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Updated: August 1, 2024
The past trials were forgotten and the future not considered. One morning, not many weeks after the marriage had been arranged, Yuki San heard the call of the Yubin San, and running out to meet him, received a strange-looking letter. The envelope was white and square, and straight across the middle, in very plain English, was her name and address.
Strangely enough your father's name was suggested, and when I read that the only daughter both spoke and wrote English, and that her name was Yuki San, my mind flew back to my "Little Sister Snow" of the days gone by. Could your father manage to accommodate me for a couple of months, if I promise to be very good and take up as little room as possible?
But the monotony of repetition brought rest, and soon Yuki Chan, forgetting to count, made a bed of the fallen petals and turned her face toward the little straw-roofed house from which noises of busy preparation came. It was a birthday. Not Yuki Chan's, for that came with the snow-time.
Her mother was, of course, constant, and Yuki, though an outcast from her own people the conventions seen to be as imperative in Tokyo as in Philadelphia because of her half-caste origin, is justly Japanese in what makes her loveliest.
Buddha say, 'Yuki, take care father and mother all time. I take care. Him say, 'Yuki, you woman you not talk too much. I no talk much. Then him say, 'Yuki, come many time to temple and make light with incense and put little money every time in box. I give obey and much go rin, but Buddha keep all and never give back."
Yuki San was on her way to make good her promise to the gods. Her wooden shoes clicked sharply in the quiet morning air, then hushed as she paused for rest on a broad step. Even the exertion of the long climb had failed to color her white cheeks, but her lips were carmine and her eyes luminous with purpose.
No chairs with treacherous legs to trip over, no beds, nor tables with sharp corners nothing whatever but the matting, soft and thick, where Yuki Chan had practised all the gymnastics of childhood unbruised and unharmed.
If you think he can, please wire me here at Yokohama, and I'll come straight down. Hoping to see you very soon, I am Your old friend, Yuki San turned the letter this way and that, and vainly tried to decipher the strange words. It was undoubtedly English, but not the English she was used to. She ran for her small dictionary and diligently searched out the meaning of each phrase.
When Yuki San was by herself she clapped her hands joyfully. "I make happy like 'Merican," she whispered. "Hooray, hooray! now my troublesome make absence," and she hurried away to put a thank-offering before the household god.
She selected an obi of rare brocade, the betrothal gift of Saito, the great length of which expressed the hope of an enduring marriage. As she dressed, her mother flitted about her, chatting volubly and in such high spirits that Yuki San's heart was warmed.
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