The Scent of Sake: A Novel

By Joyce Lebra

She was taught to submit, to obey . . . but she dreamed of an empire.

The sole heir to the House of Omura, a venerable family of Kobe sake brewers, nineteen-year-old Rie hears but cannot heed her mother's advice: that in nineteenth-century Japan, a woman must "kill the self" or her life will be too difficult to bear. In this strict, male-dominated society, women may not even enter the brewery—and repressive tradition demands that Rie turn over her family's business to the inept philanderer she's been forced to marry. She is even expected to raise her husband's children by another woman—a geisha—so that they can eventually run the Omura enterprise.

But Rie's pride will not allow her to relinquish what is rightfully hers. With courage, cunning, brilliance, and skill, she is ready to confront every threat that arises before her—from prejudice to treachery to shipwrecks to the insidious schemes of relentless rivals—in her bold determination to forge a magnificent dynasty...and to, impossibly, succeed.

An epic and breathtaking saga that spans generations as it sweeps through the heart of a century, Joyce Lebra's The Scent of Sake is a vivid and powerful entry into another world...and an unforgettable portrait of a woman who would not let that world defeat her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Feb 6, 2009
• ISBN: 9780061973086

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was a day Rie would never forget, the day her mother told her who her husband would be. That day she had knelt in the frigid courtyard scrubbing the wooden sake barrels, barrels so large they had to be lifted by ropes and pulleys. She gripped the big brush in both hands and scrubbed back and forth, back and forth until her muscles ached. She rubbed her blue-cold hands together and held them over her nose and mouth. Then she scratched under the cotton scarf that held back her long thick hair and shifted on the rush mat on which she was kneeling. As she did so, she glanced through the misty screen of her breath at the door of the brewery and inhaled the pungent, mildewy smell of yeast, the smell that permeated every corner of the drafty old wooden house and brewery buildings. Women were never to enter the forbidden door that gaped darkly before her.

Let a woman enter the brewery and the sake will sour, the old ones always said. Her mother had warned her of this since childhood. But Rie relished the yeasty smell of brewing sake that hung in the air. She had always played near the door and the barrels as a child. As a little girl, she had waited, terrified, for the news that the sake had soured. It never had. Now that she was grown, now that she had her own secret opinions of what women could accomplish, she made it her duty to wash the barrels, a task she took on when she knew her father was not looking. As atonement.

This time he caught her. "Rie! Haven’t I warned you to stay away from the brewery door? It’s too dangerous to be so close to the kura, brewing building, and washing barrels is not your responsibility."

Rie looked up to see her father looming over her, frowning, hands thrust into the sleeves of the indigo work kimono he always wore. His white chicken-feather eyebrows were dusted with frost and seemed to stand erect in anger.

Understand me, she longed to say. See me as doing my best for you and the house. But she couldn’t say it.

Rie stood and bowed, looking down at her feet. Her father, Kinzaemon IX, head of the House of Omura, was the one person in the world she most wanted to please. He represented all nine generations of the ancestors, a long line to which both he and now Rie owed on, the obligation that could never be repaid but toward which one must strive throughout one’s life.

At first when her brother had died, so had all her father’s hopes and dreams. But after weeks of grieving, he had uttered the portentous words that would change her life: So now, Rie, the future of the Omura House rests with you. You alone are the one who will maintain the honor and prosperity of the house. Remember, this is a heavy responsibility.

Everyone knew that sake brewing was a man’s world, and Kinzaemon could have brought a geisha’s son into the house. But with the Kansai chonin, the merchants, they often preferred to adopt a husband for a daughter, an adult clerk who had proven his mettle and would be an asset to the family business. It was common practice among brewers, a good business strategy.

And she had felt it, felt the weight of the generations fall upon her, the hope her father had bestowed upon her. She could not bear his sad eyes or the way her mother got busy every time she neared so as not to let on that she had been crying. Rie had promised herself then that she would take this loss from their shoulders, this burden, and carry it as her own.

Now, as she washed the barrels, she pictured her little brother Toichi’s large brown eyes, his sweet face. She should have been watching him closer, her father’s only son. He had been her responsibility, and now he was gone. Her guilt was a burden she would bear the rest of her life, the result of her own carelessness and disregard of her responsibility to the house. As she finished scrubbing the last of the barrels all she got was blue-cold hands and a scolding from her father. Yes, Father. But I do not want to leave this job to others. It’s too important. And I’m not so near the door. She glanced up briefly, and looked down again.

Get back to the kitchen! Kinzaemon bellowed.

Rie was careful not to let her anger and disappointment show. She bowed, dropped the brush, and ran toward the door leading through the earthen corridor to the rooms of the house. The kitchen. That was the place of women. How unreasonable of her father to expect her to be only a confined girl in a box.

Now she was the first and only child. The samurai knew what to do about barren wives who had only daughters. A mistress could always be found to provide an heir for the house. Still, the Kansai merchant houses found daughters useful. The midwives liked to announce with the birth of a daughter: It’s a girl, so the house will prosper. With a son you really had a gamble, true enough. You had to take what you got, and that could be a bright boy or a dull one. Her baby brother Toichi had been bright. Still, with a daughter, intelligent or not, you had a range of choices for an adopted husband for her. And for an important house like the Omuras, there were plenty of prospects, excellent ones.

With Toichi gone, it was imperative that Rie take an interest in the business, this she knew, to learn as much as she could from her imperious father and chief clerk, Kin. Knowing about the brewery will help your husband in the future, the house. I want our brewery to be number one, her father had always said.

And so, as Rie glided rapidly along the pounded earthen corridor to the polished platform hallway and rooms of the house, she determined to fulfill her father’s wish. As penance. But how, she wondered as she ran her hand along the dark brown woodwork that gleamed in the faint, frozen morning light? She turned and ran her hand along the sturdy aged cypress pillar that supported the house, the House of Omura, the house whose head she had so far disappointed. At nineteen, her arms could barely reach to embrace this post that had supported the house for nine generations. She walked more slowly to the kitchen door.

Oh, there you are, said a smiling plump maid whose apple cheeks bespoke her country origins. O-Natsu held out a cup of tea to warm Rie’s hands. O-Josama, O-Natsu said, using the title reserved for the younger woman of the house, your mother wants to see you. She is in her room waiting. She bowed again.

Thank you, O-Natsu. Rie sipped tea and held the cup in both hands for a moment to warm them. She handed the cup back to O-Natsu, adjusted her scarf and apron, and walked along the chilly corridor and up the steep slippery wooden stairs to her mother’s second-floor room.

I have returned, she announced, kneeling outside the door.

Come in, her mother’s soft voice greeted her.

The strength concealed beneath Hana’s voice was a source of wonder to Rie. She opened the sliding screen with both hands, bowed, and glanced at her mother’s refined face, a face that did not reveal the manifold concerns behind it. A brewer’s wife was responsible for the food, housing, clothing, health, and well-being of all the brewery workers. Rie entered the room on her knees and moved toward the hibachi to warm her hands. She looked down at her chapped red fingers and held them over the glowing coals, rubbing gently.

Her mother was sitting opposite Rie, her back to the paulownia dressing cabinet, sewing together sections of a kimono that had been taken apart for laundering. Her mother’s room was a large eight-tatami room with a two-tatami dressing room adjacent. It was sparsely furnished according to Japanese sensibility: a low lacquerware table, the hibachi, the paulownia dressing cabinet, and zabuton completed the appointments. Where have you been, Rie? Out in front of the kura again?

Rie hesitated, bowing slightly. Yes, Mother. I was washing barrels. She moved her back and wet feet closer to the warm coals and reached to pour tea for her mother and herself.

You know, Rie, your father doesn’t like you there. And so close to the kura. I’ve always felt we shouldn’t be anywhere near the kura door. You know how great the danger of pollution is.

Hana snipped a thread and looked at her work critically. She had tried to show Rie the lock stitch, but Rie could not sew stitches as fine as her mother’s and always felt awkward and inadequate when faced with a sewing task.

Rie put down her cup and poked at the hibachi coals with long metal chopsticks. "I know, Mother. But I’m not really so near the door. I must work there in order to wash the barrels. That’s where the kurabito leave them when they’re finished. And that’s where the well is. She cringed, remembering the well. If she’d been closer that day, little Toichi wouldn’t have fallen in. Rie was eight at the time, and Toichi had only been walking a few months. How was she to guess that he could have pulled himself up, fallen in. Gooseflesh crawled up her arms as she remembered. I can’t move the barrels, you know. And Toji-san has never complained."

No, I don’t suppose he would. He has always been so fond of you. He even let you play in the barrels as a little girl. He knows he can count on you to continue the traditions of our house. But you know the Ikedas lost their whole cellar last year when the sake went sour. And you must listen to Father. You must obey him.

Warmth crept up Rie’s cheeks as she pressed her lips together and reached for a cup of tea, warming both hands and inhaling the comforting green tea fragrance.

I know. She put down the cup and moved her hands back to the hibachi without speaking further. She knew better.

Have another cup of tea, Rie. Her mother smiled ever so slightly.

Rie glanced again at her mother’s face with its patrician Kyoto nose, the distinctive downward curve that marked aristocratic women from the old capital. It was known that someone in Hana’s family had had a liaison with a Kyoto woman. Rie’s mother had inherited the woman’s best feature.

Another thing, Rie….

Rie glanced again at her mother, and lowered her eyes. This must be why her mother had called her.

You are close to twenty now, and it’s high time we were serious about your marriage. And we have several good candidates. Your father and I are especially interested in the Okamoto son, Jihei. He has been apprenticed to the Ohara house, so we know he has had excellent training, and the reports we hear are good.

Jihei?

Rie looked up in alarm. She tried to remember what Jihei looked like. She knew he was one of the clerks who came on errands to the office.

"Ah, I remember now," she murmured, her heart sinking. She recalled a boy with a large nose and eyebrows that stood up straight like her father’s. Not the handsomest of clerks by any means. Not as handsome as the Kato’s third son, the son whose elegant bearing, fine chiseled features, and long fingers bespoke a certain sensitivity. On the day of Toichi’s funeral, Saburo Kato had stood before her, murmured his apologies, then had looked up at her with such intense brown eyes that she knew then he shared her wound in some way. Understood it. Since then, she had noticed him more than once. He would be her husband, given a choice. But no choice would be given, of course.

"We have arranged the o-miai meeting for early next month. The Okamotos have been approaching us, and they are serious. Hana paused to turn a teacup around in her hand. We don’t want to delay too long or they will get discouraged and look elsewhere. We can have the wedding before summer."

I see. Rie slowly put her cup down, her hand trembling.

You know Father and I have your best interests at heart.

Rie sighed and tried to put Jihei’s face out of her mind. Luckily, his face was very forgettable. Unluckily, she knew it was the interests of the house that mattered, not her own preferences.

Hana glanced at Rie’s face before continuing. Personal feelings have so little to do with marriage. Your father and I were fortunate. We grew fond of each other after we married. That is what you must hope for. She paused. "We know you understand. So we’ll ask Mrs. Nakano to go ahead with the o-miai arrangements. We’ll choose a good fortune day in May. I’ve always liked spring weddings. Summer is too hot."

Hana leaned forward slightly. And you must try to be a good wife, Rie. Be compliant. Your feelings must not intrude. Hana put down her sewing and looked at Rie’s face. Women often find it necessary to ‘kill the self.’ Otherwise life becomes too difficult.

Kill the self. Isn’t that what she’d done when her brother died? A sliver of guilt wedged inside her heart.

Her mother picked up her sewing again and bent over it. And remember how fortunate you are. You won’t have to live with a mother-in-law. Your husband is the one who will. He will have the bigger adjustment to make. She glanced again at Rie.

Rie put her hand over her mouth. She wondered how her mother had had to kill the self. Was it the suffering at the loss of little Toichi? Remorse made her cheeks glow hot like the coals from the hibachi. Yes, Mother. She bowed to her mother, excusing herself before leaving the room.

She walked slowly down the stairs and along the wooden walk-way above the earthen floor, deliberately putting one slipper just in front of the other. She glided into the wooden geta and walked out to the gated garden. She opened the creaking weathered gate and stepped onto the large round stones toward a huge boulder. She leaned against it and gazed toward the koi pond.

Of course this was bound to happen. Once parents neared fifty, they were anxious to get the succession settled. Her marriage could not be postponed. Besides, her mother said she and Rie’s father cared for each other, and she knew this to be true. Maybe the same would be true for Rie and her husband. At any rate, there was no choice. She would have to marry Jihei. She would have to forget Saburo Kato. Not that she could.

That night Rie sat musing in front of her dressing cabinet. Kill the self, her mother had said. How would it ever be possible to kill the self and still continue to live, to survive, she wondered? She recalled the death a few years ago of one of the kurabito, something her mother had grieved long, almost as long as with Toichi, as it was her responsibility to ensure the health of all the workers in the brewery.

Rie gazed at her reflection, at the face she overheard someone in the office say belonged to a farm woman, something he had dared to say only when her father was not in the room. She sighed. Although her eyes were large and arresting, her teeth protruded slightly, there was no denying. She knew she was not a beauty, in the classical sense. She thought suddenly of the way her father banished her to the kitchen, wanted to keep her away from the business side of the brewery, especially transactions involving cash, something to which women of Kansai merchant houses had no access. How was she to fulfill her responsibility to the house if she wasn’t allowed to be involved in the business of brewing? She sighed deeply and sat several minutes at the mirror before laying out the futon.

Arranged marriage was the way. She would not kill the self. She would find a way to survive.

The most elegant tearoom in Kobe was reserved for the formal meeting of the two families, with Mr. and Mrs. Nakano presiding as go-betweens. Rie bit her lip and held her breath as, attired in an elegant pale blue kimono of the finest silk, she entered the gold screened room behind her parents. She was able to see, even with her head properly bowed throughout the meeting, that she was right about Jihei. He did have a large nose and startling eyebrows. She continued to gaze at the lacquer plate before her as her parents and the Okamotos exchanged the perfunctory courtesies that sealed her fate. She sat perfectly still, her emotions tightly in check as she listened with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

A few days after the meeting the Omuras offered their formal proposal. The Okamotos accepted, and the last good fortune day in the May calendar was selected.

Rie spent the next days and weeks trying on the kimono she would own for the rest of her life. As she fingered the kasuri, silk and brocade fabrics, and counted the days, she wondered about the stranger her parents had selected as her husband. Would he be as boring as his face? Or would he surprise her? The wedding day approached, the day every woman knew was the most important day in her life. Then why did she have such a feeling of foreboding?

Chapter 2

Rie’s wedding, her father told her, would be remembered in Kobe as a major event of the year 1825. He often talked to Rie about major events, unwittingly piquing her interest in matters supposedly of no concern to women. The shogunate and its neo-Confucian maxims was one of his favorite topics. The shogunate was in deep financial crisis, something her father discussed with fervor.

What do we care for the Neo-Confucianism of the shoguns, this so-called philosophy that puts us at the bottom of society, below the samurai, the farmers, even the craftsmen? Empty words! Everyone knows we merchants hold the real wealth, that we are the arbiters of culture, not only in Kobe but everywhere.

Whatever the officials of the shogunate did, including the measures of Chief Councilor Mizuno, all had failed. He had tried to solve the financial crisis through a series of reforms: sumptuary edicts to curtail extravagance, restrictions on festivals and Noh and Kabuki performances, and limits on the activities of pawnbrokers. Nothing worked. As Kinzaemon said, it was the merchants, chonin, who held the real wealth. And of the merchants it was the sake brewers and pawnbrokers who were wealthiest. Most brewers of substance were pawnbrokers and moneylenders as well. If the country were to be saved, it would be houses like the Omuras that would save it.

It was natural, then, for the marriage of two major brewing houses to be viewed as an event of great importance. The engagement followed the o-miai, the formal meeting, and the wedding date was fixed. Mrs. Nakano, the most respected go-between in Kobe, was in her element. The plump, energetic brewer’s wife boasted the news of the impending wedding to everyone she encountered, and she had without doubt the widest acquaintance in town. Soon the marriage was eagerly anticipated throughout the whole brewing community.

With the exception of Rie herself, of course.

The match was the talk of the May Brewers Association meeting. The meeting was attended, as usual, by a representative of each brewing house, generally the house head. The chief rival of the Omura House was there, Kikuji Yamaguchi, a bombastic man nearly as large as a sumo wrestler. His obi strained over his barrel stomach, and he surveyed the assembled brewers arrogantly. He swaggered and belched as he walked, and boasted loudly that Ogre-Killer would soon be the number one brand of sake in Japan. Kinzaemon overheard him say "Huh! She’s marrying Jihei Okamoto. Some choice! What can he do for White Tiger? Well, so much the better for us!" Yamaguchi gloated. During the previous year he had succeeded in capturing ten percent of White Tiger’s market, a serious blow in the competitive world of the brewers.

Kinzaemon, who had sunk into depression following Toichi’s death, seemed discouraged by Yamaguchi’s words. Rie knew this from a conversation she overheard while standing outside the office. He was speaking to Kin, she was sure. This is a bad blow to us, to our position and honor. And he was insulting as well, talking about Rie’s marriage to the Okamoto son. Listening, Rie felt her anger rising. How dare Yamaguchi! We have lost part of our market to Yamaguchi too. She had to do something, somehow, to redeem the status of the house and to prove that the Omura House was superior to the Yamaguchi House.

Now, more than ever, marriage to Jihei would be crucial for the continuity and prosperity of the house, Rie knew. Kinzaemon had carefully chosen Jihei after a thorough investigation by Mrs. Nakano. The family of the groom, its reputation and standing, the training of the groom, the absence of contagious disease in the family—all these things had been weighed by Kinzaemon and his wife so that Yamaguchi could have nothing bad to say about the marriage. But everyone knew Yamaguchi was always bragging.

Most unseemly for a man in his position. The other brewers should have enough sense not to take Yamaguchi’s remarks seriously, Hana said one evening, seeking to comfort her husband.

Preparations for the wedding prompted a steady stream of vendors in the office and house of the Omuras: caterers for the reception, weavers and dyers from Nishijin in Kyoto, and seamstresses coming and going in a seemingly unending procession each day.

Must we invite three hundred guests? Rie asked. All those return gifts will be such an expense.

Hana looked at Rie and smiled thoughtfully. This is a modest list, Rie. You know it would be a bad oversight if we omitted even one of the major brewing houses. The list is critical. Besides, you are our only child and this is one of the most important events for our house.

But even Rie’s mother had to admit the trousseau was impressive: three four-drawer aromatic cedar tansu chests with copper fittings, several sets of cotton and silk linens, and two dozen silk kimonos and brocade obis of every color, including formal black, sewn by the best Nishijin seamstresses.

Dressing the bride took all morning. Rie had to rise at dawn for a bath. Her mother and O-Natsu watched as two women unfolded the silk under-kimonos. They adjusted the sleeves and collars as Rie held out her arms for the many layered undergarments. She tried to stand patiently as the women worked, but her growing anxiety made it hard to stand still. Finally she lifted her arms so the outer kimono could be adjusted in place. The kimono was white silk with an exquisite design of pine, plum, and bamboo below knee level, signifying strength, courage, and harmony. The obi was adorned with a complimentary pattern outlined in gold thread. To Rie, tying the wide obi seemed to take forever. At the neck the collar was arranged so that the proper amount of under-kimono revealed the subtlest variations of white.

Rie’s hair was piled into three sections over which was laid the wide white silk band to hide the bride’s devils’ horns, symbolizing that a wife was never to display jealousy, whatever her husband chose to do. She doubted Jihei could make her jealous! Her face and neck were painted chalk white. Fitting for how she felt.

But Mother, I feel twice as large as normal. I won’t be able to move, Rie complained. She looked in the mirror that O-Natsu held for her and gasped. I don’t even look like myself, she mumbled.

Don’t worry, dear, you need only walk slowly, with very small steps. Remember to keep your knees together and bent and your toes pointed inward, won’t you? Her mother smiled and appraised Rie from every angle. Very fine, she pronounced.

You look beautiful, O-Natsu breathed.

The brief ceremony was presided over by a white-robed priest at the city’s principal Shinto shrine. At the entrance of the shrine the bride and groom and family guests each took a sip of purifying water with a bamboo dipper from a tank engraved with the characters cleanse the spirit. The ceremonial room was spare, the floorboards polished to a gleaming gloss, the only furnishing being the zabuton on which guests sat facing the priest and the bridal couple, whose parents sat closest to the bride and groom. The priest waved his paper wand over the bride and groom to invoke the blessing of the gods. Rie and Jihei exchanged the traditional three sips of sake from a black lacquer cup. Her head modestly bowed, Rie was nevertheless able to steal a nervous glance at Jihei. He was standing stiffly in his black wedding kimono, looking straight ahead. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he pleased with his bride? Or did he feel as she did? Rie had no clue to Jihei’s feelings, other than his stiff, formal bearing, which was really fitting for the occasion. She would have to wait, she knew, for what lay ahead at night. She wanted to glance at his face, but forced herself to keep looking demurely down, as her mother had instructed.

The teahouse with the largest garden in the city was reserved for the reception. All the city’s luminaries were present: shogunal commissioners, town officials, and representatives of each of the major brewing houses with their wives. Women paraded in their elegant kimonos and admired the azaleas while husbands gathered in clusters and discussed the significance of the adoption of the Okamoto second son as successor to the House of Omura. The bride and groom were toasted in the top grade of White Tiger and their virtues extolled by Mr. Nakano and the head of the Kobe Sake Brewers Association.

And so she was married. Jihei, this stranger, was her husband.

Standing in the reception line Rie caught her breath when she happened to glance up just as Saburo, the Kato third son, was passing. She looked directly into his arresting eyes, and smiled slightly before looking down. She thought she caught an answering smile as she murmured a greeting and bowed. He was so handsome! And she felt drawn to him, there was no question. Her emotions were in turmoil as she recalled his sympathetic reassurance at little Toichi’s funeral, the way he had caught her elbow when she felt faint. The strength he’d somehow transferred to her in that small gesture. She would never forget it, or him. She wondered if negotiations were under way for the marriage of this man she found so appealing. Her shoulders tensed and she pressed her hands more tightly together. Her thoughts lingered on Saburo Kato during the rest of the reception as she stood beside her new husband.

Rie tensed as Kinzaemon turned to look at her. She made sure her head was modestly bowed, her hands folded in front of her as guests congratulated Jihei at her side. Rie knew that for Kinzaemon the marriage was the culmination of a successful negotiation to ensure the future of the house. But for Rie it felt like a death sentence.

When they returned to the Omura House following the reception it was late evening. Rie’s mother helped her out of her obi. O-Natsu will help you with your kimono, Rie.

Rie’s parents vacated the second floor room for the newlyweds and moved downstairs to Rie’s former room. Hana said, The stairs are becoming too much for us, dear. We’d rather you had the room.

Only if it’s really difficult for you, Mother, Rie had demurred.

Rie put on the kimono especially selected for the wedding night, trembling as she did, beads of sweat forming on her brow. Jihei had already been shown to their quarters, but had drunk so much that he stumbled on the stairs. Rie heard him grumbling, his speech slurred, as he staggered around the room bumping into the shoji. Please be so drunk that you fall asleep the moment you lie down, she prayed.

As Rie walked up the stairs, she hesitated. The stairway and her mother’s room above were so familiar, but tonight they seemed strange, almost forbidding. She put her hands on the yellow plaster walls on either side of the stairway for reassurance, for support on this portentous night.

When she entered the anteroom she saw that Jihei was already recumbent on the futon, eyes closed, his breath smelling of sake even from where she stood. Had her prayers been answered? She entered the room slowly, sat at the dressing table and took down her hair, glancing at Jihei’s reflection in the mirror as she combed the glossy locks. When she could delay no longer she went to the futon that had been laid out beside Jihei’s and quietly slipped under the covers. She breathed as lightly as possible, hoping that Jihei was already asleep. It seemed an eternity that she lay there wakeful, apprehensive. This man beside her on the futon was a complete stranger.

Some time during the night, she could not say just when, Jihei came to her abruptly, grunting and sweating, without saying anything, without a word that might have shown consideration for her. The shock of his sharp, piercing thrusts caused her to gasp and struggle to stifle a cry of pain. When he stopped, she tried to move but was pinned by Jihei’s moist, slack body. Disgusting! She lay wakeful, barely able to breathe, the pain between her thighs acute as she listened to Jihei’s heavy breathing. A single tear fell. Was this what their life together would be like? If she’d had a dagger, she would have cut her throat now rather than face this nightly humiliation. She thought of Kato, of the tenderness he’d shown her at her brother’s funeral. Now she would forever be locked away with a man who would control her destiny. No, she could not think about it. Her mother was right. To survive, one must kill the self.

She closed her eyes, then opened them, determined to get as far away from this man as possible. Finally she was able to edge out from under him. Despite the ache in her heart and the sense of violation, she knew she would have to be with her husband in this way to bear an heir