Gold Mountain (8 page)

When the Marines had marched into Pekin last August, rescuing those of us trapped there and scattering the Boxers at whose hands we had expected to die, I had promised myself that I would never assume a tomorrow. I would appreciate the present and the people around me. I would remember that I was only one small person in a very big world and that every day was a gift to be unwrapped and shared. Somewhere along the way, however, I had slipped back into the old, universal, and human habit of considering myself the center of the universe with my world the only real world and thus by subtle implication more important than anyone else’s. But that sick little girl’s world had been a pile of dirty cloths in a dark crawlspace so cramped I could not stand upright, and Miss Cameron’s world was a house full of girls who needed continual encouragement and affection if they were to overcome a past darker than anything I could consider without shuddering. This morning had once more reminded me that we were all bound together by the fragile threads of humanity and mortality.

Deep in thought, I stepped into the street without looking and immediately jumped back, the driver of a heavy, horse-drawn cart shouting something rude at me as he narrowly missed knocking me over. The incident made me laugh out loud. Wouldn’t that have been an ironic demise, knocked into the afterlife because I was meditating on mortality? I should be grateful I didn’t often spend time in deep contemplation because if it were a regular pastime of mine, I’d very likely be dead already.

My sister waited on the front porch when I arrived home and wasted no time speaking her concern. “Dinah, where have you been? Do you know what time it is? I didn’t know if I should contact Martin or Miss Cameron or the police.”

Ruth’s voice was sharp with worry and thinking that such anxiety couldn’t be good for a woman in her condition, I put an arm around her waist and moved her inside, telling my story as I did so. By the time we reached the parlor, I had her full attention and she listened without interruption, speaking only when I had finished.

“Poor child. That man Wing must be a monster. How did you ever have the nerve to climb down into that dark space? I wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Of course, you would have. Remember the time we played hide and seek and you fooled us all by squeezing yourself into a barrel?”

“Yes, I remember, which accounts for my inability to tolerate small spaces to this day. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Dinah.”

“And you give me too much. Miss Cameron was in the hallway and I certainly wasn’t going to let that giant of a policeman be the first person the little girl saw. I was the sensible choice.”

Ruth made a small
hmph
sound that signified her disagreement but said only, “Are you thirsty? I have fresh lemonade and warm bread, too, if you’re hungry.”

“I’m starved,” I admitted, following her into the kitchen.

“Apparently rescuing children from dire circumstances stirs up an appetite.” I caught and returned the grin that accompanied my sister’s words.

“Apparently, because I’m hungry enough to eat an entire cow. I’ll try to last until Martin comes home for supper, though.”

“Considering how late it is, you won’t have to wait all that long.” The kitchen held the unmistakable aroma of freshly baked bread, which Ruth pulled out of the breadbox and cut with a flourish. “Hopefully, this will tide you over for a while.”

“What a little homemaker you’ve become, Sister.”

“I must take after Mother because I cook when I’m worried. I remember the magnificent meals she would serve up anytime Father was away on uncertain business or when one of us was ill or in trouble.”

I slathered butter on the bread and spooned on enough cherry jam to satisfy an entire Marine battalion. “If that’s the case, Ruthie, I’ll have to worry you more often. This is delicious.” My sister smiled at the compliment and cut me another slice of bread.

Wednesday afternoon a tall woman with a kind face opened the door of 920 to my knock and greeted me without introduction. “Welcome, Miss Hudson. I was told to expect you. I’m Frances Thompson, by the way. Please follow me.”

I walked up two flights of steps and entered the infirmary where the little girl from yesterday’s rescue lay quietly. “She’s very still. Is she—?”

I couldn’t finish the question, and Miss Thompson answered quickly, “She awoke this morning and ate again. The doctor said he believes that with nourishment and rest she will recover completely.” As I approached the child’s cot, Miss Thompson explained, “Dolly is away right now, but she told me to expect you and to bring you up here as soon as you arrived, that you would want to know about the girl’s progress.”

“Miss Cameron was exactly right.” I leaned down to place a hand on the little girl’s forehead. “Do we know her name?” At my touch, the child opened dark eyes rimmed with long, black lashes and stared right at me. “It’s all right,” I told her quickly in Chinese. “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you here.”

The child continued to study me. Then, as if she had finally placed my face or perhaps my voice, she smiled and spoke so quietly I could hardly hear her. I bent closer and caught her words, “Thank you, Qing.”

“What is your name?” I asked, and she smiled again.

“I am Suey Wah. You must have known that because I remember you called me your little bird. Only a very wise woman could know me even when I could not speak. You are Qing. I remember that, too. I have been waiting for you.”

“Have you?” I straightened, smiling down at her bright gaze. “Only a very wise child could know I would be here before I ever arrived. How do you feel?”

“Hungry.” She looked suddenly shy. “If it is not too bold to say so.”

“It is not bold at all, just sensible.” I turned toward Frances Thompson. “Our new friend is called Suey Wah, and she says she is hungry.”

“Good. I’ll leave you alone with her and arrange for something to be brought up right away,” adding, “Please let her know that she may be disappointed because it will be very light fare. We’ve seen it before that a starved child’s eyes are bigger than her stomach.”

Soon after Frances Thompson left, Fei Yen entered with a tray that she set next to the child’s bed. “I am told you are Suey Wah. I am Fei Yen. You are safe here because a kind father watches over this house. I and many other girls live here under the care of the great Lo Mo.

“Is Lo Mo the kind-faced woman who sat by my bed this morning?” Suey Wah asked.

“Yes,” answered Fei Yen. “She is our mother.”

“Then who is Qing?”

“Qing?” Fei Yen repeated the name with bewilderment. “We have no Qing here.” The child brought out one thin arm from under her blanket and pointed at me. “This is Qing,” she announced firmly.

“I was called Qing from early years,” I explained quickly to Fei Yen. “An old man in our village gave me the name. I don’t know why.”

“Don’t you? Well, I think it was a good choice for more than one reason.” Fei Yen smiled at me, then turned to take a cloth napkin from the tray.

“I’ll go now,” I disengaged my hand from Suey Wah’s surprisingly strong grasp, “and come again tomorrow. I know you will do as you are directed—eat and sleep and grow stronger.”

“If that is your wish, Qing.” The contented trust in the girl’s voice humbled me.

“Yes, my dear little bird, that is my wish. Now let Fei Yen give you something to make your stomach stop growling. I believe you must have swallowed a dragon to make such a noise.” Her little face creased into a broad smile at my weak attempt at humor.

“Good-bye, Qing.”

“Good-bye, Suey Wah.”

The formalities concluded, she pushed herself into a sitting position and reached for the bread even before Fei Yen could rearrange the child’s pillow against her back and settle the tray in place on her lap.

“She’s a tough little bird,” I said in English.

“We are all tough little birds here,” Fei Yen responded in English, standing and looking over at me, “and smart enough to recognize a safe nest when we see one.”

Fei Yen’s words made me realize that both she and the dainty Lu Chu I’d met yesterday had probably been in a similar situation to the little bird now happily slurping down broth. I felt humbled again because had I come from such a dreadful past, I doubted if I would carry myself with their same soft grace and gentleness.

“You’ll let Miss Cameron know I was here,” I said, stopping at the bedroom door.

“Of course, but she won’t need to be told. When she left this morning, she told all of us, ‘When Miss Hudson arrives, take her straight upstairs. She’ll be worried about the child and won’t want to spend time in conversation until she assures herself that the little girl is making progress.’ She said when, not if, so she was quite certain of your arrival.”

“Miss Cameron is very perceptive.”

“Lo Mo understands people very well, but she seems to understand you especially well.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“When I look in your face, Miss Hudson, something of Lo Mo looks back at me. Perhaps that similarity allows her to apply the same insight to your nature that she applies to herself.”

I accepted the words as a generous compliment and said so.

In return, Fei Yen dipped her head in a small bow. “The words were intended as a compliment, Miss Hudson,” she agreed and turned back to Suey Wah.

Downstairs I said good-bye to Miss Thompson and the petite Lu Chu, who stood in the hallway next to the housekeeper.

“Miss Cameron will be sorry to have missed you today,” Miss Thompson commented, “but I’m told we will see quite a lot of you over the next few weeks.”

“I hope I can be of some small service.” I pulled on my gloves and repeated my good-byes to both women.

I returned to 920 the next morning earlier than I had originally planned because at breakfast Ruth, with healthy color in her cheeks and sparkling eyes, announced that she felt wonderful and then asked if I could join her for a long-delayed shopping trip.

“Martin has promised both of us new gowns for the cotillion, and I know several establishments that carry the latest fabric and pattern books from New York. I can’t wait to get started. I have an idea for you, Dinah, that will make you the new darling of San Francisco.”

“I don’t want to be the darling of San Francisco, Ruth,” and then responded to the teasing look in my sister’s eyes with a begrudging grin. “As you well know.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be someone’s darling, though?”

“Only if I could be sure I’d be as happy as you and Martin.” I sidestepped her leading question and continued, “I’m glad to see you feeling better and I don’t want to waste the moment, but I would like to visit 920 and see how little Suey Wah is first. I’ll go right now and promise I’ll be back by lunch.”

The distance between Grove and Sacramento Streets was not all that great and after two visits I had already become familiar enough with the route that I could take shortcuts that made the trip easier and quicker. I couldn’t do anything about the hills, however, and when I arrived at 920, I was breathing heavily from the exertion of the incline.

A figure in uniform stood on the doorstep ahead of me, and I heard the heavy thud of his knock as I drew near. He must have heard my approach—no doubt my inelegant panting could be heard for miles—because he turned to face me, and I recognized the attractive face of Colin O’Connor, the young policeman from the Chinatown Squad.

“How do you do, Miss Hudson? You might not remember me. I’m—”

I stepped next to him and looked up at his face. “Of course, I remember you, Officer O’Connor, and pleased I am to see you.” I slipped purposefully into an Irish inflection that caused him to smile broadly.

“You’ll be making fun of my speech now, Miss.”

I shook my head. “That was certainly not my intention, and I meant no offense.”

“No offense taken.” Before he could say more, Frances Thompson opened the door. She gave the two of us a look that while not exactly disapproving had a certain primness in it that bordered on the censorious.

“Hello, Miss Thompson. I’m afraid Officer O’Connor and I have accidentally descended on you at the same time,” I explained hastily. “I’ve come to see Suey Wah.”

“And Sgt. Cook asked me to check on the little girl we rescued on Washington Street and ask her a few questions.”

At the officer’s words, Miss Thompson’s expression cleared. “Of course. I’ll let Dolly know you’re both here. Step inside, please, while I get her.”

Colin O’Connor and I stood silently side by side until he finally asked, “Does she have a name then?”

“It’s Miss Thompson.”

“The child?” His incredulous tone made me laugh.

“Oh, of course, the child. Her name is Suey Wah.”

“The words must mean something. From my short time on the Squad, it seems that most Chinese names have a meaning beyond the obvious.”

“Suey Wah means water bird.”

“Pretty. Like poetry.”

“Most translations of Chinese names sound like poetry. The Chinese are a poetic, artistic people who appreciate beauty.”

“You speak their language very well, Miss Hudson.”

“I lived in China as the daughter of American missionaries for the last fifteen years.”