to be closely involved. Besides, it was his patriotic duty, as well as a matter of national security.

    But neither had he neglected Georgie, though she was equally busy at college. They texted frequently and spent most of her holidays together. He made sure she had everything she needed. Just like he'd always done. He'd sent her to the best prep school, hired tutors when she was struggling, seen that she continued her music lessons. He'd been there for her when their father couldn't.

    He'd still found time to keep his pilot's license current, as well as squire an enviable queue of ladies to every social gala his occupation required.

    And he did it all while transforming the family business into a legacy of which his father would have been proud. Personally, he would have preferred to forego the notoriety, but when he was named "Person of the Year," he paddled hard to catch the wave and it propelled Darcy Systems from a nationally celebrated company to a global leader.

    He stretched his arms wide, resting them on the lip of the pool and closed his eyes. Integrity, vision, excellence, and commitment combined with generosity and kindness. These were the traits he respected in his dad and strove to emulate. As for the rest, Rich was entirely mistaken. Absolutely and completely mistaken.

    The winter sun set while he was soaking and as Darcy sauntered back to his room, he was charmed by the kerosene lanterns hanging in the buildings and the candles lighting the sidewalks from their niches in the chest-high snow banks. By the time he climbed the stairs to his similarly illuminated room, he was overcome by onsen-induced fatigue. He tugged the futon and its sheet from the closet, arranged the duvet, puzzled over the pillow, which seemed to be stuffed with buckwheat on one side, and instantly capitulated to a sound sleep.

    The tremor of an earthquake woke Darcy, and he was disappointed to find he slept through dinner. Thankfully, Anne had obstinately provisioned him with a bag of fruit, nonperishables and sundry items, despite his earlier protests. She'd inherited her mother's attention to detail, but at least she applied it with compassion.

    His hunger assuaged, Darcy went downstairs, intent on testing the onsen in his own building, the next on his offensive. He joined several men, where they steeped in silence, though he could hear the low murmur from the women's side. Having reached his tolerance level for the heat, he sat on the edge, leaving only his lower legs dangling in the water.

    Before he was sufficiently cool, two ladies, in their blatant femininity, padded barefoot through the snow, slipping around the barrier and into the men's onsen. Darcy abruptly slid back into the water. Rich had warned him of this possibility, though he had not expected to experience it. The women were obviously acquainted with two of the men, and the foursome chatted quietly, as if there were nothing unusual in the setting. Embarrassed and not wanting to expose himself, Darcy rethought his exit strategy. He was overheated and his skin prunish by the time the ladies left and he likewise made his escape.

    Having napped too long that afternoon, Darcy could not sleep. He tried his book, but it failed to engage. Eventually, he slipped a tattered photo from his wallet. Though the colors were faded and there was a crease from repeated folding, Elise's face was the essence of happiness; his, a more subdued, though no less genuine, image of contentment. They had driven to the Outer Banks with Jane and Bingley. It was too late in the season to swim, but Elise surrendered to the pull of the surf.

    "Come on, Will!" Elise laughed and chased the receding water to its furthest point. Another wave broke and swept toward her. She shrieked and streaked back up the beach.

    He stood safely out of reach, observing her and reveling in her delight.

    She cavorted with the tide, back and forth, and then danced up to him, grabbing his forearm with both hands and trying to haul him toward the water.

    "Come. On." She spoke through a jaw tight with strain. "You're faster than I am. You won't get wet."

    He shook his head, her small frame no match for his. "I'll pass. Besides, it's more fun watching you."

    She made a face, rounding her eyes and sticking out her tongue. "Race you!" And then she sprinted down the beach, flying past her sister, who was strolling arm in arm with her fiancé.

    She ran with athletic grace and Darcy watched her for a minute before following, his extra ten inches in height making it easy to catch her. He snagged her elbow and she spun toward him. They were both winded. The sun was low, the breeze strong, and the surf pounding a visceral music as he looked down upon her glowing face, her inviting lips. For that moment, he did not care if it would be a betrayal of friendship. He stepped closer.

    Elise stepped back, but her mouth curved. He stepped toward her again, and she retreated further, her eyes twinkling.

    A particularly loud breaker drew his attention past her shoulder, and he saw what she was doing.

    "Watch out!" he cried, even as he reached for her.

    She moved instantly, but the wave caught the back of her legs and then his, a cold swirl sucking at his pants. They stopped together in the dry sand, Elise giggling. She was soaked to the thighs; he to the knees. So much for his Italian leather shoes.

    "You -" He mock-glared at her, though his amusement was peppered with honest frustration.

    "I'm sorry," she said, her teeth already chattering.

    "Here." He pulled his fleece over his head and offered it to her. It was impossible to remain upset with her.

    But she had her camera in one hand and was tugging at the neck of his shirt with the other. "Proof that I won."

    He lowered his head beside hers, she pressed her freckled cheek against his, and the flash from the end of her extended arm suspended that moment of elation, her windblown hair forever mingling with his. Almost possessively.

    Darcy bent the crease backward, flattening the photo, and then pressed a fingertip to the image of Elise's smile. Why hadn't he kissed her? The moment was lost. How often he returned home from another disappointing date to gaze at it, both comfort and torment. But he could no longer settle for the two-dimensional memory; he needed the real thing. He returned the picture, not to his billfold, but to the coat pocket still hiding the ring. They belonged together.

    After an unexpectedly enjoyable breakfast of fish, rice and vegetables, Darcy deliberated his attack on the remaining two onsens. One was located within the main lodge. The other, a konyoku, was in the shelter at the end of the stone path directly opposite his building. Rich and Anne agreed it was the best of the four and that, if he went mid-morning, after the mama-sans cleaned and when guests were departing, he would likely have the facility to himself. Deciding it couldn't be any worse than the night previous, he seized the moment.

    The pool was large, roofed over and bordered on three sides with bamboo and open to the winter landscape on the fourth. He glanced at the water, dark and still, the furthest corners veiled in steam, and hurried into the dressing room. When he emerged, he crossed a narrow stone bridge to a barrel with its attached ladle set aside for washing. There were no mirrors or stools here. He laved himself thoroughly, pouring water over his head and shaking it. The combination of hot water and cold air on his bare skin was invigorating. He stood for some minutes, his back to the pool, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, while his eyes traced the creek where it wound through the deep valley, past trees and snow-capped boulders.

    When he turned and stepped down into the water, he thought he heard a gasp. He paused on the step, considering retreat, but hearing nothing further, he slowly lowered himself into the searing heat. When his pupils adjusted to the dim interior, he glimpsed a curve of pale skin and a pile of dark hair before averting his eyes. He was not alone after all. Oh well. He would repeat his strategy of last evening: wait for the guest to leave, and in the interim, he would enjoy the scenery.

    However, Darcy could not relax. Not only did sharing the onsen with an unknown woman disturb his equanimity, but the sensation of her eyes upon him was disconcerting, not to mention unpardonably rude, particularly in Japan. Yielding to frustration, he decided to return the favor with a masterful glare. He twisted toward her. And then he stared. Impossible. Was the heat causing him to hallucinate?

    She seemed to float before him, the fair skin of her shoulders and neck rising disembodied from the water. He took in the flushed cheeks, the locks caught up haphazardly, the dark-bright eyes crowned with equally dark brows, one of which was arched in question. He could not have conjured a more perfect vision. He felt his blood pressure climb, his pulse pounding, and his breath, suddenly short, seemed the only sound.

    Frozen in mutual incredulity, he watched her color heighten, rosiness stealing up her temples and descending into the murkiness below the waterline. He willed himself not to trace the blurry outline of her submerged form. At least she appeared as discomposed as he felt.

    "Will?" Her voice, melodic and low, the voice he longed to hear, echoed in the enclosure.

    He did not speak, fearing to wake.

    "Will Darcy?" She repeated and began to move toward him.

    Time shifted, its eerie slow-motion quality rushing into a moment of clarity. This was no apparition. Compelled to leave, he started to stand, but realizing the betrayal that would involve, sank down immediately. Perhaps the heat from the water would mask the embarrassment he felt burning up his neck and into his face. He scooted along the wall and away from her, praying she would not draw too near.

    She stopped her forward progress, twin creases marring the space between her brows. He read it as displeasure.

    "Elise," he croaked, his mouth dry. "Elise, I'm sorry. I would never… if I had known… if you would just," he made a circle with two fingers, "I'll leave you to your privacy."

    She pondered him, and suddenly the creases disappeared. "Very gentlemanly, but no."

    "No?"

    "No, I won't turn around, though you're welcome to leave, if you like." Her tone was nonchalant, but her mouth betrayed her, one corner twitching almost imperceptibly. "It's not as if you were quick entering the water." Was it possible to redden further? He settled back; it was going to be a long wait.

    As they studied each other, he was staggered by surrealism. Nude in a Japanese onsen with Elise, the stuff of dreams and nightmares. Even a month of formulating speeches could not have prepared him for this circumstance. What should he say at such a moment? What should he do?

    "What are you," he cleared his throat, "why are you in Japan?"

    "Me?" She seemed momentarily flustered. "I've been here for nearly a year, teaching English."

    "Teaching English?" he repeated stupidly, blinking in amazement. How had he not known this? "But I thought you had a position once you finished your MBA."

    "I did." She shrugged, the movement luring his eyes to her bare shoulders and then downward, before he forced his attention back to her face. Her lips were moving. "…timelier. You remember Charlotte? I visited her that," she faltered, "that Easter in Richmond."

    He nodded. Did she think he could ever forget that Easter? He remembered Charlotte as a bookish thirty-something with a dry sense of humor. Her husband was a smarmy little genealogist whom Aunt Catherine had hired to research an obscure connection to British nobility.

    Elise continued, "She'd committed to teach for a year, but Bill was injured a few weeks before they were to leave, so I took her place." Darcy vaguely recalled Aunt Catherine's complaints about the expense; he'd fallen out of an attic and ended up in a body cast.

    "That was good of you," he remarked automatically.

    They sunk into reserve again, and he cast about for a conversation topic. The weather? He could ask about her family. No, that hadn't worked so well in the past. "Have you enjoyed it?"

    "What?" Her eyes widened.

    "Japan."

    "Oh. It's been amazing and just what I needed because…" She trailed off and repositioned herself against the wall.

    He hesitated for a moment. "Because?"

    "Enough about me." She laughed uneasily. "Why are you here?"

    Whatever she had intended to say, he was fairly certain it related to how their friendship ended. "Rich and Anne are stationed at an air base a couple hours away. I dropped in for a visit."

    "I liked Rich." He felt a twinge of jealousy at the way her face lit. "But I can't imagine Anne traveling. How's her health?"

    He related her diagnosis and their baby news, glad for a question he could answer easily. But they lapsed into silence again, alternately looking around and then at each other. He noted the spring spilling into the pool from a bamboo pipe cleverly concealed among the rocks. He tried to think, but it was like cupping water, the thoughts spilling through his fingers before he could pour them into words.

    She spoke first. "Did they recommend Aoni?"

    "Aoni?"

    "Rich and Anne. The onsen?"

    "Oh. Right. Yes. What about you?" How had they ended up here together? The odds were beyond calculation.

    "I'd heard it was enchanting and in the mountains and doable on a teacher's budget."

    He recalled how much she loved the mountains. In fact, it's what had brought them together the second time too. She'd been in the Springs, to climb Pikes Peak with her aunt and uncle when their car had broken down near Pemberley, and he'd just happened to be driving home. The recollection suggested a safe subject. "I suppose you've been enjoying all the mountains?"

    "Well," she smiled slowly, "not quite all."

    "A favorite, then?"

    "Probably Shirakami-Sanchi. Beech forest as far as the eye can see and mineral springs as blue as sapphires."

    This was progress. He felt marginally less unnerved, if he could just keep her talking and ignore the fact they were sitting au naturel. "What about Mount Fuji?"

    "They say, 'If you never climb Fuji-san, you're a fool, and if you climb it more than once, you're a fool.' I have the stick to prove I'm no fool."

    "Stick?"

    "Wood staff. The station stamps show how far you made it."

    "I'm sure you summited."

    She beamed. "It was awe-inspiring. I took some students during summer break. We climbed all night and reached the crest before dawn."

    "All night?" he exclaimed.

    She nodded vigorously. "And then we sat on the rocks with the wind whistling in our ears and watched the sky above the clouds flood with light and color. I wish I had my photos. Spectacular."

    "You should learn to fly, a similar view without all the effort."

    "That's cheating." She rolled her eyes. "Don't you know that appreciation is relative to effort?"

    He chuckled softly. "I think I'm learning."

    Their spurt of comfortable dialogue evaporated into self-conscious reticence. She worried the edge of one lip for a few moments and then blurted, "Are you here alone?"

    "Yes. Are you?"

    "Yes."

    They stared at each other, gauging. If she were here alone, did that mean?

    "Look, Will, it's not like you've been in hiding." She raised a brow, her tone defensive.

    He scrambled to comprehend and then grimaced. "Spin sells copy. You remember what it was like. The tabloids married us off when we weren't even dating." A shadow passed over her face, and he regretted his thoughtlessness. "Not one of those women meant anything to me." He realized too late how she might misconstrue his words. "I mean -"

    "Then, why?"

    They assessed one another. "What do you think?"

    "How should I know?" Her eyes flashed in annoyance.

    He might have been offended, but his inferences gave him hope. She cared enough to follow him online, but, more importantly, she cared. He spoke adamantly, willing her to understand. "It was never, not once, not with any of them, more than an evening out."

    She folded her arms, an eyebrow climbing again. "Not even Natalie?"

    "Especially not Natalie."

    "It certainly looked like more than an evening out."

    "You can't believe everything you read." He wished he had the freedom to explain, but it was complicated. "We had a business arrangement of sorts."

    "I don't even want to know."

    He looked askance. "You know me better than that. She's the only one I dared to ask more than once without fear she would misunderstand."

    "You don't have to explain. It's not like I have any right to question you." Her smile was forced. "I'm going to overheat if I stay in longer. Will you excuse me?"

    Stupid paparazzi. This was not how he wanted to part. Impetuously, he stretched one long arm behind him over the edge of the pool and, before Elise realized what he was doing, fisted a handful of snow and lobbed it at her. She ducked sideways and squealed when it caught her between neck and shoulder.

    "What was that for?" she challenged, the tension melting.

    "You said you were hot..." In quick succession, he threw several of the balls he had formed while she was distracted.

    "Will Darcy! You are in for it now!" She awkwardly moved across the shallow pool, aiming for a position along the same wall and a yard away. But when she finally stretched for the snow, her reach was six inches short and she glared at him. "Turn around!"

    "So you can make snowballs to pelt me with?" He laughed at her predicament, confident her modesty would overrule playfulness. "I don't think so."

    She narrowed her eyes, clenched her jaw and stood, rising from the water like a phoenix dripping with liquid fire. He gaped, breathless and riveted by the sight. She redefined beauty, radiated loveliness, embodied perfection.

    An icy smack to his chest and another to his shoulder jerked him out of his paralysis, and he whirled, just in time for a glacial barrage to rain down on his hunched back.

    When the bombardment ceased, he eased around. She sat neck-deep, arms folded across her bosom and a smug expression on her face. "You looked like you needed cooling off. That do the trick or do you need another round?"

    "I'm afraid your method rather defeats the purpose."

    "I really do need to get out."

    He smiled. "I won't stop you."

    She scowled at him, but when she started to rise, he faced the wall, listening as she moved in the water and splashed up the steps. Still, he couldn't resist the temptation and glanced over his shoulder to see her exquisite form disappearing into the dressing room. Someday, to hold her in his arms.

    1 "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

    Continued In Next Section

    © 2012 Copyright held by the author.