“And so, since the earthquake, you’ve been hiding Shou Shou from the highbinders, am I right?” she asked softly. There were fifty Chinese men brought over to help build the railroads to every Chinese woman, and the kidnappers had long been guaranteed a profit when they abducted pretty young girls like Shou Shou and forced them to be sexual slaves—for a profit to their captors.
“Foo’s mother die too. He Shou Shou’s friend’s little boy.”
“Do the bad Chinese know Shou Shou’s with you?”
“I kill them if they come!” Loy stated defiantly.
Amelia suddenly imagined that Loy Chen could be descended from a tribe of Asian warriors.
“They will come, Loy. The brothels are already beginning to open again and the highbinders are up to their old, bad ways. This is very dangerous for you. For both of you.”
Loy tightened his arm around Shou Shou. “I know, missy. That’s why I hide Shou Shou in basement, here.”
“She’s been sleeping at the
Fairmont
? Where?”
“Behind big, new furnace. Nice and warm for Shou Shou.”
Amelia could only imagine what Julia would say if she discovered that her deputy had been providing safe haven for Chinese runaways fleeing from their unscrupulous owners. And what if the Law brothers found out that Chinese slaves were hiding here?
Amelia knew from the first she should have told her employer about her private “charity work,” but feared Julia might not feel the same burning sense of injustice that she did if it compromised the older architect’s allegiance to her clients.
Julia’s credo echoed in her head.
Above all things, Amelia, the client is king.
“How long has Shou Shou been sleeping here?” she demanded, filled with a growing dread for the consequences that could result from her own rash behavior.
“When we meet you that night, I show her furnace room. Shou Shou very quiet girl,” he said proudly. “I keep Foo with me at laundry. Pretend he my cousin too.”
Good heavens,
she thought. Shou Shou and Julia Morgan had slept under the same roof!
“Well, this won’t do, Loy. My first duty is to Miss Morgan and the Law brothers. I’m not like Miss Donaldina Cameron. I can’t simply—”
“You know Lo Mo?”
“Who?”
“Lo Mo,” he said impatiently. “Missy Cameron. ‘Little Mother.’ She save Chinese girls like Shou Shou from bad owners. You
know
her?”
“I’ve met her,” Amelia answered, equally impatiently, “but, Loy, you—”
“I look everywhere for her. She can help, but she not in Chinatown anymore.”
“How can she help?”
“She get lawyer to help. She get minister to marry us. I be Christian now,” he announced. “I help Missy Cameron find sad Chinese girls like Shou Shou. She come and save them. Climb down roof, sometimes, to get girls out. Make them Christian, like me.”
“You helped her do that?” Amelia was dumbfounded. “You helped her rescue girls who didn’t want to be prostitutes anymore?”
“Some like Shou Shou
never
want that. Bad Chinese and white men make them do bad things. Lock them in rooms with bars,” he added, pointing to Shou Shou’s scars.
“And my lawyer helps Miss Cameron,” Amelia murmured, remembering the kindness of John Damler. Miss Morgan knew Miss Cameron, and Miss Cameron knew lawyer Damler.
The Ladies All-Knowing Society,
she thought ruefully. And no one ever said a thing.
Amelia was fairly sure now that Julia would be sympathetic to Shou Shou and Foo’s plight, though she doubted her employer would endorse the Fairmont Hotel becoming a stop on this newfangled Underground Railroad.
“I know where Miss Cameron is,” Amelia said thoughtfully.
“Lo Mo? You
do
? Where?” Loy said excitedly. “I know she help us.”
“She’s moved everyone from San Anselmo over to East Oakland until the Mission Home is rebuilt. My friend, Dr. McClure, mentioned it a while back. There’s a new Chinatown over there. Some of the Chinese will probably never come back to San Francisco.”
“You take us?” Loy asked. “She get minister to marry us and then lawyer can help Shou Shou. Lo Mo not like girls living on own. And, good judges
like
Chinese girls to marry merchant like me. Brothel men leave her alone after marriage, see?”
“What about your fiancée in China?” Amelia reminded him of the girl who’d been plighted to him years before, when they both were youngsters.
“My family in America dead. Uncle far away. Shanghai. I not meet Uncle’s friend’s daughter—
ever
. I love Shou Shou,” he repeated defiantly, as if Amelia would take his uncle’s part.
Even arranged Chinese marriages were in jeopardy in this new century, she thought, and couldn’t help but approve. She turned to regard the slender young woman by Loy’s side. If Shou Shou’s owner caught her now, her scarred cheek and hands would condemn her to mortal drudgery in the bowels of some brothel. Loy loved her enough to risk his own life to save her not only from the fire, but also from a life of degradation.
“It will be my pleasure to take you to see Miss Cameron,” she declared quietly. “I will call her by telephone. I can take you to her when I return to see my aunt in Oakland next week. In the meantime, you must be
very
careful, Loy, to keep her hidden from everyone. Even from the people who work here. You were very careless tonight. I could have been someone else coming upon you two like this.”
“I know, missy. Nobody here like Chinese.”
“That’s not true, Loy.
I
do.”
Chapter 19
Loy Chen and his bride were married the following week in a simple ceremony at 477 Eleventh Street in East Oakland at a home donated by one of Donaldina Cameron’s Presbyterian supporters. Dr. Henry Sanborne, the pastor of the local church, performed the nuptials witnessed by Donaldina Cameron, John Damler, Angus McClure, Aunt Margaret, and Amelia, who was asked to serve as Shou Shou’s only attendant. Lawyer Damler promised to file a petition in the San Francisco courts stating that Shou Shou had been kidnapped from China and was now married to a legal immigrant, laundry merchant Loy Chen. As required by law, Dr. McClure attested the couple was in good health.
Much to Amelia’s astonishment, J.D. Thayer walked into the Oakland residence just as the ceremony concluded.
“Don’t looked so surprised,” he whispered. “After all, I employ the man.”
He turned to greet Donaldina like a long lost friend, which only deepened the mystery.
Amelia judged the marriage celebration itself to be a touching mixture of tradition and “make-do.” One of the women in Miss Cameron’s charge had loaned the bride a magnificently embroidered Chinese silk wedding ensemble and little Foo stood beaming by Loy’s side, holding the ring.
Afterward, a modest reception was cobbled together with donations of dried fruit, fruit punch, and delicate cookies that the younger children in Miss Cameron’s care had helped to bake. Even Aunt Margaret contributed a splendid chocolate cake made from the first cocoa she could find since the quake.
“It looks just beautiful,” Amelia murmured to her aunt as Donaldina set the cake on the large dining room table. “It was so nice of you to do this when you don’t even know the couple.”
“A wedding gives one hope, doesn’t it?”
Margaret had shed at least twenty pounds since her brother’s death and the food scarcity that immediately followed the quake. Amelia actually thought she looked healthier than she had in years. Her aunt’s eyes were sparkling as she glanced at Angus and J.D. engaged in lively conversation with lawyer Damler. “What charming gentlemen you’ve come to know, Amelia,” she added with a knowing smile.
Amelia frowned. There was no point in allowing her aunt to fantasize about anything. “I work for the gentleman on the left, and the other two are just friends.”
“That’s not what Dr. McClure leads me to think,” she retorted with a smug little smile. “He told me just today that he wishes you’d get down off those scaffolds and enjoy life as a normal young woman should.”
Ignoring her aunt’s remark, Amelia moved into the large home’s parlor to watch while Donaldina herded her charges into two lines. Soon the room was filled with the reverberation of Chinese songs that sounded high-pitched and exotic to her ear. Afterward, each child approached the impromptu visitor’s reception line and was introduced by “Lo Mo” to the guests, as well as the bride and groom.
A dozen or so children had passed through when Miss Cameron said to Amelia, “May I present Wing Lee?” The Presbyterian missionary bent down to urge the tiny girl to make a proper bow, which she did, beaming broadly.
Amelia sensed that the attention of both J.D. and Angus was immediately drawn to the adorable creature whose shining black hair moved like a curtain when she inclined her head. Of mixed Chinese and Caucasian parentage, the child’s brown eyes were more round than almond shaped, and her skin pale ivory rather than golden brown. Her little chin had a deep dimple that winked when she smiled at her elders.
“Does she understand English?” Amelia asked Miss Cameron.
“Quite well,” Donaldina answered proudly.
J.D. knelt and placed his hands on the child’s delicate shoulders.
“Wing Lee, I knew your mother,” he told her gently. “She was a fine woman.”
Startled, Amelia whispered to her hostess, “This is Ling Lee’s child?”
“Why yes.” Donaldina was clearly surprised by Amelia’s knowledge of this private matter. “Yes, she is.”
Wing Lee’s dark eyes gazed solemnly at J.D. “My mother live with angels now.”
J.D. rose while Angus placed his palm on the little girl’s head. “Aye, lassie,” he said gruffly, with a swift look at J.D., “Let’s hope so.”
J.D. reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew several silver pieces, handing them to Donaldina. “Here,” he said. “Please take this to help care for the little ones.”
“How kind, Mr. Thayer,” she murmured. “Every penny helps. You have my deepest appreciation, especially since I’m aware how difficult things have been for you since the quake.”
J.D. dug into another pocket and pulled out a small rag doll the size of a piece of corncob with clothing that had been made from a discarded dishrag. Amelia noted Wing Lee’s eyes widen as she gazed at the painted face and button eyes.
Angus looked over at J.D. and shook his head. “I dinna know where you managed to find such a toy, but I think she likes it, right, lassie?” he added as J.D. handed the doll to an ecstatic Wing Lee.
Amelia was dumbfounded by what she had just witnessed. Thayer was down to his last bean, yet he had given money to help Miss Cameron’s charitable work.
And a doll to his illegitimate daughter…
Amelia was well aware that J.D. was no choirboy, certainly, but perhaps he possessed a far shadier past than she’d been willing to concede—fathering a child he’d committed into someone else’s care, and continuing his unholy alliance with Ezra Kemp by employing men obviously loyal to the reprehensible lumberman.
Rather than remember the man’s charm, it was far wiser to remember his sins, she reminded herself. The cold truth was, J.D. and Ling Lee had been lovers and he’d obviously abandoned this child to the Mission Home. To give the devil his due, Wing Lee was half Chinese and born out-of-wedlock and her mother was dead, so practically speaking, J.D. could hardly be expected to raise a child on his own…
Don’t let him off so easily,
demanded a voice in her head.
The man consorted with women of easy virtue, she reminded herself. When he and his paramour had a child together, they’d banished the little one to Miss Cameron’s care. J.D. did today what men often do, she thought: offer money to assuage a prickle of conscience.
After the festivities, Amelia chose to stand at some distance from both Angus and J.D. during the cold ferry ride back to San Francisco.
***
Work progressed at the Bay View the next day without further incident, with the principal advancement being wooden shingles hammered onto the immense roof. For Amelia, walking down Taylor Street from the Fairmont that morning, just the sight of the familiar turrets rising against the winter sky made her breath catch as she approached the site.
“Looks like the lass has done you proud, J.D.,” said Angus, visiting his friend to see what headway had been made recently.
“We may just win this contest yet!” J.D. exclaimed with one of his rare displays of joviality.
Amelia could only imagine what Julia Morgan would say if she heard them comparing the effort required to build a small hotel versus the Herculean job of restoring a six story, 465-room edifice that had been consumed by white-hot fire and where the interior floors had fallen seven feet. Julia’s ear infection had abated enough for her to resume making regular trips to the Fairmont site, though Ira Hoover often still stepped in as her second-in-command when other clients or her fragile health kept her in Oakland.
Amelia heard the sound of an engine coming around the corner, and turned to observe a motorcar none of them recognized pull up in behind the Winton that was parked in front of the building site.
“Hello, J.D.,” hailed a man Amelia thought looked vaguely familiar. “I heard you were going to give it another go. Mind if I look around?” He pointed to his companion who was unloading photographic gear. “This is Eric Gabler. He takes the pictures. Hello Dr. McClure.”
“Hello, Mr. Hopper.”
The visitor turned back to address J.D. “How’s it going? Looks like an exact replica of the old hotel.”
“New and
improved
,” J.D. emphasized. “Let me give you a tour.”
“There’s got to be a story about getting this thing up in such a short time.”
“Now that the mayor’s under indictment, what else have you got to write about these days?” Angus pointed out.
“Not much. Just a couple of murders on the waterfront and Donaldina Cameron fighting Chinese prostitution again. Did you read in our newspaper
that somebody actually tried to dynamite her new mission building on Sacramento Street? She had come over from Oakland to inspect the construction and found the sticks on her front steps. She calmly walked over to the trash bin and dropped them in it.”
“Oh good heavens!” exclaimed Amelia. Julia had designed Donaldina’s new headquarters as a special favor to her crusading friend.
“Miss Cameron’s an amazing woman,” J.D. agreed.
Suddenly, Amelia knew who their visitor was: James Hopper, noted reporter for the
San Francisco Call
,
the newspaper that had recently moved back from temporary headquarters in Oakland and had begun to be printed within the city limits again. Gabler was the photographer that had taken her picture at her farewell party the night before she’d departed for school in France.
“Is it true you’ve got a lady architect working for you?” Hopper asked, looking baldly at Amelia.
For her part, a grim sense of foreboding descended.
“Two, in fact,” J.D. said, grinning. “May I introduce Amelia Bradshaw, deputy to Miss Julia Morgan, whose architectural firm I’ve hired. They’re also doing the reconstruction on the Fairmont—which I intend shall open its doors
after
the Bay View greets its first guests before the anniversary of the quake.”
Amelia felt Hopper’s critical glance take in her smudged shirtwaist and skirt coated with limestone and fine particles of sand. She knew the cuffs of her father’s worn tweed trousers peeped under the blue serge hem. Strands from her upswept hairstyle had escaped in an untidy tangle, and her palms were positively filthy. She nodded peremptorily to avoid offering him her hand.
“Didn’t we meet once before?” he queried.
“Fleetingly. You did a very kind story about my grandfather and me a few years ago.”
“That’s right! Bradshaw! You’re Charlie Hunter’s granddaughter! The one who went to that fancy school in France.
Now
I remember… you wore a silver beaded dress to your going-away party!”
“What a memory you have, Mr. Hopper.”
The reporter wagged his finger at her and laughed. “How could we forget, eh, Eric? Standing in that slinky ensemble with all your school chums bidding you bon voyage. What a mob scene.” He pointed to the shingled walls. “Seriously, J.D. Do you really think you’ll be ready to open before the eighteenth of April?”
“Amelia, explain to Mr. Hopper how the interiors will be finer than ever by the time we’re finished. Tell him about the expensive furniture you’ve ordered on my account.”
She knew from hard experience the way Julia would react if her deputy said one word to a reporter. “Mr. Thayer has become an equal expert in such matters, haven’t you?
You
tell Mr. Hopper,” she insisted.
J.D. looked at her as if he thought she was acting very strangely. “Don’t be silly, Amelia. Show him the architectural plans.”
Reluctantly, Amelia showed Hopper the initial drawings she’d made to recreate the original hotel, adding all the modern conveniences. The reporter remarked, “I’ll bet you’ll be excited when it’s your turn to choose the colors for the walls—right, Miss Bradshaw?”
Amelia looked first at J.D. and then Angus, and all three stifled laughter.
“She
designed
the building, you nit-wit!” J.D. said, laughing.
Amelia tried to control the damage she knew was being inflicted on her relationship with Julia. “Julia Morgan’s
firm
—for whom I work—is responsible for the designs, Mr. Hopper, and everything is supervised entirely by Miss Morgan. My work here is primarily structural. But Miss Morgan—”
“
Structural?
” Hopper gazed at her skeptically.
“I was trained at UC Berkeley in engineering.”
Keep your mouth closed, Amelia!
Angus chimed in with a recitation of her credentials. Amelia intervened by reviewing Julia’s stellar accomplishments as the first woman ever to gain a certificate in architecture from the famed French institution of architecture.
“Well, who
designed
the blasted building?” Hopper demanded.
“She did,” chorused J.D. and Angus, pointing at Amelia.
“Oh… no, no, no! I was assigned the job of doing the preliminary drawings. Ira Hoover, in our firm, and I helped with the architectural plans from which we work, but it’s
Miss Morgan
who—”
“Based on Charlie Hunter’s original concept,” corrected J.D.
“But
everything
at Taylor and Jackson is under the direction of Miss Julia Morgan, herself,” Amelia emphasized, growing desperate. She shot Angus and J.D. a pleading look. “
Everything!
Really, Mr. Hopper, I insist you speak to her before you write anything in your newspaper.”