Sisters of Heart and Snow by Margaret Dilloway Page B

going into town, which she rarely got to do. This town was tiny, only two streets long, but compared with the farm it was a bustling metropolis.
    Kaneto paused at a stall where a man sold clothing, asking about woven bamboo body armor. “You may each buy a sweet,” he said, giving them each a Chinese copper. Tomoe grinned. Such a treat was usually reserved for special occasions, like New Year’s. This was a noteworthy occasion indeed.
    Tomoe and Yoshimori Wada walked slowly to the sweets stall. The two younger boys danced in front of them, kicking up plumes of yellowish-brown dirt in their wake. Tomoe sneezed. “Watch out!” Yoshinaka yelled to the townspeople, doing a high-kick for their benefit. “Minamoto coming through.” Several old people nodded approvingly at him with toothless grins. Tomoe doubted these people would state their support aloud, however.
    Tomoe glanced back at her father, expecting a reprimand for the showy display. Kaneto did not turn. It was young Yoshimori Wada who stepped in and clapped Yoshinaka on the back roughly.
    â€œStop it,” he said sharply. “You are getting dirt in Tomoe’s face.”
    Yoshinaka glanced back at her, surprised. “She doesn’t care if she gets dirty.”
    â€œI care.” Yoshimori Wada put his face next to Yoshinaka’s. “You’re her brothers. You’re supposed to protect her.”
    Tomoe stepped forward. “It’s all right, Wada-san.”
    â€œCall me Yoshimori.” But he straightened from Yoshinaka.
    â€œI like Wada. Wada-san.” She bowed with a smile. It wasn’t polite of her to call him by his family name. Surnames were given as an honor by the emperor, and should not be bandied about so casually. He might have punched anyone else who tried it. But instead Wada’s face brightened and blushed. Perhaps he wasn’t dull after all, Tomoe thought. Of course, Kaneto would never consent to training a dull boy. Tomoe would watch the boys to make sure they didn’t die by their own clumsy hands, and Wada-san would watch after her.
    A group of little girls stood in front of the candy vendor. They were merchants’ daughters, clad in cotton kimonos of light pinks and yellows, their hands soft and untarnished by heavy work, tall in their wooden
geta
sandals, platforms built on sideways blocks. They looked at Tomoe and giggled.
    â€œIs that a boy or a girl?” one of them asked disdainfully.
    â€œShe’s as dirty as a boy, and she’s with boys,” another girl said.
    Tomoe’s face burned. But what did she care what these little girls thought? In Japan, merchants were below farmers in society. One day, they would pray for protection from people like her and her family. The real warriors.
    Head held high, Tomoe walked up to the sweet vendor. Her mouth watered at the display of multicolored candied fruits and the mochi candies. The air here was sweet. She inhaled and looked over the prices. She had money for the fruit, but not for the mochi, her favorite.
    The vendor, an elderly man whose wrinkles nearly pushed his eyes closed, leaned over.
    â€œWhat would you like, pretty one?”
    â€œOne candied loquat, please.” To her left, Tomoe heard the girls continue to chatter about her. Loneliness welled up. She wished she had a girl for a friend. Just one girl, to play dolls or some other nonviolent activity. She had to put Kanehira in a headlock at least once a day to make him behave. She admired the girls’ clean
tabi,
the socks worn with their
geta
. They had no dirt beneath their fingernails. She imagined what it would be like to stroll, instead of run, to giggle with friends.
    The vendor handed her change. A thought made her heart pound faster; Tomoe bought several candied loquats, golden and juicy, and turned to the girls. “Would you like one?” she asked, holding them out on the palm of her hand.
    The girls eyed her with distaste. They