He took her in his arms, holding her head against his chest so she couldn’t see his face. “You must forget about the lights, Junko,” he said. “Especially now that the sōsakan-sama knows about them.”

Junko pulled away, puzzled. “But why? The fortune teller said they’re the key to our happiness.”

During their last rendezvous, they’d gone to consult Nagasaki’s best fortune teller. The old crone had told them, “The strange lights in the harbor hold the key to your happiness. They’re the ghosts of Dutch barbarians. Catch one, and it will pay you a fortune in gold to be set free.”

“Enough gold to make our families agree to our marriage?” Junko had asked eagerly.

“Enough to make all things possible.”

Now Junko tried to remind Kiyoshi of the fortune teller’s advice. “The mysterious lights—”

“I said, forget them!” Kiyoshi shouted, eyes blazing.

He’d never before raised his voice to her in anger. Silently Junko turned away, blinking back tears.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoshi said. The anger had left his voice, and he sounded weary. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But this is what’s best, you have to believe me.”

The cold draft from the window made Junko shiver. Sniffling, she said, “But what about the money? Our plans?”

Kiyoshi hovered beside her, his hand clasping her shoulder. With a forced laugh, he said, “That old fortune teller was just repeating town gossip and saying what we wanted to hear. There’s no ghosts or treasure. We were fools to believe it.”

Disturbed by the forlorn note in Kiyoshi’s voice, Junko glanced sideways at him. He was watching her with concern, but a part of him remained separate, preoccupied.

“If the lights aren’t Dutch ghosts, then what are they?” Junko asked, loath to relinquish their dream.

Kiyoshi’s hand dropped from her shoulder, leaving behind a fleeting warmth. “I can’t tell you.”

His recalcitrance destroyed Junko’s fragile dignity. She whirled to face him. “Please, tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded, clutching his sleeve. “I want to help!”

Holding her, Kiyoshi stroked her hair. She felt his hand tremble, his ragged breath on her forehead, his warm strength. But his body stayed rigid. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said hopelessly. “I have to handle it alone.” After a long pause, he continued, though more to himself than her, “I have to decide whether to do what’s right, even if it hurts … someone.”

Then he released her. He swallowed hard, then said, “I don’t want to say this, Junko. But … I think we should stop seeing each other.”

“Stop seeing each other? Why?” Junko could no longer hide her insecurity. “Don’t you love me anymore?” she cried. “Is there someone else?”