The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [54]
When he heard his wife call “I’m home!” from the foyer, he took note of the long shadows cast by the fruit trees—an hour past the conclusion of his meal with Ilsun. He put his book aside and waited.
She entered and without a word handed him a letter. He felt his neck tighten even before looking at it. He refused to ask where she’d been, angered that she hadn’t offered this information, which was obviously wanting. She sat composed in front of him and seemed subdued, although still distant. He deferred his attention to the letter.
He flushed when his fingers fell upon a torn royal seal. “You’ve read this!” he said before seeing that it was addressed to her. “Ah, your cousin writes. But why does she use such formalities?” Naturally, his wife and her cousin in Seoul wrote each other occasionally, but never had his wife received a document with an official seal. She remained silent and bowed. He opened the letter. The covering once seemed to have held something thicker than the single sheet it contained. It was dated two weeks before. Pressure mounted in his temples as he began to understand the depth of her betrayal.
Dearest Cousin,
How delightful to hear from you, and how wise of you to commend your daughter for Court. I, too, can never forget our days together long ago, for which I am eternally grateful. I will enjoy very much teaching her the highest of manners. Much has changed, but she will still benefit from the training, especially if she is as rounded in the arts as you say, and educated too. Many of the girls have some outside education now. In fact, there is an upper school nearby and I will see if she can be enrolled. Times change! But our memories are forever the same, and I cherish them as much as I do your letters.
Enclosed herein is the official decree requesting her indefinite service to Her Imperial Majesty and the required traveling documents, all signed and stamped, tariffs paid. Of course she cannot travel alone. I will send my handmaid and her husband to chaperone her journey, although it is no more than half a day. Arrange to meet them, Pang Longhee and Khang Kyungmee, by the ticket stand at the Gaeseong station at an hour past noon on Sunday, May 6. Perhaps I will be able to meet her train when it arrives in Seoul. If not, she will be well taken care of. Do not worry.
I am looking forward to her being with me in this lonely house, and I will be certain to keep you apprised of her progress, which, since she is her mother’s daughter, is sure to bring respectful praise to her family’s honorable name.
Fondly yours.
The letter shook in Han’s fingers as he returned it to her. She raised both hands to receive it, and the graceful female gesture unleashed his rage. He dropped the letter and struck her fully on the cheek. She grunted and fell sideways to the floor. Blood trickled from her nose. She clutched the letter and struggled to sit up. Her hair came undone. He struck her again and she fell. He stood to deliver a blow to the back of her head but glimpsed his shadow on the wall, his arm raised high over the lump of her fallen body. He saw that he was no better than the prison guards who had hung him by his thumbs and beaten him senseless. With a cry, he fell to his knees. She shrank from him until she saw him sobbing. She held his head in her lap and laid her cheek to his, mixing blood and tears, crying out how sorry she was—not for sending Najin away—but for having to defy him.
The Last Palace
SPRING 1924 – SPRING 1926
I CRIED MOST OF THE WAY TO SEOUL, MUCH TO THE DISTRESS OF THE handmaid and her husband, who were sent by Imo, my aunt, to chaperone me. I was upset to be leaving home, anxious about what lay ahead and fearful of my father’s reaction to my mother’s deceit. Mother told me he wouldn’t call me home, since the invitation had come from the palace. It showed how carefully she had planned my escape