The Lost Girl

by Liz Harris

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’ She forced a laugh.

  He looked at her anxiously. ‘You have pale face,’ he said. ‘We decide important things this morning, and you must rest now. You go back to Walker house and not work today. Su Lin look after shop with me. I tell her she marry in June and then I think there are wedding things she want to talk about with me, and we can do this when in store together.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ she said. She put her hand to her forehead. ‘I do have a bit of a headache.’

  ‘I see you tomorrow,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘You go now.’

  She smiled and turned from him. Holding in check her desire to run out of the store as fast as she could, she forced herself to walk steadily through the shop, out on to Main Street and along the boardwalk to Second Street.

  Her inner tension slowly faded as she walked.

  But why had she felt such tension, she thought in bewilderment. Why was she suddenly so panicked in there? And why did she now feel as if she’d escaped and was free? The mercantile was a shop, after all, not a prison, and she’d been there with the man she’d agreed to marry.

  She’d long realised where her friendship with Chen Fai would end, and she hadn’t fought it. In fact, by continuing to walk out with him, she’d actually encouraged his expectation. So why, oh why, had she suddenly felt as if she was being smothered? And when did that feeling start?

  Being buried alive was how she’d described it to Joe.

  Yet as she’d told Joe, there was no Chinaman she’d rather marry than Chen Fai. And she did want to get wed. Even so, she’d suddenly felt trapped.

  She couldn’t make sense of it all.

  Reaching the door to the house, she paused a moment, stood still and gazed up at the sky. The clouds that were drifting from east to west across the wide blue emptiness slowly formed themselves into a shape – the shape of a face. A smile rose to her lips as she traced the features, lingering longingly, lovingly, on each one of them. It was a face she knew real well.

  But it wasn’t the face of Chen Fai.

  And suddenly it all made sense.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘It’s gettin’ dark. We’ve done the horses, so I think we’ll pack up for the night. Everyone else seems to have done so,’ Joe told Greg, as he finished filling the water trough outside the livery stable. ‘Then I’ll get off home. You can take tomorrow afternoon and evening off—you’ve earned some time to yourself. I reckon I’ll—’

  A scream shattered the silence of the evening. It was followed by loud, angry shouting and the sound of a number of people moving around at the bottom of town.

  ‘What’s goin’ on?’ Greg exclaimed, turning to Joe, alarm on his face.

  ‘No idea, but it ain’t gonna be good.’ Joe threw the can to the ground and ran into the stable, closely followed by Greg. ‘Somethin’s happenin’ in Chinatown. Pull the doors closed, Greg, and latch them. I’m gonna see what’s goin’ on. I’ll go out through the side door. Lock it after me, and don’t open any of the doors till I get back.’ He lifted his Winchester from the hook by the side door. ‘You hear me now?’

  Greg nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Good lad.’ Joe tugged open the door, ran out into Second Street and headed down the centre of Main Street towards the tong, his rifle hanging from his hand.

  Ahead of him, he saw that there were a number of white miners milling around in front of the tong, shouting angrily as they jostled each other. Swerving slightly, he headed directly for them. As he neared the group, he saw they were crowding around someone on the ground, and seemed to be kicking that person.

  He looked swiftly at both sides of the street – not a single Chinaman could be seen, but he could feel their eyes on him.

  He heard one of the crowd shout something extra loudly. There was a jeer of enthusiastic support from the others, followed by more forceful kicking.

  Joe tightened his grip on the butt of his rifle.

  ‘Get me some rope, and I’ll hang him!’ a voice shouted from the heart of the mob. A voice Joe knew well.

  Shock winded him.

  For a second, his steps faltered, then he rushed headlong towards the group.

  ‘Sam!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t do it!’

  Sam spun round and faced him. Pushing through the mob, he came towards Joe, his eyes wild with hate.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t my yeller-lovin’ brother,’ he shouted mockingly, and he grinned back over his shoulder at the men behind him. ‘You’re just in time, Joe, to see what we’re gonna do to the people stealin’ the food from our mouths. Startin’ with the priest. We’re gonna string him up, and show the rest of the cheatin’ Chinee what’ll happen if they don’t get outa Carter right now.’ Turning his back on Joe, he faced the crowd. ‘We’re takin’ our town back, aren’t we, boys?’

  ‘And about time, too,’ someone shouted to a chorus of agreement.

  ‘Now where’s that rope?’ Sam yelled, holding out his hand.

  One of the breaker boys rushed forward with a length of rope ‘Here, Sam.’

  Sam took it and tugged at it as if to test its strength. ‘That’ll do,’ he said. ‘You all stand aside.’

  He moved to the sidewalk nearest to him, raised his arm and swung the rope up over the cross beam at the end of the wooden awning. Catching the end of the rope, he quickly looped it and secured the loop with several wrapping turns. Then he tightened the knot, stood back and let the noose hang down.

  ‘I reckon that’ll do,’ he said, satisfaction in his voice, turning back to the miners. ‘Now bring me that stinkin’ priest.’

  The men started dragging the priest towards Sam.

  Joe took a step forward. Trying not show the nervousness he felt in the face of an angry crowd that looked out of control and set on having blood, he raised his rifle and levelled it at the group. ‘I wouldn’t go any further if I were you,’ he said steadily, ‘Or that’ll be the last thing you do today or any day. My advice is that you let him go real fast, and don’t make any sudden movements. Right now, my gun finger’s mighty twitchy.’

  ‘You dry up, you son of a bitch,’ growled one of the miners, pushing forward. ‘Like Sam said, we’re takin’ our town back. If you don’t like it, you can leave with the Chinee. Come on, lads; let’s finish this.’

  Joe heard the priest cry out in pain as the miners resumed pulling him along the dusty ground.

  He raised his rifle higher, and cocked the hammer.

  The men dragging the priest stopped where they were. They edged slightly back and glanced at Sam.

  ‘He’s all talk. He won’t do a thing,’ jeered Sam, moving forward. ‘Come on, then. We’re gonna teach them heathens a lesson they won’t forget.’

  Several of the men looked anxiously towards Joe, and then at each other. One or two dropped their hold on the priest and stepped back into the crowd. But the rest firmed their hold on him and began again to pull him to Sam.

  The priest cried out again in agony. He was close enough now for Joe to see that he was covered in blood.

  He raised his rifle a fraction.

  ‘I advise you men to listen to Joe if you wanna see the day out,’ a voice drawled from behind him.

  A wave of relief shot through Joe.

  He glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw Marshal McGregor standing in front of the alley running between one of the Chinese laundries and Chinaman Doc’s herb shop. The Marshal’s rifle was aimed squarely at the crowd.

  Thank God his was no longer the only gun, he thought, and he turned back to face the angry miners.

  In a burst of rowdy defiance, three or four miners pushed the priest the remaining short distance to Sam’s feet, and left him there, bruised and bleeding. Throwing a triumphant glance at Joe, Sam started to reach down to the priest.

  Joe and the Marshal fired above the heads of the mob at exactly the same moment.

  As the rifle fire sprayed into the air, Sam let go of the priest and straighten
ed up. The other miners hastily moved back.

  ‘Now you’ve shown us how easily fine upstandin’ people can be transformed into a mob of wild beasts,’ the Marshal said, walking towards them, his gun still trained on them, ‘I reckon you should go back to your homes and become those fine upstandin’ people again. I’m gonna take the priest back into the tong, and then I’m gonna go up to the saloon and have me a drink. Any of you who wanna join me for one before you go home are welcome. But this ain’t what we do here,’ he added, indicating the hanging noose with the barrel of his rifle. ‘Leastways, not on my watch.’

  Their heads down and with an air of embarrassment, the crowd started moving in small groups up Main Street and past Second Street to the saloon that lay just beyond the livery stable and blacksmiths.

  Joe heard one of the men shout out to Sam as he passed him, his voice bitter; ‘You wanna keep that little brother of yours in check, Sam.’

  Joe saw the rage on his brother’s face.

  ‘I’ll help you get him inside,’ Joe said, turning to Marshal McGregor. ‘He looks hurt real bad.’

  The Marshal shook his head. ‘I reckon I can manage him myself. I’ll send someone for Chinaman Doc – though I’m guessin’ he’s already seen what’s gone on – then I’ll cut the rope down. I suggest you take that brother of yours back to his house.’ He glanced towards Sam, who was standing alone on the emptying street, his face white with anger and humiliation. ‘The priest’s got a lot to thank you for,’ the Marshal said, looking back at Joe. ‘That was a brave thing you did, standin’ up to the mob like that. One gun wouldn’t’ve got you far if they’d turned on you.’

  Joe nodded. ‘Don’t I know it?’

  Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, the Marshal walked down to the priest who lay without moving in the dust.

  Sam watched motionless as the Marshal helped the priest to his feet, and half-carried, half-dragged him towards the tong. When the tong doors had closed behind them, he turned away and walked across to Joe.

  Joe eyed him warily.

  ‘You think you’ve won, don’t you?’ Sam sneered, his face inches from Joe’s, hostility and hatred burning in the depths of his eyes. ‘Well, you haven’t. Yeah, this time maybe, but this won’t be the last time. Oh, no. You made me look a fool today, goin’ against me like that in front of the men I work with, and you my brother, too, and I’m not gonna forget that. Not ever.’

  Pushing past Joe, he made his way up Main Street.

  When he reached Second Street, he turned to go along it, paused and looked back down at Joe, who was standing watching him. ‘Not ever, Joe,’ he yelled down the street. ‘You can count on that.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The following day, as the grey light of dawn broke up the leaden hue of night, Charity finally abandoned her attempt to lose herself in the oblivion of sleep and rose from her bed, stiff with cold and inner torment.

  Trying not to make any noise, she went across to the table in the corner of her room, poured some water from the stoneware pitcher into a bowl, and swiftly washed herself. Then she slipped her corset on top of her undershirt, laced it up, pulled her unbleached muslin petticoats over her head, and dropped her brown poplin overdress on top of the petticoats. When she’d buttoned the dress bodice from its tight-fitting waist to her throat, she plaited her hair into a single black braid, swung it over her shoulder and left the room.

  The ever-present smell of bad eggs that came from the coke in the iron stove hit her as soon as she went from the corridor into the chill main room. She glanced at the stove and hesitated, wondering whether to light it before she went out.

  But by the time she’d emptied the ash pan, piled torn paper on to the grate, covered the paper with a thin layer of coal, waited for blue flames to appear, and then heaped on the rest of the coal, the town would be alive with miners heading for their shift and with shopkeepers readying their stores for the coming day. The wells in town, too, would be busy, as Chinese laundry workers would have started hauling water to the washtubs in the three laundries in Chinatown.

  With so much going on, she wouldn’t be able to find anywhere to be alone, but she desperately needed solitude if she was going to think clearly about the feelings that had struck her with such force the day before. The thought of seeing Chen Fai again, with her mind still in such a state of confusion, filled her with alarm and she knew that she had to get far from the Walkers’ house as soon as she could, and from the room in which she’d tossed and turned all night, acutely conscious at every wakeful moment of Joe lying close to her, separated from her by no more than a thin wooden wall.

  She turned from the stove, pulled her coat from its hook and put it on. Then she opened the door, stepped outside, quietly closed the door and headed for the river.

  If she walked fast enough for long enough, she thought, speeding up, she might be able to leave behind her the thoughts that had plagued her throughout the night, thoughts that would have filled Joe with shock and discomfort if he’d been able to see into her mind and, even worse, been able to see the effect they were having on her body.

  And last night wasn’t the first night she’d had such thoughts, if she was being brutally truthful with herself – they were the same thoughts she’d been struggling to suppress since the night of Joe’s return.

  The moment she’d got home that night and seen the grown-up Joe for the first time, seen the qualities she’d loved about the younger Joe shining out of the striking blue eyes of a tall man, whose body was lean and taut, whose skin gleamed gold in the soft amber glow of the lamp, who moved with latent strength and power, her insides had somersaulted in sudden violence, and from that moment on, there’d been a sensation low in her stomach that she’d never felt before.

  But such thoughts about an American man were forbidden to her, a Chinese woman, and she’d struggled to stop thinking that way about someone who could never, ever be anything more to her than a friend. And she’d almost convinced herself she was winning the battle. But the way she’d felt in the store the day before, and the thoughts that had raged in her mind throughout the sleepless night, showed her that she’d struggled in vain.

  Her feelings for Joe had deepened with each passing day. And forbidden or not, she yearned for his touch with a powerful longing.

  But he must never know.

  Why, oh why, couldn’t she feel like this about Chen Fai, she agonised as she went past the miners’ houses and past the well. He deserved her love for all the years of kindness he’d shown her, and nothing would have made her happier than to have been able to feel about him as she felt about Joe.

  Reaching the river, she followed the gully away from Carter and towards the open plain. From time to time, she glanced down at the water and watched the morning vapour, a milky-white cloud that hovered above the water’s surface, gradually start its upward drift, stealthily unveiling the river, coal-black in the chill light of dawn.

  When she came to the spot where Joe had been panning for gold when he’d first heard the sound of her mother’s approach, she paused. Because of Joe, she was alive. What kind of gratitude was it to let herself think about him in a way that was unseemly and unvirtuous for any girl, American or Chinese?

  Instead of dreaming of what she could never have, she should list all the good things she had in life and be satisfied with those, something Miss O’Brien had regularly ordered her class to do. Well, she’d do that, she resolved, and she started walking again.

  She’d begin with the Walker family. They’d never been anything but kind to her, and they still were, despite the hostility of the Carter townsfolk. Even though their former friends had long been shunning them, they’d never reproached her or said she should leave.

  And Sam. He hated her, yes. But only once had he ever tried to throw her out. And he’d never taken a hand to her, and had never told his folks she must go, and made it a choice between him or her – a choice that would have seen her cast out for sure. So for all his harsh
words, there must be some goodness deep within him.

  And the kindness of Chen Fai was another thing she should be thankful for. He deserved better than to be planning on taking as a wife a woman whose heart, unknown to him, had been given to someone else and who couldn’t get it back. What a way to repay him for everything she owed him!

  And Su Lin. Her friendship with Su Lin was precious. Looking back, she couldn’t imagine how she’d have got through the last few years without the happiness their friendship had brought her.

  And Joe. He was the very best thing in her life; yet she was letting herself think about him in a sinful way.

  Full of anger at her weak self and at the wrongfulness of her thoughts, she left the river and headed out across the wind-bitten desert, the soles of her boots crunching noisily whenever they landed on a patch of dull yellow sand or earthy white dust. A tumbleweed rolled across her path, and she kicked it away, her eyes still on the horizon, a distant grey-white backcloth, broken here and there by the shapes of flat-topped buttes and spires of rock.

  ‘Charity! What in tarnation are you doin’ out here at this time?’

  She gasped.

  As if from nowhere, Joe stood before her, his hat low over his eyes and his thick brown jacket done up to his throat, its fur-lined collar turned up against the cold. A coil of rope hung from one of his gloved hands.

  ‘Joe!’ she exclaimed.

  He inched up the brim of his hat and she saw him stare hard at her, his eyes seeming to seek the recesses of her mind, the places where emotions she’d no right to feel lay hidden.

  Her heart started racing.

  ‘Well, I guess we’ve established that we know who we are,’ he murmured, his breath a column of silvery mist. ‘I’m now interested in why you’re out here at this early hour.’