by Dana Mentink
I found him, one midnight, hiding under that wagon with scraps he’d taken from the rubbish heap, bone thin, black eyes huge with terror. I don’t speak Chinese, but Hui speaks a good bit of English that he learned from listening on the ship voyage from China. He didn’t need to say a word, though, for me to see the desperation on his young face. I don’t suppose he’s much older than ten years, though he isn’t exactly certain of his birth date because the Chinese calendar is much different than ours. Somehow I persuaded him to come to my tent and eat some dried meat and berries. The food was meager, but he devoured it in a thrice before he ate the three biscuits I’d been saving for breakfast.
We made him sort of a bed out of a blanket and some burlap bags. Though the night was hot, he trembled in a miserable state until he finally fell into an exhausted slumber. That was three nights ago, and he still shivers when darkness comes, rolled into a ball on the floor of my tent.
He lives in terror of being killed, and goodness knows he has reason for his fear. Like the Mexicans, the Chinese are despised in the mining camps, lower than dogs. The first morning Hui peeked out of my tent, Slack saw him and came running with a shovel. I stood between them and raised my ladle like a sword.
“This boy is mine, Señor. Any one of you who lays a hand to him will never eat from my pot again. I’ll see you starve first.”
That made them temper their anger. Losing their chance at real food proved stronger than the need for foolish violence. They look at him with cruel eyes, but no one has dared to touch the boy. Nonetheless he stays at my side every minute and helps me with the cooking and cleaning up. He is very good at tending the fire, making sure it never goes out or burns too hot to scorch the soup. He gathered leaves from somewhere and brewed them into a sort of tea which we have both found to be of comfort on these cold mornings.
I believe Hui knows that I am a woman, but he will keep my secret, I am sure of it. We are both strangers here, and God has put us together for His good purpose. I hold His promise next to my heart for both our sakes: “ ‘For I know the thoughts I think toward you,’ saith the Lord, ‘thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ ”
Ruth eased down onto the sofa, trying to keep down the glass of water she’d drunk. The plans I have for you. She groaned, clasping a hand to her aching back. A later-than- midlife pregnancy and a son whose world was crumbling sure seemed like the definition of calamity. What was the future going to look like? A decade ago she thought it was a life with Phillip, the man she adored, but that was not to be. And what should she hope for? For a long life with her husband and a new baby? She had already cherished that hope a lifetime ago. God’s plan seemed as foggy to her as the Finny coastline in the spring. The terror of it all swept over her again.
Alva knocked, and she clambered to her feet to let him in. He fished the abalone shell from his cavernous pocket. “I need yer help, sweet cheeks. Can you keep it safe fer me? That thievin’ dentist may aim to swipe it back.”
Ruth squelched a smile. “I’m sure he’s over the loss of his business card holder by now.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Alva put the shell on the kitchen counter and filled it with apples from the fruit bowl. “There. Hidden in plain sight and all. I stowed my other treasures in separate locations so as to foil any criminal masterminds. Are you ready to go to town?”
“Yes, Alva. I’ve gone to the bathroom three times and managed to swallow those horrible prenatal pills. I’m ready to face the afternoon.”
“Okey doke. It’s free sample day at the Buns Up Bakery. You and me can swipe a bunch of them sugar cookies. You got big pockets?”
The thought of food made her stomach heave. “I’ll head to the jewelers. You can stop at Buns Up if you want to.” Ruth took her mangled ring from the counter.
“Well, whaddja do to it anyway?” Alva squinted a rheumy eye at the squished band of gold. “It looks like ya done run it over or something.”
Ruth pocketed the metal, feeling the tears threaten again. “I dropped it down the sink when the disposal was running. What a klutz.”
Alva patted her hand. “Oh now, don’t you pay it no never mind. One time I dropped Daddy’s teeth in the dog food. Fluffers ate it up afore I could fish it out. We had to wait two days until it made an appearance again. Daddy twerent happy about it at all.”
She pulled a sweater over her protruding stomach and gave up trying to button it. “I don’t feel so bad about the ring then.”
Ruth and Alva linked arms as they headed toward Main Street. The air was warm, full of the promise of a hot summer ahead. The potted hydrangeas that lined the sidewalks were dotted with blooms, and the bougainvillea climbing the cracked stucco walls of the hotel seemed to vibrate with a wave of color.
Alva handed her a bag of candy corn. “Vegetables, so the baby don’t come out with two heads or anything.”
She sucked on a sweet triangle.
“I’ve been reading this book that Petey Fisk loaned me about babies. What’s this about them havin’ a soft spot on their heads?”
“It’s only for a while, until their skulls fuse together.”
He looked alarmed. “Sakes. You think we ought to get the little dickens a helmet until the fusion thing is done?”
It felt so good to laugh. “Let’s see how it goes, okay?”
Alva nodded. “Whatever you say, sweet cheeks.” He stopped long enough at the bakery to load his pockets with cookie samples. Ruth stayed outside. They continued their stroll until they came to the shop. With a gallant flourish he opened the door of Finny Jewelers, and she headed inside.
Roxie stood at the glass counter with Stew Barnes, Finny’s only jeweler. Stew looked up. “Hello, Ruth. Good to see you. Come on in, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Ruth nodded. She wandered around the cases and listened in with only a sliver of guilt.
“Last time you gave me ten per shell,” Roxie said.
“Last time I needed them for a display. This time I’m just being nice.” He piled the stack of three abalone shells on the counter and measured them with a ruler.
“They’re legal,” she snapped. “I know the rules. They’re all bigger than seven inches.”
Stew raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t harvest them using scuba gear?”
Roxie’s cheeks reddened. “Of course I didn’t. Now, are you going to pay me or not?”
Alva’s eyebrows zinged up. “Pay her? You gonna pay her for the shells? Without the pearls in ’em?”
The jeweler put down his ruler. “Pearls don’t come from abalone, Alva. They come from oysters. I use the shells for display because they’re pretty and you can fit a whole necklace inside.”
The old man’s eyes darted around in thought. “I got me a sweet shell from the dentist. How much you give me fer it?”
Stew’s eyebrow arched. “You got a shell from the dentist? What happened to lollipops?”
“He ain’t that sort of a dentist. He said lollipops would give me the decay, so I picked the shell instead. What’ll you give me?”
Stew scratched the bald patch on the top of his head. “As I was just saying, I have enough shells. I’m using them for a new pearl display, and I’ve got plenty. I’m not going to buy any more from Roxie, either.”
Alva chuckled. “Oh, that’s what you say now, but you wait till you see the beauty I’ve got. That shell is tops.”
Roxie grabbed a black bag from the counter. “I guess we’re finished here.”
Alva tugged on her shirt. “Where’d you find them shells? I’d like to get me some sweet abalones for sure. A wad of butter and a smack of garlic.” He licked his lips.
“Go find them yourself,” she snarled, walking to the corner to repack her shells.
Alva didn’t miss a beat. “Right then. Say, Mr. Barnes. You got any cardboard boxes out back? Bobby said she’d show me and Paul how to make a rocket.”
“Sure thing. Help yourself to whatever is out there.”
> “Be back in a jiff. I need an extra strong one for the life support systems.” The old man hobbled out the back door.
Stew opened his mouth to answer, but Alva was gone. “His elevator doesn’t quite reach the penthouse, does it?”
Ruth laughed. “Probably not, but I’m not convinced mine does, either. Maybe sanity is overrated.”
He shrugged. “What can I do for you, Ruth?”
She held out the mashed gold band. “Can it be saved? Tell me it can, Stew. Please. ”
He turned the ring around, squinting at it from all angles. “Might be easier just to get a new one.”
“I can’t. It’s my wedding band.” She swallowed hard.
“Well, let me take it in the back and have a closer look. Be back in a minute.”
Ruth wandered over to the glass counters. The pearl display was lovely. Pastel colored orbs nestled on satin set against iridescent abalone shells. The colors winked and shimmered in the sunlight that streamed through the window. She looked at the placard standing on an easel in the case. There was a picture of an enormous, misshapen white blob. The tiny writing underneath read Pinctada maxima, 14 lbs. The thing was the size of a small dog she used to own.
A voice startled her. “Now that’s a big pearl,” Dr. Soloski said.
He wore yet another jogging suit.
She nodded, peering again at the picture of the massive pearl. “Wouldn’t work too well in a ring.”
They stared at the luminous spread. “I’ve always kind of admired oysters, though.” Dr. Soloski peered through his wire-rimmed glasses. “They take something bad, an irritation really, and make it into something wonderful. That’s what a pearl is, a protective coating around an annoying bit of sand or grit.”
Ruth looked at a teardrop-shaped pink pearl. “I never thought of it that way. It’s amazing that someone would dive down and get these things from the bottom of the ocean. I sure wouldn’t go to such trouble, even for a fourteen-pound pearl.”
“Me neither. Diving is not for me.”
Ruth looked up to see Roxie peering closely at the dentist. “They didn’t have to dive far for those. Most of them are cultured pearls, a thin layer of nacre around a manmade center.”
Stew emerged from the back in time to hear Roxie’s comment. “There’s nothing wrong with cultured pearls. Hello, Dr. Soloski. I’ve got your order ready. Would you like that gift wrapped?”
“That would be nice.” Dr. Soloski followed Stew back to the counter. Ruth casually eased closer to watch Stew package a gold heart locket in a small box.
Dr. Soloski was buying someone a nice gift. Was it a love token? Had he finally succumbed to the not-so-subtle charms of Ellen? Or Maude? Her thoughts were interrupted when Alva barreled back into the store, hauling two enormous cardboard boxes.
“These are going to make a fine rocket. Hey. Who’s the locket for? My auntie Mim had a necklace like that. Carried a picture of her wart in it. Looked just like Gerald Ford. The wart, not Auntie Mim.”
Alva caught sight of Dr. Soloski and shrank back behind his cargo.
“Hello, Alva. Are you going to come and see me again soon? We’ve still got that cracked filling to take care of.”
“I hear the phone ringing. Gotta go.” Alva pushed out the door, knocking Roxie’s bag out of her hands in the process.
Ruth halted a rolling abalone shell with her foot. She helped Roxie pick up the half dozen bumpy runaways. They felt oddly light in her hands, the outsides rough and ugly, the insides an iridescent rainbow of colors. She marveled that God could create such a perfect beauty and hide it in the roughest of exteriors.
“These are so interesting, Roxie. Too bad Stew can’t use them all. Did you get them from around here?”
“Yeah. I’m done, though. I’ve met my limit for the year.”
“Really?”
“It’s three per day maximum, twenty-four per year.”
“That’s pretty strict.”
“Abalone grows slowly, and it’s been exploited for commercial harvest. In the past people basically decimated the population and didn’t leave enough stock to regenerate. Some species are practically extinct now.”
Ruth watched Roxie close the bag. A suspicion crowded into her mind. “I guess some restaurants would pay top dollar for good abalone. That might encourage people to bend the rules a bit.”
Roxie straightened, eyes narrowed. “I guess it might. But some of us have principles, no matter how broke we are. There are things in this world more precious than money.” She shoved the door open and left.
Dr. Soloski finished his purchase and said good-bye.
Stew wrote up an order slip. “The good news is I can fix it. The bad news is it’s gonna cost you fifty dollars and it will take a few days.”
Relief swept through her like an ocean current. “Oh, thank you so much. I’m not in a hurry. Call me when you’re ready for me to pick it up.”
Outside the shop, Ruth felt suddenly exhausted and sank down on a bench on the sidewalk. The first hurdle of the day was behind her. She checked her watch. In half an hour came another hurdle that took the very breath out of her. It was all she could do to heave herself to her feet when Monk showed up. He kissed her twice, leaving her breathless.
“Ready, Ruthy?”
Her insides went cold. “No. No, I’m not ready. I can’t do it. What if—?” She could not give voice to the fear.
He squeezed her hand. “No, what ifs. We will eat anything dished out to us.”
She managed a faint laugh. “Is that a bit of catering wisdom?”
His wide face split into a grin. “Nah. That’s navy.”
“Really, though. I mean, it wouldn’t be totally unexpected if, you know, there was something, not right. At my age and all.” She looked at the scuffed toes of her walking shoes.
Monk stopped and turned to face her. “Now you listen to me. I don’t want to hear any more of this ‘at your age’ talk. There’s a reason that God blessed us with this at this time in our lives. He knows what He’s doing. We are going to operate on the notion that this baby is in tiptop condition until we are told otherwise. If there is anything unusual to face, we will do it with His help.” He resumed their march to the clinic, tucking her arm in his.
On the way she studied the set to his chin, marveling at how very blessed she was to have such a truly good man to love. He didn’t fool her, though. The worry line between his brows spoke volumes. He’d been on edge about this doctor’s appointment, too. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder about his fears and misgivings in the face of her own constant emotional ebb and flow. She squeezed his hand as they entered.
They waited an interminable amount of time, it seemed to Ruth, sandwiched in the holding area between Monk on one side and a young expectant mother on the other. Though she tried not to stare, she couldn’t help but notice the woman’s smooth face and her hand that lay across her belly. It was soft, unspotted, nicely manicured, and decorated with two rings. She read a magazine called Yoga and You.
Ruth tucked her own hands under her thighs. She would not dream of encasing her body in spandex and setting foot in an exercise class. Her bladder felt like a tightly stretched balloon. She whispered to her husband, “I drank all the water I was supposed to, but I’ve just got to go to the bathroom or I’m going to explode right here in this waiting room.”
“Go ahead. I’ll cover for you,” Monk whispered back. “If anybody asks, I’ll say you stepped out for a breath of fresh air.”
When she got back, a smock-covered lady named Mai ushered them into a waiting room and helped Ruth don her putty gray hospital gown. Ruth lay on her back while the woman applied warm goo to her stomach and pressed a wand gently against her abdomen.
“Don’t press too hard,” Ruth advised. “Even though I snuck in a trip to the bathroom, I’m so full of water we might have a breach in the dam.”
Mai smiled. “Don’t worry, Ruth. I’ve seen plenty in this exam room. Just try to relax. This w
on’t take long.” She swiveled the wand around the vicinity of Ruth’s belly button. Her brows drew together in concentration.
A full minute passed.
She lifted the instrument away and then pressed it again to Ruth’s skin.
The frown increased and another minute crept by.
“What—what is it?” Ruth felt a cold fear clamp down on her heart. “Is there something wrong?”
Monk rose from his seat by the video screen. He gripped Ruth’s hand so hard, he squashed her fingers together. “Tell us.”
Mai put the wand on a paper and held up a finger, a bright smile on her face. “I need to get the doctor for a quick consult. Don’t worry. Be right back.” Mai scurried out the door.
The silence closed around them in a smothering blanket of fear. “Oh, Monk. There’s something wrong.” Her hands went icy cold.
He brushed the hair out of her face. “We don’t know that. She’s a technician but she’s not allowed to comment on the ultrasound results. Didn’t you tell me that? Even if, well, in no circumstance is she supposed to give her two cents.”
Her head was too muddled to speak. She thought inexplicably of Cootchie, her pseudo granddaughter, and the moment, the one horrific moment, when she looked around and Cootchie was gone, snatched right from under her nose. Tears crowded the corner of her eyes. She fought hard to keep breathing.
The door opened. Dr. Ing glided in on rubber-soled shoes. “Hello, folks. I can feel a hot summer ahead, can’t you?”
All Ruth could feel was the gathering winds of a bitter winter. “Is the baby okay?”
Dr. Ing peered at the screen as he passed the wand from side to side. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He put the wand down and slid off his rubber gloves. “I can’t believe we missed it.”
His look was compassionate, but she could not see it clearly through her tears.
Chapter Eleven
June afternoons in Finny would be perfect, Jack thought, if people would just take a break from sin and let the police have some time off. He sipped coffee from a travel mug and appreciated the brilliant sunlight as he drove toward Mrs. Hodges’s house. Already since the butterfly tea ended, he’d corralled a menacing dog and discouraged a resident from building an eight-foot brick wall to keep nosy neighbors at bay.