Ice-breaking Day dawned warmer than the last few days, the sun happily looking down at the frostbitten land to warm the ground and give us a tiny taste of the slowly-approaching spring. I rose and rolled up my mat, folding the cushioned futon and tucking it inside my closet. I knelt in front of my personal altar for a few minutes, offering the morning to the Creator, and lighting a candle to burn for the request that I had sent up to the Creator.

Foolishly, I still requested that something would keep me from marrying Itsua-han, but it was the day of sealing, and that meant that there was no turning back from the wedding.

Perhaps there might be something to put off the sealing, to stall it, and in that time, perhaps Father might find a better choice of a husband for me.

I stood from my knees and hurried downstairs, out of the house to the bathhouse that sat above the hot spring in our garden. A maid was already waiting there, pouring scented oils into the spring-fed stone pool so that I would smell nice for the sealing which was to take place later in the afternoon.

She helped me undress, and I sank into the hot water, letting the maid scoop water with a large shell to pour over my head. She worked a comb through my sleep-tangled hair before setting a few drops of oil on the top of my head and working it into my scalp with her fingers. She massaged the remaining oil into my hair, and rubbed soap into a sponge to help me wash.

I let her do the work for me, closing my eyes and enjoying the feeling of her scrubbing my back and arms. She handed a fresh sponge with soap to me so I could wash the rest of my body myself, rinsing in the bubbling water. She helped me next to the still pool, which was cooler and once again scented with oil, so I could sit for ten minutes and let the scents seep in.

The maid bowed and took her leave, leaving me alone in the dim and steamy bathhouse. It was the only work she and all the other servants were to do on Ice-breaking Day. Shops were going to be closed, and everyone all over the country—peasants, middle-class, nobility, and even the emperor himself—would sleep in and rest until the ice over the temple sanctuary doors would be broken late in the morning, welcoming the new year.

I looked up at the beams in the ceiling of the bathhouse. At least I had one thing to look forward to when it came to the sealing—the feast that would take place at Itsua-han's house after the ceremony. I should not have been so happy over food; I had the risk of forming weight around my breasts and waist, making me lose the tube-like figure that was very appealing during that decade. Before then, the desired appearance was the 'Reed-Stalk' figure, which was extreme thinness, leading girls to wear bindings over their breasts and waist while they were still young and growing, and starve themselves in hopes of being thought beautiful. It had died down when people began to see the negative effects of it, but I still saw women whose bones stuck out on their hands and faces, thinking it made them beautiful.

I had always found the 'Reed-Stalk' figure disturbing, looking like Ago-Yan, the Bone Woman from The Tale of the Red Water, who grew thinner and thinner the more she ate, but was always hungry.

When the ten-minute candle flame sputtered and died as it melted into a pile of wax, I got up from the water and went to the tiny room next to the pool room, which was where I was to dry off. The maid had already prepared a fire in the center of the room, and I sat on one of the benches, letting the heat dissolve the drops of water on my bare skin.

I let my toes rest on the warm stone close to the fire, thinking about how some people, especially in the larger cities inland, had turned to the use of gas to heat their homes. Mother had asked Father to install gas pipes, but he was against it, after reading too much about explosions and fires gone out of hand.

It smelled bad, anyway. It could not compare to the comforting smell of burning wood.

Once I was dry, I rang the bell for the maid, who brought in a robe for me to wear back to the house. We went to the dressing room, where Mother and Grandmother were already up, maids combing their hair in front of the large fire pit in the floor.

My maid combed out my hair, wrapping small sections at a time with strips of warm fabric. A maid brought in the deep blue robe painted with white flowers that I was to wear for the sealing, which was the opposite of my wedding robe. White was for brides, but blue was for womanhood.

She helped me into it, while Grandmother and Mother commented on how lovely I looked in the robe. The white belt was tied around my waist, the long ends tied in a knot on my back, extravagant folds mimicking the shape of the lotus flower.

The maid used two hot, flat stones to straighten my hair out and dry the last bits of dampness, knotting it at my neck with white ribbons.

Grandmother then painted white over my entire face with rice powder mixed with water, covering my lips. She dipped a smaller brush into red paint and painted my lips, and then lined my eyes with blue for the occasion.

Mother came forward and placed the white straw cap atop my head. I had to tilt it up to see her, as she was taller than I was, and the wide hat hung over my eyes.

"You look almost a woman," she said, fastening the cord under my chin. "Just a few more weeks, and you will be complete."

"She is already a woman," Grandmother said. "Look at her. She has the eyes of one."

I was glad that the white paint hid my blushing cheeks.

I looked up at the lanterns hanging from the beams that supported the outdoor pavilion. They were lit, giving a glow in the darkness that was already settling in the late hours of the afternoon. I knelt before the outdoor altar, Mother and Father on either side, waiting for Itsua-han to make his appearance. The priest knelt on the altar itself, adjusting his glasses every few seconds. He wasn't the head of the temple, but a young man, his head freshly shaved, wearing a red collar on his robes as a sign that he was only in the first phase of the priesthood. He looked nervous, and as he glanced in my direction, I flashed him a smile, hoping it would make him comfortable.

He turned pink instead, looking away quickly and adjusting the strap on his round hat. I regretted smiling at him—priests did not associate with women, and I was not doing him any good by looking like I was flirting.

Itsua-han finally came through the gates of the temple garden, his breath rising in a cloud tinted yellow by the light, a cage with two doves in his hands.

He knelt across from me, placing the doves between us. The priest pushed his glasses up and unrolled his scroll to chant the beginning words of the ceremony.

The Creator calls us together

One man and one woman

United on this sacred night

Bound together through the word

Of the Creator

He rolled the scroll back up, and nodded to Itsua-han. Itsua-han stood, bowing before me and my parents.

"Matamura Tatsuo-han," he said, bowing once to my father, "Matamura Momoko-no." He bowed to my mother. "I come before you on this night to ask for the hand of your daughter."

Mother and Father bowed their heads. "Your request is granted to you," Father said. "Yori shall be passed from my house to yours."

I had my head bowed, and I raised my eyes to try and see Itsua-han, but I only saw from his belt down. I tried to rid my body of the sinking feeling when I heard Father's words.

"Orya Itsua-han," said the priest as Itsua-han returned to his knees, "and Matamura Yori-no, you have come before the Creator—" He paused, his voice faltering, before he cleared his throat and continued, pushing his glasses up. "You have come before the Creator to seal this covenant in the Creator's presence. May the blessing of the Creator and all the Seven Spirits of the Inner Circle of Paradise rest upon you, until the day on which the covenant is fulfilled by the union of man and wife." He cleared his throat again, rolling the scroll back up, before taking the lit white candle from the altar. He took my right hand, turning it palm up, and dripped hot wax into my hand. I tried not to flinch.

He did the same to Itsua-han, and brought our hands together, placing Itsua-han's hand over mine so the wax on our palms melted together. The priest made the blessing sign—two fingers held over our hands, and his left hand held over his heart, bowing his head to end the ceremony.

Itsua-han took both my hands and brought them up to his face, his lips tracing over my knuckles, sending a chill that crawled up my arms and went down my back.

I was halfway his.

I stared at my plate of seaweed-and-shellfish rolls, seated next to Itsua-han as he ate his fish and rice cakes. A maid sat in the middle of the circle table, making sure everyone's cups were filled with rice wine, and serving from the many dishes that surrounded her. Lining the table were my family (minus Yoshi; he could not make it to the sealing, as he could hardly make the space in his busy schedule to make it to my wedding) and Itsua-han's two youngest, his daughters Isama and Umoko, who were yet unmarried. They were beautiful women, much more beautiful than I could ever hope to be, and I caught them stealing glances at me and whispering to each other.

I wondered if they felt any less comfortable than I did over the matter. I could not have imagined a girl a few years younger than I was marrying my father.

Next to me, on the floor, the doves in their cage cooed. I was to keep them, feed them, and groom them, until the wedding day, where they were to be released; a symbol of the bride and groom releasing their freedom to become one with each other.

"Are you not hungry?"

I looked up at Itsua-han; he was looking down at me, concern on his face. I flicked my eyes towards the plate of food, and back at Itsua-han, before I shook my head.

He leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Neither am I." To my surprise, he gave me a warm smile, and I found myself smiling back at him. He patted my hand, his touch soft and gentle. For a moment, I thought that being his wife might not have been so bad. I would have a good home, at least. Mother and Father were wise in their decision.

I looked across the table, where Grandmother was talking to Umoko. The younger woman was staring at me from the corners of her eyes, playing with a strand of hair that had come loose from the knot at the top of her head. I watched her grin and turn her attention from Grandmother to whisper in her sister's ear.

I felt heat in my face; I didn't know what the girls spoke of, but the way they stared at me felt much like they were thinking ill things of me. I could almost imagine the kind of conversation they were having.

"Look at her—the white paint on her face makes no difference. She's white as a ghost."

"I wonder what Father thought when he asked for her hand in marriage. She's just a little girl compared to us. Why, Isama, she's five years your junior."

"She's built like a tortoise. I've never seen a girl so thick. She probably eats too much."

"She doesn't have a slender neck like we do. What a pity."

I was broken out of my imaginary conversation when the door of the room slid open and a young man came in, led by a maid. The man had a scroll, and he came to Father's side, bowing very low and handing him the scroll, whispering in his ear. I could see Itsua-han setting down his cup, his thick brows drawing together as he watched Father unroll the small scroll.

Father's face turned white as he read the scroll; Mother leaned over to try to read it, but Father rolled it back up. He stood, coming around the table to Itsua-han, and bent over to whisper in his ear.

"I need to speak with you outside."

Itsua-han looked at me, then back at Father, before he rose, the two older men following the young man out of the door. It slid shut behind them, leaving the women of the house alone.

"Did you see anything, Momoko?" Grandmother asked.

Mother shook her head. "No, but it seemed distressing to him."

I lowered my head to my plate, setting my chopsticks down. It fell silent inside the room; silent enough for us to hear Itsua-han's angry words.

"You fool!"

Mother looked over her shoulder at the door of the house. She stood, remaining still, as if she was debating venturing outside or not.

The words that followed were muffled, but I could still hear the angry tones. I recognized Father's voice, which was even and calm, and the higher-pitched voice of who I guessed was the young man.

The door slid back open. Itsua-han came in, the scroll in his hand, his knuckles white as he gripped it. He stood before Mother and threw the scroll down on the table.

"You are liars," he said, his eyes wandering to Grandmother as well. "All of you—you are wicked, cheating, greedy liars."

Grandmother stood. "This is nonsense," she said. "You must not be thinking, Itsua."

Itsua-han looked at me now, pointing a finger. I remained kneeling, knowing that if I had tried to stand, I would have fallen. My knees tingled, and I felt ill when Itsua-han's angry eyes locked with mine.

"I had hopes of marrying that girl. And to know that her parents are looking to cheat me out of my hope for a fruitful future makes hate form in my heart."

Father came back into the house as Mother spoke. "You speak words of foolishness," she said.

Itsua-han snatched up the scroll and shoved it at Mother. She took it, her look of confusion changing to horror as her eyes moved across the page. My heart hammered in my ears as Mother turned to Father.

"This says...this says we have no money," she said. "It's all gone."

"Could it be a mistake?" Grandmother asked.

The young man stepped back into the house. "It is no mistake. Tatsuo-han placed his earnings with the Notomo Family Bank."

I looked at Father, raising a hand to my mouth. The Notomo Family were schemers and cheats; one who placed their money with them was a fool.

"I did not do so," Father said. He took the scroll from Mother. "It says an anonymous worker of mine placed the funds with them, receiving seventy yan in return. Is there no way to get it back?"

The young man shook his head. "I am afraid that you will have to personally go to Notomo Bank to inquire about it. Until then, you are bankrupt."

Itsua-han came to me, grabbing me under the arm and pulling me to my feet. I cried out against the pain that shot through my shoulder as he dragged me before my parents; he let go of me, and Mother pulled me into her arms.

"Get out of my house."

"Itsua, it is not our fault," Mother said. "A mistake, I am sure."

"You knew you had no money. You were trying to give me Yori so you would receive the dowry. You were trying to trick me into marrying her."

"Please," begged Father. "At least marry her, to secure her future."

"The law forbids the marriage of one like me to those who cannot afford a dowry," Itsua-han said, pale with rage. "Now get out of my house."

Mother turned, nodding at Father and Grandmother. We took our leave, and I caught one last sight of the two daughters hurrying from the room, from their father's rage, before Itsua-han slammed the door shut.

I couldn't hold it in any longer as we walked out onto the street. "Mother, Father," I said, my voice shaking as I spoke. "It is my fault."

We stopped, the lights from the gas lamps that lined the street giving everything an eerie yellow glow. Mother took my cold hands.

"Yori, how could it be your fault?"

My eyes burned with tears of shame as I lowered my head. "I asked the Creator to keep me from marrying Itsua-han. I have prayed for days. I have brought this upon my family."

Mother put her fingers under my chin and lifted my head. For a moment, I thought that she would offer words of comfort, reassure me that it wasn't my fault. But her eyes widened with fury, and she brought her hand across my face with such force that it made me stumble back. Mother stepped forward, hitting my face again, making me fall back. I landed on the frozen ground, my hand rising to the numbness in my face. Father and Grandmother stood back, wordlessly watching as Mother stood over me.

"You are selfish," she said. Her voice was even, betraying no emotion. "You think only of yourself. Now look at what your selfishness has done. We gave you a man to marry who would have provided for you for years to come, but you can only think of how it will affect you, and not your whole family." She put a hand on her stomach. "Because of you, this baby has no future."

"Momoko," said Father, stepping forward. "We can solve this. It is no use to take it out on Yori."

"She prayed that she would not marry Itsua."

"Perhaps the Creator has better plans."

Mother looked down at where I was curled on the ground, hot tears rolling down my face. She grabbed me by the collar of my robe and yanked me to my feet. She untied the strap on my hat, pulled it off my head, and tossed it to the ground. She whirled me around and pulled at the ribbon in my hair; I yelped at the pain as she ripped the ribbon out and let my hair fall loose. She untied my wide belt and pulled my blue robe off, leaving me standing in the frigid air in nothing but the cotton under-robe.

"You are not coming back into the house until you are cleansed in the temple," she said. Mother handed the blue robe to Grandmother. "You pray that the Creator has better plans for us, Yori."

A boy in a rickshaw came around the corner of the street, stopping as Father gave him the last few coins from the coin pouch. He, Grandmother, and Mother climbed into the rickshaw, not once looking back at me. The boy looked at me, though, and worry crossed his face, but Father was already urging the boy to move on.

The sound of the wheels rolling down the cobblestone faded as I stood alone, shivering in the thin under-robe.

I would have to make it to the temple myself—it was custom that one who humiliated their family could not enter under the roof of their home unless they were cleansed, which was why Father and Grandmother showed no opposition to Mother's anger. Everyone had at some time humiliated their family, though I was certain that no one had done something as horrible as I had done.

I had been selfish. I should not have prayed for something for myself.

I started down the street, unfamiliar with this area of the city. Itsua-han's house was within walking distance of the temple, and I looked up at the moon that gave a little more light than the gas lamps.

Something sounded on the corner of the street; I could hear a tapping paired with a jingling noise, before a woman's high-pitched voice started in a song that made me want to cover my ears.

My hands were busy trying to keep my arms warm.

I cannot even repeat what the woman sang, so provocative was it, each line describing in detail what was done in the privacy of a bedroom. She finished her song, hinting that she would gladly do all of those for the lonely young man, for a price of only fifteen yan. I turned the corner of the street, seeing the woman tapping on doors of houses with a bamboo pole, the coins she earned through the night tied to the end of the pole, making the jingling sound. She wore a thin white robe, her hair loose, her face painted white with red lips.

A Wailer.

The women of the night were called such because of the songs they sang, though I had heard some of my father's workers at the docks mention that they were called 'wailers' for different reasons that a little girl should not have heard. The woman turned and saw me, and I realized that I must have looked like a Wailer myself, with my hair down, my face painted, and nothing but my white under-robe on.

I slipped under the cover of a pine bush that lined the side of the road, and the Wailer resumed her tapping at doors. I peered out to see a door slide open, and watched a man step into the street, handing the woman a few coins, saying something to her, and inviting her inside. Once she was gone, I resumed my walk to the temple.

My tears were not yet dry, and as I walked, I thought more about what I had done. I could not change it, at least, and the further I walked, the more foolish my thoughts became. If worse came to worse, I would repay my family somehow—perhaps sell myself to a Wailer house, and every last cent that I earned would go to them. I had seen families fall to poverty, who sold their daughters to Wailer houses and their sons to the army, and signed contracts where the parents received any money that the children earned.

I could see the lights of the temple ahead and picked up my pace, hoping perhaps a priest remained there, so I could have returned to my house in the morning. I hurried through the outdoor altar, where just a few hours before, I had been sealed with Itsua-han.

I knocked on the door of the temple. When no-one came, I pulled the cord for the bell, hearing it chime deep within the walls. I waited for a few minutes, shivering, before the doors opened and the young priest looked out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He saw me, and his face turned red.

"I'm sorry, miss," he said, sounding very much like he was trying to stay polite in his apparent discomfort, "but we don't let Wailers in here."

"No, please," I said, pushing on the door as he began to close it, "I'm not a Wailer. It's me, Matamura Yori."

Recognition washed over his face as he held up his lantern to my face, and he opened the door, taking my hand and letting me inside. He shut the door, sliding the huge bolt in place. The large fire in the center of the temple altar still burned, a painful reminder of the humiliation and misfortune I had brought upon my family.

The priest led me through the empty temple, past the twin statues of the dragons, through a door that led into a small, warm hallway.

"What happened to you? It has only been a few hours since you and your betrothed were here."

I hung my head as he led me through another door. It was a small chamber, furnished with a futon, and a wood basin in the corner. There was a tiny window, letting in some of the light from the street lamps.

"I need to be cleansed," I said. "I humiliated my family."

The priest said no more on the subject. He set the lantern on the hook in the wall. "I'll fetch some water, and blankets, and a fresh robe," he said. "I'm afraid we can't do the cleansing tonight, as I'm not yet qualified for it. We will have the head of the temple back in the morning."

I nodded, looking down at the futon. "I appreciate your kindness," I said.

The priest smiled. "It is nothing out of the ordinary," he said. "Our temples are here to offer refuge and peace. You will always find forgiveness here."

He left me and returned a few minutes later with the hot water and the clean robe, inviting me to eat with him once I was ready. He left me alone to wash the rice paint from my face. Once I had the clean robe on—it was brown wool, soft and warm—I left the room, following the young priest to one of the upstairs rooms in the apartment for priests. He had noodles in a vegetable broth, a humble meal for a humble man. He offered me some fried egg dough, which I politely turned down.

I lifted the bowl to my lips to drink some of the broth down. The priest ate his dough, watching me as I stuck my chopsticks into the bowl of noodles.

I glanced up at him, but he looked away. I resumed my meal, each bite tasting bitter, the food seeming to stick to my throat as it went down, my mood sinking in the silence as I thought of what I might receive should I return home in the morning.