Guessing he would be upset—and not trusting Nathan to keep his voice down while he told her as much—Genie quietly excused herself and went to meet him.
She forced herself to smile. “Nathan, I thought you’d be gone until this evening.”
“I prefer you speak to me in English,” Nathan said, startling her slightly. She hadn’t even realized she had spoken to him in Chinese. She also noted he hadn’t smiled back. He gestured back toward the village. “Let’s go.”
Aware of the curious glances directed their way, she kept her smile in place even as she refused to budge. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay?” she asked, careful to use English this time. “The play isn’t over yet. And I thought I’d like to stay for the actual ceremony, since I helped Li Ming prepare her family’s congee.”
Especially since it had taken them nearly twenty-four hours to make the special rice porridge, too, because no mistakes could be made. Apparently, offering a less-than-perfect congee to one’s ancestors was tantamount to asking for a bad harvest and even worse fortune.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Eugenia.” Nathan took her arm and pulled her away from the assembly. “Do you know how worried I was when I returned and found you gone? It never even crossed my mind you would be so thoughtless as to attend a non-Christian rite.”
“It’s a harmless festival. And you could have asked Zhenzhu where I was.”
“I did. She pretended not to understand me.”
Genie wasn’t surprised. Likely her father’s Chinese housekeeper had hoped to give Genie as much time as possible at the festival.
“Just so you know,” he went on, his fingers tightening on her elbow as he guided her between the stone and timber houses, “when you are my wife, I won’t tolerate such disrespect of our Lord’s teachings.”
“Wife?” She laughed in utter disbelief. “Don’t you think you should propose first?”
He swung her around to face him. “Do you really not care how this affects your father’s standing in the village? That you are threatening a lifetime of work? Endangering your soul, even?”
“Don’t exaggerate.” She yanked her arm free of his grip. “Sharing in the joy of friends is hardly damning. What better way is there to reach the hearts of the people you seek to save?”
“Your father would say by personally living and sharing the Good Word, not by participating in pagan festivals.”
She rubbed her elbow where his fingers had dug in, as guilt niggled at her again. “Not necessarily, and Buddhists aren’t pagans.”
“Don’t quibble with me, Eugenia. Your father and I talked before he left, and I told him I was worried about your growing affinity for the Chinese. Though it can only be expected, surrounded as you are day in and day out by natives, without having a proper Christian woman to serve as a role model.”
Outrage at his barely concealed insult blazed through her. “If by proper Christian woman you mean white, know that I could ask for no better mother figure than Zhenzhu.”
“No one doubts your loyalty to your housekeeper.”
“And does Father know your true feelings toward those he hopes to save?” she asked, refusing to be placated.
“He understands the importance of remembering who you are—both a Christian and an American—even if you do not.”
“I know exactly who I am,” she said hotly. “I’ve been a Christian my whole life and am unlikely to forget it.”
“And American?”
Conflicting loyalties caught the words in her throat. She had met only a handful of her American countrymen, and then only as a child. Yet could she truly call herself Chinese, when even the villagers she had lived with for almost a decade still considered her guai lo?
“It’s not your fault.” Nathan’s voice turned gentle, as if he sensed her disquiet. “With no mother to guide you, isolated from your own kind—”
Outrage surged to the fore again. “Own kind? Are we not all the Lord’s children?”
“Don’t twist my words, Eugenia.” Nathan’s hands closed on her shoulders.
She tensed at his unwanted touch. “Nathan, I—”
“Let me take you away from here.” His gray eyes searched hers, the expression on his narrow face becoming almost tender. He pulled her closer, and her stomach knotted. “Let me give you the life you were supposed to have. Your father has meant well in keeping you here, but you deserve so much more. Friends, children, a husband who loves you—”
“I have friends.” She twisted out of his embrace. “And you don’t love me. To pretend otherwise would be a sinful lie.”
“I esteem and admire you. What better foundation is there for love?”
“Respect. Affection.”
“I do respect you,” Nathan protested.
Genie bit her lip, aware of what he didn’t say.
“A spirit as bright and as warm as yours shouldn’t be buried away in her father’s study,” he continued earnestly. “Your gifts are wasted here. Together we can travel the world and reach so many more souls. Children adore you. We could have several of our own.”
“I’m not ready for that.”
“Of course you are. The Good Lord created women to be wives and mothers, and in your heart you know this.”
What she knew in her heart was that she wanted to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. “What about the war?”
“All the more reason to act now, before we are trapped here by the Japanese. Once we are married I can petition the Society for a transfer—”
“I’m not leaving my father behind.” The very thought chilled her.
“Just because he wishes to stay doesn’t mean you must. His calling is not yours.”
“Nor is yours mine. If you want to see more of the world, go ahead. I’m staying here.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s not safe.”
“This is my home, Nathan. Whatever danger my father faces, I’ll face by his side. Besides, who would take care of my father if I left?”
“Zhenzhu. The same way she has for the past twenty years.”
“And his work? Zhenzhu is illiterate. Without me, who will assist him with his dream of translating the Bible into all the different dialects of Chinese?”
He took her arm again. “It’s clear you’re in one of your moods, so we will speak no more of this. But know I’ve already asked your father for his blessing.”
“And did he give it?” Dismay strangled the words in her throat.
Nathan hesitated. “He said he wished to talk to you first.”
Thank the Lord. Genie sucked in a deep breath as she turned away, wanting to hide the wave of relief at having her faith in her father restored. Not that Nathan was a bad man. Nor was he bad-looking, though she wasn’t so naive as to think marriage should be based on something as fickle as physical attractiveness. Yet she envied the spark in Li Ming’s eyes when her friend spoke of her fiancé, Xiao, and the shy pink blossom of color in her cheeks when Genie had asked her if they had kissed yet.
She drew a deep breath, unsettled by a sudden pang of longing.
“You don’t need to make a decision now,” Nathan said gently. “All I ask is you think on it. I truly believe we could be happy together.”
She glanced up at the steep limestone hills that defined the landscape in this part of China. Like the exposed tips of dragons’ teeth, they scraped the sky, forbidding and fierce, the bones of an enormous bestial guardian she wished would awaken and drive away the Japanese so she might stay forever.
But was that what she really wanted? She had never been asked, her role as a missionary’s daughter having been defined from the day she was born. We can travel the world . . . Part of her liked the sound of that, but to be Nathan’s wife? An ache started behind her eyes. She massaged her temples. “Thank you for the offer, Nathan, but my answer is no. I won’t leave my father.”
Chapter 3
“Yu Jie! Come quick.” Zhenzhu stood in the doorway, her black eyes bright with excitem
ent. Even more interesting was that she had spoken in English.
Genie hesitated, torn between finishing her work and obeying. She glanced down at the half-finished page of Chinese calligraphy in front of her. It had taken her most of the day, but she was almost done with translating Psalm 46. Another three lines . . .
“One moment, Zhenzhu.”
He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth.
She carefully made the first character.
“No ‘one moment.’ Your father is home,” the older woman said, switching to rapid Chinese, her agitation palpable across the room. “And he has brought a man with him. A stranger.”
A stranger? That decided it. Genie rinsed off the brush and laid it to the side. Her heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a visitor to the village, let alone someone unknown. As she scooted the chair back from her father’s desk, a curious kind of excitement warmed her blood. One that made her fluttery and restless, as if she had drunk too many cups of strong tea.
“Where is he now?”
“Close by.” Zhenzhu frowned. “You can’t meet him looking like that, Beautiful Jade. You must change.”
She glanced down at the ink-smeared overshirt. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”
“I meant the dress. You look like a farmer’s wife in that old rag. Come.” Zhenzhu backed into the hallway and beckoned for Genie to follow her.
“It’s not that old.” Though the hem was a little frayed . . .
“This afternoon you will do what I say.” Zhenzhu took Genie’s arm and firmly guided her toward the ladder going up to the sleeping rooms. “No arguments.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Psht. Hurry. Soon all will be clear. Wear the green dress, I think. And brush your hair.”
Spurred on by the older woman’s gentle push, Genie ascended the ladder. Whoever the visitor was, he must be of high rank to have Zhenzhu in such a tizzy.
The second floor of the house was a large open room partitioned into separate, more private spaces by heavy embroidered blankets. When she had lived in Hankow, their house had been much more traditionally Western, with painted walls and bright hand-sewn curtains. Her bedroom had been white and blue, with little yellow daisies embroidered on her quilt—a gift from the wives of the other missionaries. Worried about her survival with only a father to care for her, they had taken it upon themselves to provide as normal an upbringing for her as they could. That Genie had had Zhenzhu to care for her hadn’t even registered with them.
Perhaps the other missionaries hadn’t believed it, but Genie was convinced Providence had smiled the day Zhenzhu appeared in her and her father’s lives. Her father rarely talked about the dark period after Genie’s mother died, or about his decision to hire a domestic servant to care for his colicky infant daughter, but he did tell her Zhenzhu had come to a service one Sunday seeking alms. The young Chinese woman had been cast out by her village, having been doubly shamed by being both a widow and barren—the latter condition the most damning—and was on the verge of starvation. Considering it a sign from the Good Lord, he had brought Zhenzhu home, told her this was now her home, too, and then handed his screaming daughter to her.
That had been nearly twenty years ago. Now Zhenzhu was less a housekeeper than surrogate mother, confidante, and heart of their little family.
Unfortunately, as Zhenzhu’s importance to the household had increased, so had the whispered accusations of impropriety and even indecency in the missionary community. Finally her father had felt compelled by the unending gossip to move his family far away to this little village so he could focus on his work unencumbered by petty minds.
The echo of excited shouts reached through the spaces in the rafters, announcing the arrival of her father. Genie yanked off the stained overshirt and shimmied off her work dress. Downstairs, the heavy front door scraped open, allowing in a flood of masculine voices. Hurriedly, she flipped open the big steamer trunk where she kept her clothes and dug out the moss-green dress she wore for company. It had been her mother’s and so was at least twenty years out of date. But it was still in good repair, covered enough of her to meet all standards of decency, and was a pretty color. Her father would never have allowed it to be turned into rags. He treasured everything that had been her mother’s.
Genie slipped the garment over her head. The fine cotton lawn slid down her angular, boyish figure with a wistful-sounding swish, as if longing for the more feminine curves of its former owner. No hope of fixing that, she thought as she buttoned up the front. Mice had long ago chewed the lace collar that had originally adorned the dress, which was a pity. With no jewelry—her father didn’t believe in such vanity—she had only ginger hair and green eyes to work with, both inherited from her mother.
She fastened the cuffs on the long sleeves—which were a half inch too short—in quick, sharp movements. Normally she tried not to think too much about her appearance, vanity being a symptom of pride, which was one of the seven deadly sins. Zhenzhu had done this, with her talk of strangers and the need to impress. At the last second, she remembered her hair and quickly brushed out her normal braid and twisted it up, jabbing a score of pins into the mass to hold it secure.
Shivering beneath the thin fabric, she paused and looked longingly at the padded silk tunic still in the trunk.
“Eugenia?” Her father’s voice boomed up from below.
“Coming.” She closed the trunk lid with a sigh. It wouldn’t kill her to be a little cold, and Zhenzhu had specifically told her to wear the green dress instead of a more Chinese-looking outfit.
The entry was empty by the time she reached the bottom of the ladder. As she followed the cacophony of voices to her father’s study, her heart swelled with pride as she heard him, his preacher’s voice carrying easily over the rest. Then, to her surprise, he was cut off by a different voice, an unfamiliar one marked by impatience and even a touch of arrogance. One that was also speaking English, with a decidedly American accent.
“Reverend Baker,” the man was saying as she entered the room, “not to complain, but might we get on with finding that Wu Fang character? I’ve got to radio in ASAP and tell the commander I’m all right.”
“In a moment, my good man. As soon as I tell my daughter I’m home,” her father said in his usual unflappable style. “Which shouldn’t take—”
“I’m here, Father,” Genie called out. As she had guessed, her father’s study was crowded with men from the village, his homecoming always an event, since he brought news from the surrounding provinces. As luck would have it, the men parted like the Red Sea to let her pass, so she didn’t have to fight her way through. Or maybe it was for Nathan, who appeared right on her heels.
“Sorry I’m late.” Nathan pushed past her, breathing hard as if he had run a long way. “I just heard the news.”
Genie shot him an annoyed glance, but it bounced harmlessly off his back.
“Another English speaker. Thank the Lord,” the unfamiliar voice drawled. “You wouldn’t be the fellow with the radio?”
The owner of the voice moved into Genie’s view, and her heart skittered a few beats. The visitor her father had brought home was no middle-aged explorer. He was younger, for one thing—close to her own age—with long-lashed, dark-brown eyes that stole her breath the moment they met hers. Canted up ever so slightly at the corners, like a fox’s, they regarded her with frank curiosity, even as she took in his fiercely angular jaw and wide unsmiling mouth.
The blue-and-white sun emblem of the Chinese air force blazed brightly on the chest of his fleece-lined leather jacket, but he wasn’t Chinese. On that she would stake a great deal, though he might be half. He did have glossy black hair, like almost every other man in the room save her father and Nathan, but his had a definite wave to it. And his skin tone was more bronze than gold.
Nathan moved, cutting off her view. “No. I’m Nathan Sterling. Wu Fang is the one with the radio.”
“Lieutenant Ted Younan, AVG.” As the two men shook hands, the newcomer’s intensity charged the air. “Any idea where Wu Fang might be?”
Nathan’s brow furrowed. “I imagine he’s up on Temple Mountain.”
“He’s not.” Reverend Baker turned to Genie. “Eugenia, do you know where Wu Fang is? Zhenzhu said you visited him recently. Did he mention going anywhere?”
The lieutenant’s attention shifted to her, and she felt her cheeks flush. “No, but he did give me something. I put it in your desk, by Aunt Hazel’s letters. Here . . .”
Edging past Hua and Te, two of the village men, she went to her father’s desk. She quickly opened the top drawer, careful not to disturb her still-wet calligraphy on the desktop. After pulling out the hawk feather, she handed it to her father. He pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and examined it. The room fell silent as everyone from farmer to foreigner waited. After a minute or so, her father handed the feather back to her. His expression didn’t change, but there was a new tension in his shoulders.
She held her breath, fervently praying the news wasn’t what she feared.
He removed his wire spectacles and glanced around, his clear blue eyes giving nothing away. “Did Wu Fang say anything else when he gave this to you?”
“Only to give it to no one but you.” She hesitated. “And I think I might know where he is. Before we arrived he had been sleeping, and when he awoke, he confused me with Mei.”
“You think he’s at the cemetery, then?”
“Who’s Mei?” the lieutenant asked before she could answer. His intent gaze flicked from Genie to her father and back again.
“His wife,” Nathan said drily, “who died nearly a decade ago, in a different province, and yet he still insists on visiting her grave up on the hill at least twice a week, even though she isn’t actually buried there.”
“You know that doesn’t matter,” Genie said, irritated by his flippant dismissal of what she considered a touching gesture of true love. “Part of her spirit is linked to the grave marker, no matter where her body is.”
“All of her spirit is in heaven, Genie,” Nathan corrected her.
A Girl Divided Page 2