Work Text:
Redding, California
1898
Sofia Alvarita Cervantes Rosado sat in the parlor of Mr. Takashi Shirogane with the distinct feeling that she should not be there.
She sat alone on a red sofa, sweating through her calico dress in the summer heat. Several dark oil paintings in gilded frames stared down upon her with cold disapproval, and though it was well past noon, the heavy velvet drapes were drawn tightly shut across the large windows. The room was illuminated only by a few oil lamps, filling the room with the smell of sulfur and casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.
She had been waiting for what felt like a small eternity when the heavy mahogany door opened, and to her surprise and unease, her potential employer stepped inside. Sofia didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the handsome, well-dressed, startlingly young man who greeted her.
“Hello,” he said, in a low, smooth voice with no accent at all. There was a long sharp scar across the bridge of his nose, the color of dead rose petals. “Miss Marisol tells me you are in dire need of employment.”
She stood at once, feeling tiny and foolish under his coolly appraising eye. “Y-yes, sir, Mr. Shirogane, sir. The man in town said no one else was hiring, sir, and so, I hate to bother you, but he sent me to you so I –”
“Then I am the last resort.” He tilted his head, and took his seat in the large armchair opposite the sofa. She watched him, nervous, still standing. This was a strange meeting, and most improper, she decided. Employers usually sent middlemen; they did not hire the maids themselves. This seemed far too personal.
She thought at once of the employer who’d tried to lay his hands upon her mother, and shivered, saying a silent prayer that she would not meet the same fate here.
“No, sir,” she whispered. “Just the only resort, sir.”
“You’re afraid.” He sighed. “What are they saying about me in town, nowadays? Go on, it’s alright to tell me.”
She gulped. “That...he said you might be a criminal, sir; part of the Mob.”
Mr. Shirogane leaned back in his chair and raised an idle eyebrow. “Unoriginal, though intimidating.”
“And a demon, sir,” she added, barely audible, arms ramrod straight at her sides.
“A demon,” he repeated, and chuckled. “Sit down, Miss Sofia. I see you are a woman of faith.”
She touched the tarnished silver cross around her neck and nodded tightly. “Yes, sir. I am Catholic. Are...are you a man of faith, sir?”
“No,” Mr. Shirogane said. “Catholicism is not practiced where I am from, and unfortunately, if there is a God, He has not made His presence known in my life.”
She gasped. “But of course there is a God, sir!”
“Mm.” He shook his head. “Miss Sofia, I would like to offer you a position in my household, but I feel obliged to warn you that this estate is unusual in many ways. You may see strange things here, and for your own safety, I must have your promise that you will not disclose such goings-on to anyone else. Do you understand?”
What choice did she have? “Yes, sir,” she whispered. “I understand.”
“Good.” He rose from the chair and inclined his head to her. “You may move into the servants’ quarters as soon as possible; Miss Marisol will give you the grand tour. And, Miss Sofia?”
“Yes, sir?”
He gave her a look then which she would remember for the rest of her life, for it was the only time she’d seen him with such gentle kindness in his eyes. “There is no need to be afraid, here. This place may seem intimidating at first, but believe me when I tell you it is one of the safest places for many miles. You will come to no harm in my home.”
And he was right.
*
Sofia Alvarita Cervantes Rosado was thirty-one years old and her job in Mr. Shirogane’s household paid so well that her mother was able to retire early, and her sisters were able to attend school instead of working in the factories which ruined Sofia’s health when she was their age.
But she suspected the reason the job paid so well could not be explained simply out of the goodness of Mr. Shirogane’s heart, good though his heart might have been.
She found blood stains on floorboards, sometimes.
Mr. Shirogane rarely left his bedroom before four in the afternoon each day.
Mr. Shirogane had hired a cook, but not for himself; meals were only ever made for the servants. Fine meals they were, too. But not a crumb for Mr. Shirogane himself.
He only drank wine, tea, or coffee — once, Sofia caught him downing whiskey from a fine glass decanter, and heard him vomiting later that same night.
Though he was a devoted horseman, Mr. Shirogane would never go riding until dusk or nightfall, and according to the stable boys, all of the horses except for the stallion Kuro were afraid of him.
Mr. Shirogane did not age, she was convinced. Though his hair was ever so slowly going gray, he had no wrinkles, no age spots, and no stoop to his tall frame.
Though even Sofia had to admit Mr. Shirogane was quite handsome, he was handsome in a cold, unattainable way, like one of the marble busts lining the mahogany walls of his library. He was to be admired, not touched.
There were no lady visitors, and he never so much as breathed on any of the female servants. This was less of a mystery to be solved, and more of an immense relief.
His wealth was as mysterious as it was immense. No men from the Mob visited the estate, but from time to time Mr. Shirogane would send one of the stable boys in a wagon to the docks to pick up various shipments. No one knew what the shipments contained, and the stable boys always returned dazed and confused, as if drugged.
There was a black cat who haunted the estate grounds, except it never left tracks, and sometimes it was a panther, and always it vanished into thin air.
The wine closet in the cellar was forbidden to all of the servants. There was a single key, and Mr. Shirogane kept it on his person at all times, and no one else had ever gotten in. Nor did they want to.
It was difficult not to respect and obey Mr. Shirogane; his demeanor was calmly authoritarian, and she always felt compelled to follow his commands even if she found them strange. The other household staff felt the same, though they rarely spoke of it, perhaps paranoid that they would be overheard.
And in any case, his commands were not unreasonable, nor cruel – Mr. Shirogane was a good employer, despite his eccentricities and his heathen attitudes concerning religion. At times, he could even be pleasant, though his smiles were always veiled with a lingering sorrow, and they never reached his eyes.
From their very first meeting, she had seen that the man had suffered, and was likely suffering still, and because of this she found it easier to trust him.
Many nights, Mr. Shirogane came home late, every time with a gleam in his eye and a purpose in his step that was not there before. His sadness was ten times more evident on those nights.
One night, he caught her.
She froze as the creak of her foot falling upon a loose floorboard echoed through the quiet house, and her employer turned towards her with a slow and calculated movement more feline than human. Then he sniffed the air, and murmured, “Miss Sofia. Having trouble sleeping?”
“Just a bad dream, sir,” she murmured back, stepping out from behind the doorframe. “My apologies for disturbing you.”
“It seems you were the one disturbed,” he said, and crooked a finger. “Lucky for you, I know a good cure for bad dreams. A cup of thyme tea does wonders; come, I’ll make some for you.”
If it had been her first year here, or her second, or even her fifth, she would have turned heel and run back into the servants’ quarters.
But she had worked here for eleven years, so she followed Mr. Shirogane through the dark house and into the empty kitchen. He smelled odd, she thought. Like grime and sweat and metal. Iron.
He put the tea on the stove and she sat, curled tight on a stool at the counter, hyper aware of her worn white night dress and lack of petticoats. In contrast, Mr. Shirogane was fully dressed in the proper attire of a wealthy gentleman, albeit one who preferred to wear as much black as possible.
“Miss Sofia,” he said as they waited for the tea, “you have worked here for quite some time, and as your employer your well-being means a great deal to me, so I hope I am not prying when I inquire about the nature of your nightmare.”
“Oh,” she said, and twisted her hands in her skirt. Mr. Shirogane always managed to make her feel like a young and awkward girl again, and she was never sure why. “Sir, it is nothing to worry about...it’s just that sometimes, I think my mind plays tricks on me. Sometimes I see things that are not truly there. In the dream, I saw some of those things. They had sharp teeth and yellow eyes, and I was very afraid of them, sir.”
He regarded her seriously. “Have you seen these creatures before, outside of your dreams?”
She nodded. “In town, near the river docks,” she said. “Only a few times. When I was younger.”
“So why dream of them now?”
“I don’t know, sir,” she admitted. “Hard to forget something like that. I promise I’m not mad, sir. I was just a child. I could have imagined it; I must have.”
“You did not imagine it,” Mr. Shirogane said. The tea kettle screamed, and he hastily took it off the stove before it awoke anyone else. He poured her a cup of steaming tea in silence while she struggled to grasp his meaning.
“Have...have you seen such things, sir?” she asked when he handed her the tea.
“I have seen a great many things, Miss Sofia,” he said. His gaze was fixed on a point far away, something only he could see. “Whether in slumber, or otherwise.”
“Do you have nightmares too, sir?” Sofia held her tea gingerly, feeling the heat seep into her cold palms. Maids did not ask their masters such questions, but then again, masters did not make their maids tea, either.
He glanced at her, swift and considering, and nodded. “I do,” he said. “Often, sadly.” He hesitated, and she thought he might leave it at that. But to her surprise, he added, “I dream of my home in Japan. Osaka. I left my mother there, and I miss her dearly, although I know she must be dead by now.”
Miss Sofia blinked, as curious about Mr. Shirogane’s past as she had ever been. “What do you mean, you left, sir? By choice?”
“On a ship,” he explained. “We were sailing towards the Hawaiian Islands, but the weather was poor, and we were swept off course.” He wet his lips, gaze dark with memory. “As far as I know, everyone else perished. It’s a wonder I survived.”
“A miracle, sir,” she said. “Perhaps the Lord was with you, then.”
He looked too tired to argue. “Perhaps,” he said. “In any case, my mother would have no way of knowing I survived.”
“Could you not book passage on a ship to Osaka, sir?” Sofia asked. “It would be expensive, but –”
“My mother is long dead,” Mr. Shirogane interrupted. He sighed, and she sipped her tea nervously. “But she will always be alive, in some form, in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Among other things.”
“What other things, sir?”
Mr. Shirogane said, “I think I need a cup of tea, too,” and poured himself one as he replied. “Well, Miss Sofia, you’re a bright girl.” Sofia flushed; she had not been called a girl since she was fifteen. “You must have noticed the strangeness of my household, and of myself.”
“You’re not so strange, sir,” she mumbled.
He raised an eyebrow. “While I appreciate the flattery, I prefer to deal in truths, however harsh they may be. So know this, Miss Sofia – whatever the people of Redding may say about me, they will never know the true horror of my past, and of what I am.”
“You are a good man, sir,” she said, teacup frozen halfway to her lips.
“And you are a servant who is frightened of me, as they all are,” he sighed.
She frowned and set her cup down. “I am your servant, sir, but I am not frightened of you. In the eleven years I have worked for you, sir, you have been kind and generous. Never have I seen you so much as raise your voice against a servant, and our pay and board must be the best in the county, if not the state. I know you have saved boys as young as ten from life in the factories or on the streets or worse, on the docks, and given them a life worth living here. I also know you do not need as many servants as you have hired, sir. This estate could run with less than ten of us, but you have at least two dozen.”
He stared at her, and Sofia bowed her head, expecting a reproach though he had never given her one before. He did not reproach her then, either. He just said, “I am not a hero, Miss Sofia, so I ask you not to defend me as one. I have wealth I do not need; it would be pointless to hoard it all for myself.”
“But many other men would, sir,” Sofia said. “You may not be a hero, but you are no villain, sir.”
He smiled weakly. “I do appreciate the sentiment, Miss Sofia.”
“Sir,” she said quietly, “even if you have sinned in the past, the Lord could forgive you, if you lay yourself unto his mercy. We are all sinners in our own way, sir. As humans we are infallible. But we can be saved through our guilt and humility.”
“You ought to be a preacher, Miss Sofia,” he said, shaking his head and drinking his tea.
She was frustrated with him. Mr. Shirogane’s self-loathing blinded him, she thought, to his true nature. She had no doubt he had sinned, but that did not mean he could not be helped. “Women cannot be priests, sir,” she said. “But if I had children of my own, I would have taught them The Good Book to the best of my ability. It is through our children that we can be better, sir.”
“But you have not had children, Miss Sofia,” he said quietly.
She was incapable of having children; her time in the factory had seen to that. But instead she said, “Neither have you, sir.”
“Touché.”
“Have you never considered children, sir? Marriage?”
His raised eyebrows lifted higher. “We have all considered children and marriage, Miss Sofia. That does not mean it is within the realm of possibilities.”
“Why, of course it is possible, sir,” she murmured. “This estate would be a wonderful place to raise children, and with a wife the flower gardens could finally be filled and –”
“Miss Sofia,” he said, his tone distinctly warning, “there will be no wife, and there will be no children. Believe me when I say that is for the best. As for the flower gardens, you may fill them if you wish. No wife is required to do that, only seeds and time.” He downed his tea in an impressive gulp. “Finish your tea, and return to your quarters. Maids require sleep, unless I am mistaken and you are in fact nocturnal.”
Sofia did not understand that word, and saw she had touched a nerve, so she did as he said, and tried not to hear Mr. Shirogane pacing two floors above as she lay in bed.
*
Mr. Shirogane did not come home with a wife, but only a few months later, in September of 1909, he did come home with Keith.
Keith’s arrival had been a clandestine and disturbing affair late in the night, and Sofia and Marisol were sure they had not misheard the sounds issuing from the wine cellar after Mr. Shirogane took Keith down to it. The butler, Arthur, told the worried maids that the young man was clearly suffering from the late stages of consumption, and that his shirt was spattered in blood. Yet, when Mr. Shirogane returned from the cellar with Keith unconscious in his arms, the young man appeared pale, but not ill, and Sofia never once heard him cough. But she had heard him scream.
Mr. Shirogane had ordered the maids to ready the guest bedroom for Keith, which had been a shocking request in itself. He never had guests, and Sofia doubted Keith was a guest at all when Mr. Shirogane kept him locked in the room while Keith screamed and swore and broke everything he could get his hands on. It had been terrifying to listen to, and Sofia was near tears by the time Mr. Shirogane returned and got a handle on the situation.
Mr. Shirogane had told the maids to keep Keith in the room for their own safety. Sofia trusted Mr. Shirogane, but to hear Keith howl and plead to be released was still unnerving, to say the least.
Yet, only a night later, and Keith became a different man entirely.
Sofia had not known what to expect when she and Marisol entered his bedroom to tidy it up, but it was not a wide-eyed, flushed boy who stammered and said please and thank you and stayed well out of her way as she cleaned. The place was an absolute disaster, and she wondered at why he had caused such a mess. At first, she’d thought he must be mad, but he appeared quite sane, now.
Marisol, who was older and braver than Sofia, made her introduction first. “My name is Miss Marisol, and this is Miss Sofia,” she said to Keith with a smile.
“Pleasure to meet you, I – I’m very sorry about the mess,” Keith mumbled, avoiding eye contact and staying pressed against the far wall. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”
“Oh, don’t worry yourself over that!” Sofia had assured, and when he looked up hesitantly, she saw his eyes were a lovely sort of gray-violet, and if she had not been endeared to him already, she was then. “We do get paid to clean this place, sir.”
His eyes widened hugely. “Sir? Oh, no, I’m not – Keith, just Keith is fine. Er.” He cleared his throat, watching them in silence though he clearly wanted to ask a question. He finally worked up the courage as they were sweeping up the last of a broken vase. “Have...have you worked for Mr. Shirogane long?”
They exchanged looks. “Oh, yes,” Sofia said, “most of us have been here for years. This is my eleventh year, and it is Marisol’s fifteenth.”
He bit his lip, and Sofia could have sworn there was blood on his mouth, poor thing. “That’s...a long time,” Keith said. “So...so you must know him well, then, Mr. Shirogane.”
“I suppose,” Marisol said, lips pursed. “No one really knows Mr. Shirogane well, though.” She and Sofia chuckled, and Keith just looked confused.
“He is a very private man,” Sofia explained. “But a good man. He is kind to his servants.” She tilted her head. “Forgive me for pressing, but does Mr. Shirogane intend for you to join the household, too?”
Keith blanched, and coughed, and looked away. “I – I don’t know,” he said, and then got a very queer expression on his face. “Where has Mr. Shirogane gone, anyway?”
Sofia frowned. He had not been awake when Mr. Shirogane left, so how on earth did Keith know he had left…?
“He’s gone to town,” Marisol said brightly, “to deal with some business. He should be back shortly.”
“Ah,” Keith said. “Thank you. I should...I should like to speak with him when he returns.”
“Mr. Shirogane told us you ought to rest up in the meantime, dear,” Sofia said.
He nodded hastily, still avoiding them, and mumbled a last thank you as they left.
*
The change in Mr. Shirogane after the addition of Keith to the household was sudden and obvious.
Within a month or two he had begun to smile, for one thing – the first time she saw him smile at Keith, wide and genuine, Sofia had almost dropped a tea tray in shock.
Later, in the servants’ quarters, a younger maid named Clarissa said, “It’s so odd, I’d never noticed it before, but Mr. Shirogane really is a charming man, isn’t he?”
“It’s because he never used to smile and laugh before,” Marisol replied with a knowing gleam in her eyes.
“Before what?” Clarissa asked.
“Before Keith,” Sofia said, and everyone murmured in bewildered agreement.
Keith’s charm was undeniably infectious. He was awkward, but genuine and well-meaning, and more than once Sofia had seen him wandering around the estate with a look of stupefied wonder that always left her feeling tickled and hopelessly enchanted for his sake.
He was no servant; that was for certain. Nobody knew quite what he was to Mr. Shirogane, but they knew that Keith called Mr. Shirogane Shiro, and sometimes even Takashi, and they knew that Mr. Shirogane was teaching Keith how to read and write and ride horses, and they knew that none of them had ever seen Mr. Shirogane so happy before.
As the weeks turned to months, Keith breathed new life into the house and its owner. The two of them rode through the woods together, exploring and hunting (though oddly, they never brought back trophies), or spent long, golden afternoons drinking tea and playing piano in the library.
It was on one of these afternoons that Sofia passed by, intent on dusting a particularly filthy broom closet, when she saw a scene in the library which stopped her in her tracks.
Keith was seated in an overstuffed armchair, head lolling back against the cushions and book forgotten in his lap, fast asleep. Mr. Shirogane had been playing the piano, but had stopped mid-song, and risen from the piano bench to walk to Keith’s chair. What Sofia saw then was Mr. Shirogane standing over the sleeping Keith, reaching out to brush the fallen locks of hair out of his peaceful face, his touch lingering, and expression impossible to misinterpret; lips parted, eyes soft, and face flushed a deep pink.
She covered her mouth to stifle her gasp. Could it be? Her stomach turned in disbelief and disgust, and she hurried back the way she’d come, heart beating fast.
Mr. Shirogane had said a wife and children were not possible. But surely he could not mean…?
No. No, Mr. Shirogane was a good man, and she would not think so badly of him. They cared for each other as dear friends, that was all. Keith likely saw him as a protector, a guardian angel who had given him a new life here. And Mr. Shirogane finally had an anchor in his lonely life, someone to confide in and teach and take care of…
Oh, dear.
*
Sofia overheard them that night.
She’d seen Keith go up the stairs, glancing about and taking the steps two at a time before, to her horror, slipping into Mr. Shirogane’s bedroom. Sofia crept along the wall, cold all over, pressing her ear to the wall and praying for forgiveness, as she felt eavesdropping must be sinful behavior, though she was not sure how.
They were talking in low, frantic tones. She heard Keith’s voice first.
“It…it’s too risky. If the maids saw…”
“If the maids saw, they would say nothing. You don’t need to hide here, Keith.”
“You trust them? Even though this – we – are illegal?”
“Keith, come here.” She heard Mr. Shirogane sigh heavily. “You’re correct that this is not legal. But trust me when I say that I would never let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that. Men are thrown in prison for less than what we have done, Shiro. It’s wrong, in the eyes of the law and the public and the Church and –”
“Their eyes are not here. And they never will be.”
“I want to believe you. I want so badly to believe you.”
“Believe me, then. You’re safe here.”
There was a long, pregnant pause, and then Keith whispered, “Okay.”
Sofia ran back to her bedroom, said the rosary until her voice went hoarse, and cried into her pillow for both of their souls.
*
Once she’d found out, Sofia dully wondered how she could have been so blind to it before.
Mr. Shirogane and Keith were not subtle. They knew what they were doing was wrong; she heard them say as much, but they wore their affection for each other on their sleeves, plainly and for all to see.
Keith rarely slept in his room – his bed was untouched, and after a while, Sofia stopped bothering to change the sheets. She avoided both of them as much as she could, which proved to be an impossible task. The estate wasn’t that big, apparently.
Sofia hated that Mr. Shirogane was right. She told no one. How could she? It would be a betrayal, and she was a loyal servant; even if she saw the Devil in him she could not spurn the gifts he had given her. And despite it all, she still cared for the two of them and felt a twisted sort of obligation to save their souls. The longer she spent in their presence, the more obvious it became to her that such a task was impossible. She had hoped that their unholy lust might wane as the months passed, but that could not be further from the truth.
Sofia was well aware that Marisol and some of the other servants were worried about her. But there was nothing they could do, and if she told them, and some of them did go squealing through the town about it, she knew they would lose their jobs or worse. Besides, she believed it was best that only she was burdened with this knowledge. Or so she thought.
Just over a year after her discovery, she was knitting with Clarissa beside the fireplace one cold December night in companionable silence when Clarissa said, “I know you must be opposed to it, bein’ Catholic and all, but on my honor, I’ve never seen two people with as much love between them as Mr. Shirogane and Mr. Keith.”
Sofia’s knitting needles clicked to a halt. “Love,” she repeated, and whirled on Clarissa in horror. “It is not love!” she exclaimed. “They are sinners and the Lord will punish them, you foolish girl!”
Clarissa was unmoved. “I’m not the foolish one, Miss Sofia,” she said. “They love each other, mark my words. If they could marry, I’m certain they would.”
Sofia pointed a shaking finger at her. “Now, I know you are young, Miss Clarissa, but to speak such blasphemy as – as marriage, between –”
“Two people who love each other, yes, how awful,” Clarissa sighed. “I pity you, Miss Sofia. Do you know where I would be right now if Mr. Shirogane had not hired me? My mother was just about to marry me off to a man forty years my senior. Forty years! Can you imagine? I did not love him; I did not even know him but already I despised him. If he’d had his way, I would now be saddled with his children, confined to a life of dull misery. How is that union one fit for marriage, while Mr. Shirogane’s and Mr. Keith’s is not?”
Sofia squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in air in an attempt to steady herself. “The Bible says –”
“That they ought to burn in Hell, yes,” Clarissa said. “I went to primary school, Miss Sofia. But you ever stop to think that maybe what’s writ in the Bible ain’t the whole truth? The Bible was written by men, not God.”
“God spoke through those men,” Sofia said desperately, “and His words are laws, and they are breaking them without a single care for the consequences – !”
“Maybe they do care about the consequences, Miss Sofia,” Clarissa said, and that gave Sofia pause. “But maybe they’ve decided that it’s worth it.”
“That what is worth it? Sinning?”
Clarissa shook her head, and went back to her knitting with a small, sad smile. “Loving each other,” she said. “A love you’d risk the flames of Hell for – now what, Miss Sofia, could be more powerful than that?”
And for once, Sofia had no answer.
*
Over the years, Sofia grew to tolerate their unnatural behavior, if nothing else.
She was a woman of faith, but she was also a woman of rationality, so her conclusion that Mr. Shirogane and Keith were two particularly amorous and polite demons was one that did not sit quite right even with her; yet it was the only one that made any kind of sense.
And, come to think of it, when Sofia had said the people in town called him a demon, Mr. Shirogane had not denied it. He had only laughed. Politely, of course.
The two of them did not eat, they did not age, and she continued to find bloodstains throughout the house, and the cellar remained firmly locked; though she heard no more screaming from it, so she supposed that was something.
Sofia tried her best to scorn them, but found she could not. Not when Keith remained so gracious as to offer to help her carry the laundry upstairs every Monday, and Mr. Shirogane regularly worked alongside the stable boys in mucking out the stalls and training the horses.
One particularly memorable day came in the summer of 1913, when Mr. Shirogane and Keith helped to deliver Red’s first foal. Red was Keith’s horse, a plucky bay mare who frightened Sofia, as she had been notorious for kicking and biting before Keith adopted her. But now, under Keith’s guidance, she was as sweet as could be.
The sire of Red’s foal was Shiro’s stallion, Kuro.
Sofia could see the irony in that, alright.
She hadn’t expected to be present for the foal’s birth, but when Keith came running down the hall gasping for clean blankets and water, and Sofia and Clarissa were the only servants within earshot...Sofia was not heartless. She would not take out her frustration on God’s innocent dumb beasts. She helped.
There was more blood than she had expected, and both Mr. Shirogane and Keith were on edge for the entire ordeal. But when it was over, a bedraggled dark bay foal with Kuro’s beautiful spotted white hindquarters and white nose stripe lay splayed and trembling and wet in the small stall. Slowly, it worked up the strength to push itself upright while Red nosed at her foal and snorted, ears pricked forward and eyes bright.
Only Keith and Mr. Shirogane were allowed in the stall with the mare and foal, and as Sofia watched with Clarissa and the groom from just outside, she finally began to understand what existed between the two of them.
Keith looked at the newborn foal with wide, shiny eyes, and grasped blindly for Mr. Shirogane’s hand, catching it and squeezing it tight. Mr. Shirogane squeezed back, and wrapped an arm around Keith’s shoulders, and held him close. The groom cleared his throat and found something else to do. Clarissa elbowed Sofia. Sofia ignored her, and watched silently as Red accepted Keith’s reverent petting and praise before heaving herself to her hooves with effort and urging her foal to do the same.
“Go on, little one,” Mr. Shirogane murmured, patting its white flank gently. “You have strong blood in that tiny body of yours.”
The foal huffed and, under their approving gazes, staggered upright, knees knocking together and trembling, but it was standing, and Keith pressed himself unashamedly to Mr. Shirogane’s side, unable to hide his infectious grin. “She did it,” he breathed.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Mr. Shirogane chuckled, shaking his head. “As if Rose-Red would be defeated by foaling. She’s tough.”
“I can’t wait for Kuro to meet the foal,” Keith said. “Do you think he’ll play nice?”
“He’d better,” Shiro said. “I wouldn’t worry. He’s a calm horse, calmer than Red by far.” The two of them laughed softly in a way so knowing and private that it made Sofia flush and turn away. “I think they’ll be a wonderful little family, Keith.”
The foal was a filly, and Keith named her Strawberry, and Kuro was so delighted with her that the stallion spent an entire afternoon neighing proudly to the world and prancing around Red and little Strawberry with his head held high.
*
Sofia Alvarita Cervantes Rosado had worked in the household of Mr. Shirogane and Keith for forty years, and she had learned a few things.
She had learned that while she grew old and gray and wrinkled as an apple core, Mr. Shirogane and Keith remained as beautiful and young as they had always been, though at times she thought she could see their true age in their eyes.
She had learned that she liked children very much, and so did Mr. Shirogane and Keith, because when Clarissa became pregnant after a hasty marriage with a strapping gardener named Harry, she was not only allowed to stay at the estate, but she was also allowed to raise the child there. She had twins, two girls with shiny black hair and impish faces, and in her gratitude, asked Mr. Shirogane and Keith what she should name them. She settled on Grace and Hope, and Sofia was content that children would grow up on the estate, even if they were not Mr. Shirogane’s.
She had learned that the world was a dangerous place, and that no amount of prayer could save the world from a Great War that ripped through Europe for four grueling years of death and disease and rations and terrible uncertainty and letters delivered by grim-faced men in uniform.
On the nights when the worst news came crackling in through the radio, Mr. Shirogane gathered the servants in the library and played the piano for them while Keith led them in singing songs – sometimes popular hits from the radio, sometimes old hymns, sometimes rousing ballads, sometimes sweet, slow love songs. Sofia may have been certain neither of them were human, but in those moments, she no longer cared what they were. Their hearts were full, and those nights in the library had been some of the best nights of her life.
Sofia had learned then, too, that though the world was a dangerous place, she had been lucky enough to find a spot of sunshine in it.
And she had learned, by the ripe old age of sixty, that maybe, just maybe, the Lord didn’t know everything, after all.
*
She bent over the kitchen counter, slowly dropping cubed iced into a pitcher of black tea.
The cook had died in Italy twenty years back, and Clarissa had taken his place, but Clarissa had since moved away to New York with her husband Harry and the twins, so Sofia had replaced her. The household, once twenty-five strong, was now quite small. It was just Sofia, the horse groom, a handful of stable boys, the gardener, the butler Arthur, and of course, Marisol, whose health was declining and who spent most days at rest in the library. Sofia had heard rumors that Mr. Shirogane and Keith were going to sell the estate and move to Europe soon.
Another servant might be scared of the possibility, but she did not worry. Her employers were not the type to throw her out on the street after decades of service. They would take care of her, as they always had.
She poured the tea into two sweating glasses and carried them out to the two men waiting in the garden, sitting close enough that their sides touched, and that Keith’s head very nearly leaned against Mr. Shirogane’s shoulder. They sat on a stone bench among the flowering rose bushes, a sea of vibrant color and scent amidst the dry hues of summer. The scene looked like a painting, she thought, one of those big bright Impressionists full of swirls and paint blots and light.
“Sirs,” Sofia called in a voice as dry and brown as the grass, “some tea?”
They turned as one entity, expressions softening with quiet joy at her approach. Mr. Shirogane said, “Oh, Miss Sofia. You didn’t have to.”
She shrugged, handing each of them a glass. Keith held his as if it were made of gold and shot her a smile so bright she had to return it. “Thank you, Miss Sofia,” he said. “You’re always so good to us.”
“It is a hot day,” she said, clasping her hands. “And you so rarely spend time in the sun, sirs. Wouldn’t want you to overheat.”
They exchanged looks, and smiled. “You’re very thoughtful,” Mr. Shirogane said. He reached out and patted her arm, and for just a moment she saw a flicker of that old sadness in his face as his perfect pale fingertips rested upon her wrinkled brown skin. “You should rest inside, Miss Sofia, and pour a glass or two for yourself. Maybe Miss Marisol could use some tea, too.”
She inclined her head. “Very well, sir.”
“Wait,” Keith said, and plucked a full pink rose from one of the bushes, holding it out to her shyly. She stared at him in astonishment, though really, he had always been this way. “They are your roses, after all,” he said.
“I only planted them, and that was ages ago,” she said, but took the rose, and after a moment’s hesitation, tucked it behind her ear.
“You look like a princess,” Keith told her.
“A withered old one, maybe,” she chuckled.
“No,” Mr. Shirogane said, firm and honest. “Just a princess.”
Sofia touched the cross around her neck. It wasn’t tarnished, anymore. “Thank you, sirs,” she said, and when they looked at her like that, warm and kind and open, she actually believed them.
As she walked back to the house, she paused in the curve of the garden path, and looked back at them. They faced each other, setting aside the iced tea after each taking long, grateful sips. Keith wiped the wetness from Mr. Shirogane’s lips, and Mr. Shirogane captured his wrist, rubbing his thumb over the delicate skin. The gesture was intimate, almost painfully so.
“I love you,” Keith said to him, and Sofia’s breath caught.
“I love you, too,” Mr. Shirogane said back, so soft Sofia could not hear it, but she knew from the way his lips moved. They’d moved in that same shape so many times before.
Keith closed his eyes, and smiled.
Mr. Shirogane cupped Keith’s face and said, “I’m so lucky to be here with you.”
“It’s not luck,” Keith whispered back, leaning into his touch. “It’s fate, you and I. It must be.”
Sofia didn’t think the Lord could punish them even if He tried.
She touched the soft rose in her hair with her gnarled fingers, and did not have to look back again to know that they were kissing.
It was one thing to read a Bible verse. It was another thing entirely to see two men with such good hearts so in love that she would have to be blind not to see it, and even then she thought she might still feel it in the air.
