Falling Through Glass by Barbara Sheridan Page A

open just as Emmi shifted her weight. Emmi pitched outward, and the pot flew out of her hands, right into the center of Hijikata Toshizou’s chest. He roared an obscenity so loudly Emmi was sure it woke half of Kyoto.
    She fell to her knees partly as a sign of apology, partly to pray he wouldn’t slice her head off. Gaining an ounce of courage, she glanced up and winced. The tissue she’d used as toilet paper had deposited itself right in the center of his low obi.
    Emmi bent her head to the ground and apologized profusely in Japanese as best she could. She begged his forgiveness, adding that she was a complete fool who didn’t deserve his mercy.
    “Can’t you do anything right?” he shouted.
    Emmi bit back the tears and shook her head, thinking he was addressing her until she heard the other vice-commander speak.
    “It was an accident, Toshi. An accident.”
    “Was it an accident her cell wasn’t locked?”
    “She’s a harmless girl—”
    “And that could very well be what the rebels want us to think! She wouldn’t be the first spy sent to try to murder us in our sleep.”
    With that he spun around and stalked off, flinging the wet tissue from his obi to the ground.
    Yamanami touched Emmi’s shoulder. “You can get up now, Maeda-dono.”
    “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
    “It is nothing you did. It’s me. He finds fault with everything I do these days.” He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Come with me. I’ll show you where you can wash, and I’ll try to find you some clean clothing.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Alone in the bathhouse, Emmi stood and stared at the supplies she had been given. One of the items reminded her of the long table runner her mother brought out on Thanksgiving. The other was a small sewn cloth bag filled with something almost rice-like. Evidently these were the bath towel and soap, since there was nothing even remotely resembling a real towel or soap in sight.
    Emmi undressed, then filled the nearby wooden bucket with some of the tub water. She dipped in the scratchy little soap substitute and scrubbed it over her skin before climbing into the large wooden tub to soak. She submerged herself to her chin, wincing at first as the hot water slid over her skin. Once settled, she closed her eyes and tried to relax, though it was next to impossible to keep her mind from spinning with an endless stream of unanswerable questions.
    Finally the warmth of the water and the pleasant scent of cedar from the tub worked its magic, and all the hows and whys of her situation drifted to the far reaches of her mind. On the brink of dozing off, Emmi jerked her head up. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the soothing warmth. She dried herself as best as she could with the pitifully thin towel and donned her bra and panties before pulling on the blue men’s kimono Yamanami had given her. She used the narrow obi like a bathrobe belt. She was just reaching for the skirt-like hakama to place over it when the outer door opened.
    “What is taking you so long?” Kaemon demanded.
    “None of your business!”
    Emmi watched his gaze fasten on to her chest, and she wanted very much to slap him—until his expression changed to a mixture of confusion and fear.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Trying to put this on,” Emmi said, shaking the hakama pants. “Wait outside.”
    “What are you doing with your kimono that way?”
    “What way?”
    He pointed again, appearing quite agitated that Emmi wasn’t getting the clue. She looked at herself again, and it finally hit her. She’d thrown the kimono on like she would a bathrobe. She had the right side overlapping the left, the traditional Japanese way to dress a corpse prior to a funeral.
    “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” she said, turning away to open and adjust the kimono. She stayed with her back to him and stepped into the hakama, trying to pull up both the front and back sections at