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Lord and Lady Takeda’s first child was a girl, auburn-haired like her father and fiery-tempered like her mother. She ran wild through the gardens and stole cakes from the kitchen, dirtying her pretty kimonos and pulling the hair of other girls until they cried.
These behaviours, endearing in a child of three, became irritating in a child of seven. The servants groused over Lord Takeda’s leniency with the child: who had ever heard of a father spoiling a daughter so much? Not to mention Lady Takeda, who, despite being perfectly amiable, was undeniably odd, and practically encouraged such bad behaviour in her daughter. The pair of them, mother and daughter, had often been found chasing each other through the castle, laughing and in high spirits, not a care for propriety.
When it was announced that Lady Takeda was expecting a second child, it seemed the entire castle blew a sigh of relief.
'It’s about time Lord Takeda was given a son!' The soldiers gossiped like old wives as they ran through drills in the courtyard. They had a soft spot for the eldest girl, always offering her whatever sweets and knik-knaks they had in their pockets, but they were eager for a young lord to spoil. 'He can rest easily at last, knowing that he has an heir to succeed him.'
One night, Lady Takeda was describing the wonders of the future to her husband as they lay together in their futon. He was amazed to learn that the sex of a baby could be learned so early in a pregnancy. Resting his hand on the slight swell of her belly, he asked her what she thought this child would be.
Lady Takeda scrunched and contorted her face as if in deep thought, making her husband laugh out loud. When she had kept him waiting long enough, she settled back into her pillow contentedly and informed him 'I am certain this one will be another girl.'
'Really?' Lord Takeda’s heart was warm as he imagined another daughter to complete his beloved family.
'Really.' And sure enough, five months later Lady Takeda delivered another girl exactly as she had predicted.
Some of the more mean-spirited maids criticised their lady behind her back. A particularly spiteful one asked Lady Takeda, as they sat embroidering together, how she felt about having given her husband two daughters in nine years of marriage and no sons.
'I am glad they each have a sister to keep them company. I hope they will be friends and companions for the whole of their lives.' A gentle smile was on Lady Takeda’s face as she pictured her daughters, and in response to that honest, quietly joyous answer, the rest of the maid’s spite shrivelled on her tongue.
In the succeeding years, other daughters were born, but still no sons, all resembling their mother and father in equal amounts. Eventually, even Lady Takeda herself grew uneasy. She had come from a time where the sex of a child was of no import, but as she and her husband steadily grew older, she became increasingly aware of the insecurity of her and her daughters' positions without a son to ensure them.
Her seventh pregnancy was the most difficult she had experienced. She was older than most expectant mothers, being past forty at this point. Daily, she prayed for a son. Always, she had been proud of her own strong will: now, she was shamed easily when she overheard the servants' laughter about her inability to give her husband an heir. It pained her, that people would believe her family lacking, when her daughters gave her so much happiness. But how could she explain to them that the fault lay not with the woman, and that it was the man who dictated a child’s sex? Shingen had believed and understood her, when she had told him. Still, she could not stop herself from feeling like a failure.
Her pangs began early, and the birth was the hardest and most painful one she had gone through. At one point, utterly exhausted and fearing her own death, she had changed her mental prayers: no more did she think of sons, she only wished to return to her daughters, and not deprive them of a mother’s love when they were still so young.
When Lord Takeda was at last permitted to see his wife and newborn child by the midwife, he raced into the room to find his wife sitting up with her new baby in her arms, her face hidden by the untidy fall of her hair. Looking up at the sound of her husband’s entrance, he saw the disappointment in her gritted jaw, the frustration in her wet eyes. He approached the bed cautiously, and took his newborn daughter. Premature, she was fragile as a doll, fitting easily in her father’s large hands.
'This will be our last child.' Lady Takeda’s speech was halting, thickened by the tears she desperately tried not to shed. 'Seven children can take a lot out of a woman.' She let out a short, bitter laugh. 'Well, I say our last child. I…would understand, if you must look for your heir elsewhere…'
He made no reply. Tentatively casting a glance at him, she saw the horror and offence he had taken at her suggestion.
'Do you really think I am that sort of man? After everything we have gone through together, all our shared sorrows and joys, the dear children you have given me, that I would so easily abandon you?' Gathering his composure, he turned away from her to their baby, smiling gently down at her. 'I love you all, more than I can ever express. Given the choice between you all and a son? I wouldn’t think twice about choosing you.'
She realised he was not truly angry at her suggestion, but rather concerned for her own fears. Of course he already knew that it was his own seed that marked gender. That didn’t solve other practical considerations though… 'What about an heir? What would we all do if we were to lose you?'
'I won’t lie; it won’t be easy. I will have to carefully consider my own relatives, or whatever promising young men marry our girls. But be assured: I would never leave you all in a situation like that, having not considered how to provide for you.'
Lady Takeda was soothed. She knew that the new day would bring more criticism when it was learned that she had still borne no son, that the Takeda line was not secured. But for now, she was safe with her husband and baby, and she would allow no more troubles to pervade her happiness.
And so did her joy in life grow more, when she ceased to fret about the gossiping of others. Lord Takeda chose a noble, strong man to marry their eldest and take his place as head of the family. When Lord Takeda lay on his death bed, wife and daughters around him, he was cheered by the knowledge that they would all live in comfort for the rest of their days, which was just what Lady Takeda did, and with the company of her daughters never far, she never regretted her lack of a son, when she had been blessed with her seven beloved daughters.