Jade

by Jill Marie Landis

  After she read the request, Jade ripped the page in half, balled it up, and set it aside. Elbows propped on the desk, she leaned her chin in her hands and stared down at the stables. Although she cared very little for horses, the long, low building seemed forlorn without the four-legged occupants it was meant to house. She reminded herself that all too soon the thoroughbreds Jason had gone to purchase would fill the empty stalls. And all too soon, she would have to face Jason Harrington again.

  Even the swiftest horse cannot overtake the word once spoken.

  How true, Jade thought, when the proverb came to mind. And how very sad. If only she could call back Babs’s admission of deceit that Jason had overheard on their wedding night, they might have been able to go blissfully on their way, none the wiser. Now he blamed her for her friend’s misdeeds. Jade would never forgive Babs for her meddling.

  Tao Ling tapped softly at the door and Jade stood to answer his summons. Unable to shake her gray thoughts, she forced a smile when she faced him. Ever correct, dressed in a white Mandarin jacket, black trousers, and low-heeled slippers, he bowed. His queue was twisted into a figure-eight and pinned to his crown. He looked at her speculatively.

  “A woman is downstairs asking to see you, Mrs. Harrington. Her name is Mrs. Barrett.”

  So, it had come to this. Jade had hoped never to have to face Babs again and had thought it would be enough not to respond to her notes, but as always, Babs had not waited for a reply. The woman had done irreparable harm to her marriage, and Jade could not find it in her heart to forgive her.

  Jade shook her head. “Tell her I don’t wish to see her. Tell her—” She paused, then shook her head again, refusing to take the coward’s way out. “No. I will see her.” She stiffened her resolve, knowing Babs would never take a simple no for an answer. What Jade needed to say had to be said face-to-face. She would deal with Babs now and be done with it.

  She stepped by Tao Ling, who bowed again as she passed. Her black silk slippers sank into the rich Turkish carpet runner, silencing her steps. Color flared in her cheeks—she could feel it—even as she fought to appear outwardly calm. As she descended the stairs, Jade straightened the cuffs of her prim, high-collared blouse and ran her fingertips around the waistband of her gray serge skirt to be certain the blouse was neatly tucked in.

  She paused at the top of the stairs and stared down at Babs. Perfectly outfitted in a burgundy morning dress of taffeta, her shining dark hair cascaded in a waterfall of ringlets from the crown of her head. Babs looked far more suited to life at Harrington House than she herself did, Jade decided.

  Babs was waiting expectantly in the foyer, twisting the ties of her reticule in her gloved hands. She started forward as Jade reached the last few steps.

  “Oh, Jade, I’m so glad you’ll see me! You don’t know how sorry I am. I just had to talk to you!”

  Cool and aloof on the outside, her stomach invaded by a thousand butterflies, Jade walked toward the drawing room. “Please, come in and have a seat.”

  Babs perched on the edge of the settee; Jade chose to stand before the fireplace. A low fire, the wood nearly reduced to ash and glowing coals, pulsed behind the grate. The remaining embers popped and hissed. As if objecting to death, they died explosively. Despite the heat from the fire, Jade was suddenly chilled, and thrust her hands behind her to warm them. She tried to avoid Babs’s pitiful look of contrition.

  Tao Ling hovered in the doorway. “Would you like me to serve tea, Mrs. Harrington?”

  “Oh, that would be lovely, Jade,” Babs said.

  “No. Thank you, Tao Ling. Mrs. Barrett will not be staying.”

  The young man in the doorway bowed and slipped away quietly.

  Babs’s eyes flooded with unshed tears. “Please, Jade. Don’t let this ruin our friendship—”

  Jade held up her hand. “Our friendship, Babs, is over. If I were to forgive what you have done, it would be the same as condoning your actions.”

  “I did it for you,” Babs said, her usual deep complexion stained with color. Her dark-eyed gaze flashed to the fireplace and back to Jade again. “I only wanted to see you well-settled.”

  “Your meddling has not only ruined my life, but Jason’s. To make matters worse, I have learned that the land I held title to was worth more than enough to pay off father’s debts. The Chinese collection will be returned to me tomorrow. So you see, Babs,” Jade said sadly, “I didn’t need to marry anyone. I should have seen to my own interests before I let you manipulate me.”

  “Jade—”

  “I’m not through. In the short time I stayed with you and Reggie, it became clear to me that we no longer have anything in common, and—although that’s no reason to discount years of friendship—it helped me to make the decision to exclude you from my life. Because of you, I am in a tenuous situation, married to a man who does not love or trust me. I doubt if he ever will again. I don’t know what decision he will come to once he returns, nor do I know what I will do about this so-called marriage. What I do know is that I will no longer let myself be controlled by anyone or any circumstance.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Babs volunteered, not fully comprehending Jade’s blunt delivery.

  “You’ve done enough.”

  “But surely you can’t leave things as they are between us. I’d like to help you, Jade, since this is all my fault.”

  “Things will evolve on their own.”

  “Sometimes I hate that stoic philosophy of yours.”

  “I think we’ve said enough,” Jade said quietly.

  As Jade stared down at her, unwilling to say more, Babs’s expression slowly became closed and sullen. She stood, pulled on the hem of her fitted jacket to straighten it, and assumed her own frosty stare. “I can see there’s no talking to you. Your mind is made up.”

  “I’m glad you understand. I’d like you to leave now.”

  Without a word, Babs gathered up her taffeta skirt and whisked out of the room. Tao Ling was waiting at the front door, which he opened with a grand flourish as Babs brushed past. The last Jade saw of her was a flash of burgundy as the carriage door slammed shut.

  Tao closed the door and smiled sadly. “Hide your offended heart, keep your valued friend,” he said sagely.

  “There are times a woman should not hide her offended heart. Babs is no longer a valued friend, Tao. Too much has happened.”

  “Would you care for a cup of herb tea?” he asked.

  She nodded, looking forward to the welcome warmth of the kitchen. Perhaps it would drive some of the chill from her heart.

  In three short days, Tao Ling had made the kitchen his domain. He did the daily marketing, most often buying staples from the Chinese vendors who traveled door-to-door with their baskets of wares balanced on long poles supported across their shoulders. She left the menus up to him, and so far had been pleased with everything he prepared. He alternated between Chinese delicacies—roasted duck, egg rolls, wonton—and more simple fare, such as fish, steamed vegetables, and rice. He assured her he could prepare American meals as well, which she knew Jason would prefer.

  As he measured the dry bohea tea leaves into a pot, she sat at the worktable lost in thought. Now she was truly alone. Babs, her last close tie to San Francisco, was out of her life forever.

  As if he sensed her preoccupation, Tao drew her attention to the row of covered jars and crocks on a shelf above the dry sink. “Are you familiar with Chinese medicines, Mrs. Harrington?”

  “A little,” she admitted, suddenly attentive.

  “My cousin owns an apothecary shop in Little China. I have helped him out over the years. Perhaps you would like me to mix a curative for you?”

  She smiled. “What makes you think I need one?”

  “Your wistful smile. A faraway look in your eyes. The sadness of parting with a once-value
d friend.”

  “What would you prescribe?”

  He took down a small blue and white porcelain jar and wrinkled his nose. “Definitely not ground turtle shells. They are for weak kidneys.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Reaching for a corked amber-glass bottle, he shook the liquid contents and extended it to her. “Toad secretions. Very good for dog bite.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said with a laugh, and quickly drew back her hand.

  Happy to see her spirits somewhat lifted, he smiled too. “Castor bean?”

  “I know that one,” she interjected. “For hearing difficulties?”

  “Yes. Good.” He nodded, then grew serious. “Perhaps when your husband returns, I should make him a love potion of sparrows’ tongues. It will make you mysteriously enticing to him.”

  She held up her hand. “Please don’t.” Jason had experienced no difficulty on their wedding night, even though he no longer found her mysteriously enticing.

  The water in the kettle soon came to a boil. Tao filled the tea pot and set it before Jade. “Do you wish to settle your problems with your husband?”

  Instead of being offended by his open question, she was relieved that she had someone to talk to. “I hope so, Tao. But he no longer trusts me. When he left here, he was furious.”

  “And so it is out of fear that you ask me to guard your door when he returns?”

  “Let’s just say, I will refuse to live with him as his wife while hatred and distrust reside in his heart.”

  “I know a fitting proverb for such a circumstance.”

  She blew on the steaming tea and set the cup down without taking a sip. “I might have guessed.”

  “Curse your wife at evening, sleep alone at night,” he said.

  As she stared down into the steaming brew, Jade felt certain that Jason would be home soon. Then she shivered with something far less than happy anticipation.

  J.T. HAD CURSED himself for his impulsive marriage proposal all the way to Monterey. As he had ridden along the cliffs beneath the leaden autumn skies and watched the stormy gray Pacific beat against the rocky shoreline, he called himself all the derogatory names he could think of, not the least of which were “damned fool” and “idiot.”

  He had reached Monterey in two days and easily located Don Carlos Batista, a rancher with one of the finest herds of California golden palominos in the land. Jason knew the value of horseflesh and found Don Batista’s price far below what he had expected to pay, so he bought seven golden ones as well as two Appaloosas and three Arabians. When he asked if he might hire one of Batista’s remunderas to help him drive the herd back to San Francisco, the ranchero found one of his own hands willing not only to accompany J.T. to the city, but to go all the way to New Mexico.

  Xavier Rojas was as experienced a hand as Jason had ever hoped to find. Bowlegged, short of stature but broad on smiles, the Mexican was in his early fifties. He had recently lost his wife and—since his children were already grown—Rojas had no reason to stay on at the Batista Rancho. By the time the two men had driven the small herd up the coast to the outskirts of San Francisco, they had become friends. There was something comfortable about the elder man that put J.T. at ease the moment he had met him. Perhaps it was the warmth and offer of instant friendship behind the snapping dark eyes, or the quick, sincere smile beneath the man’s heavy black mustache. Whatever the quality was, Jason could not help but admire Xavier’s skill with the animals and sincere love of his work.

  It was afternoon when they rode into San Francisco on little-used byways, each leading a remuda of horses behind him. As they neared Nob Hill, J.T. felt himself become as tight as an overwound clock. His feelings alternated between anticipation and dread of seeing Jade again. One part of him hoped she had stayed at the mansion, while another hoped she had cleared out. His emotions still in turmoil, he hoped he would know what to say and do when he saw her. Each time he tried to envision a reunion, all he could think of was the crass, uncaring way he had treated her on their wedding night.

  By the time they entered the gate and started up the long drive to Harrington House, he had convinced himself there was no chance of finding Jade there. J.T. and Rojas led the horses up the drive and then, telling himself it did not matter, but anxious to see if Jade was in the house, Jason left Xavier to tend the animals while he went inside.

  TEN CRATES HAD been delivered to Harrington House that morning—crates filled with various and sundry pieces of Chinese art and decorative everyday utensils that Philo Page had deemed worthy of study. Jade stared at the strange Chinese characters drawn on the top of the boxes, and wondered if her grandfather had had the goods packed before he died. Since he passed away in his sleep quite unexpectedly, she felt certain that the pieces had still been displayed in the collection room at the adobe until after he was gone.

  She tried to translate the words, but found none of the characters familiar. Some were similar to what she had learned, but unique in form.

  “Can you read these?” she asked Tao as they stood in the foyer surrounded by crates and barrels of goods.

  He studied the characters on the box nearest him and shook his head. “It must be an old form of writing. Or, perhaps your grandfather tried to leave you a message in Chinese but couldn’t write it very well.”

  Suddenly, Jade leaned down to touch the black characters atop a crate. She let her fingertips graze the rough wood as she frowned in thought. “Grandfather knew some Chinese, but not how to write it. These might have been his attempt to label the crates, if he did pack them but . . . maybe they were left by someone else . . . someone who might have used an archaic version of Chinese to keep his words secret . . . Maybe—”

  Tao moved to her side. They stared at each other, then at the top of the nearest crate as realization dawned.

  “Li Po?” he whispered.

  “Exactly,” Jade said.

  “But, when would he have had access to these?”

  Jade folded her arms and sat on a barrel as she tried to piece together a logical explanation. “Grandfather died,” she said, thinking aloud. “My father immediately took possession of everything that wasn’t mentioned in the will, but since my name was on the deed to the adobe, he could not legally sell it or use it as collateral. He probably stripped the house and had these things crated up—but there was no hurry to move them while I was in Paris. There was no one to evict him from the house.”

  Tao, caught up in the story, continued for her. “Once crated, he could have stored them in the house until he needed them. And when the alchemist was brought to California—”

  “—father kept him at the adobe, too.” Jade stared down at the crates and shivered. “But where is he now?”

  “Perhaps this writing holds the key to finding him.”

  Frustrated, Jade stared down at the crate in front of her and tried to make out the meaning of the characters. “Wait here,” she told Tao, and left him to run up the stairs to her room. She looked through the stack of books on her desk until she found a heavy volume bound in leather with gold detail. After serving as a missionary in Canton and Macao for twelve years, Samuel Wells Williams had compiled the works, The Middle Kingdom: A Survey of the Geography, Government, Education, Social Life, Arts, and Religion of the Chinese Empire. Published in 1851, the volume was one of the foremost references on China. Book in hand, she ran back downstairs to where Tao Ling waited patiently.

  She leafed through the book until she came to the section, entitled, “Antiquity and Origin of the Characters.” Her fingers flew over the pages, scrolling as she read until she suddenly stopped and smiled triumphantly. “Listen to this! ‘Chinese philologists arrange all the characters in their language into six classes, called luh shu, or six writings.’” She glanced down the page and then continued, “‘These pristine forms have since been
modified so much that the resemblance has disappeared in most of them.’”

  “I’d say all resemblance has disappeared,” Tao said as he walked around the crate to stare at the characters from another angle.

  “‘The characters are more like drawings of actual objects. Over the years they were modified into the characters we have today.’” Jade abbreviated as she scanned the pages. “‘There are only six hundred and eight characters in luh shu.’”

  Tao shrugged. “Perhaps that will make translation easier. There are over twenty-five thousand now.”

  She set the book aside, and with hands on hips made a decision. “First, these boxes need to be stored somewhere out of the way.”

  “May I suggest the ballroom?” Tao asked.

  “You may.” Jade glanced at the closed double doors to the room that opened off the foyer. “That way, we won’t have to carry them very far. I’d like to open them first, just to see what’s in each box. I’ll make a notation, and then we’ll be able to go through them in detail later. I can’t wait to try to decipher these markings.”

  He nodded. “I will go get something to pry them open.”

  Jade was as excited as a child at Christmas, and Tao was soon caught up in her enthusiasm as he pried off the tops of each and every crate in turn and Jade delved through the contents.

  “Look, Tao!” she would exclaim as she lifted one piece after another out of its wrapping. Then, “Here’s the clay camel! This was my favorite when I was a little girl.” Almost reverently, she replaced the camel in the box.

  They opened all the barrels and crates and she found rolled scrolls, the lacquerware, jade, bronzes, rice bowls, blue and white porcelain vases—everything in excellent condition. Thankful that her father had not sold the collection off piece by piece, she could not help but wonder if anything was missing. There did not seem to be, but she had not located the original list of items. Nor did it appear that Captain Lennox or any of the other seamen who brought pieces to Philo Page had added anything to the collection since she had left for Paris.