“Or hell,” she shot back, “since she wasn’t saved. Or so you told him last month. And you wonder why he doesn’t come to Sunday services?”
Nathan flushed a dull red, his jaw hard.
“Eugenia, please.” Her father raised his hand to cut off whatever Nathan had been about to say next. “We have guests.”
“And I’ve forgotten my manners.” Lieutenant Younan held out his hand to her. “I’m Lieutenant Ted Younan.”
Startled at being addressed directly, she hesitated before taking the lieutenant’s hand. “Eugenia Baker. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. An unexpected pleasure in an otherwise rotten situation.” His lips curved into a wry smile, and her nerves fluttered uncertainly. She pulled her hand from his grasp, her skin tingling wherever his strong fingers had touched her.
“I understand your plane crashed not too many miles from here,” Nathan said, moving closer to her. Unexpectedly, she found his hand settling on the small of her back, and she stiffened in surprise.
The lieutenant’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “News travels fast.”
Nathan shrugged, his palm still uncomfortably warm through her clothes even after she edged away. “I overheard the reverend talking to the village elders.”
Genie glanced at her father, who was indeed in deep conversation, seemingly oblivious to the liberties Nathan was taking with his only daughter.
“Speaking of forgotten manners.” She shifted farther to the side. This time, to her relief, Nathan’s hand fell away. “May I offer you some tea, Lieutenant?”
“You got anything stronger?” Despite the hopeful, teasing note in Lieutenant Younan’s voice, the shadows in his eyes told a different story.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Liquor leads to sin, in my father’s opinion, so we don’t have any.”
“Then tea will do.”
“Have Zhenzhu prepare a plate of nem rolls as well,” Nathan said as she turned to leave. “Your father is likely hungry after his journey.”
The reminder was, of course, entirely unnecessary, but she could feel the lieutenant’s gaze on her, so she held her tongue.
Zhenzhu met her in the small courtyard behind the house. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Genie said breezily as she continued on to the small kitchen building, hoping her shaky knees wouldn’t give her away.
Zhenzhu trotted impatiently alongside her. “The young man. Did he see you?”
“Of course. He has eyes.” Wonderfully dark ones that made her never want to look away . . .
Giving herself a mental shake, she entered the kitchen and reached for the ceramic tea service. Her jitteriness around Lieutenant Younan was likely nothing more than inexperience in conversing with men her age. The ones in the village usually avoided her because she was white—the taboo against interracial marriage being as strong in the Chinese community as it was in the missionary one—and any missionary men who visited the valley were always more interested in talking to her father. And Nathan didn’t count, as he never listened to her no matter what she said.
Zhenzhu studied her shrewdly. “Bah! It’s because you wore green. Tonight you wear red. For luck. Then he’ll more than just see you.”
Genie sighed as she hung a kettle over the already-started fire. “I’m not changing again, not even for you.”
The older woman took her arm, her fingers digging in sharply. “You must! He must take you with him, even if I have to buy enchantment powder to sprinkle on his food.”
“Hush!” Genie started with alarm. “You know how Father feels about such things.”
“I also know how he feels about you.” Zhenzhu let go of Genie’s arm to begin assembling what she would need to make the small spring rolls. “He worries that the Japanese are getting closer every day and thinks you would be safer elsewhere.”
Genie hesitated as she measured the tea into a strainer, her brow puckered with doubt. “He’s never said as much to me.”
Zhenzhu made an impatient sound. “Are you sure? Or is it you haven’t listened?”
“No, I’m sure.” Genie took a deep breath to calm herself. Zhenzhu was mistaken about her father. She had to be. It was bad enough that Nathan, and now Zhenzhu, wanted to tear her away from everything she knew and loved. Surely her father would never be so cruel as to send her away. Yet if he did, as a good daughter she would be expected to obey, whether she wanted to or not.
The awful thought almost made her drop the tea canister.
Concentrate, Genie! Good daughters also have to be good hostesses, she reminded herself. Carefully, she finished preparing the tea service while the water heated. Once it was hot, she filled the teapot, took up the heavy tray, and left Zhenzhu to her work. As she reentered the house, the din of male voices became louder. A renewed rush of nervousness made her skin prickle.
If only Lieutenant Younan would act like all the other men in the room, maybe she wouldn’t be so unsettled. Instead he had looked right at her, not through her, had introduced himself and shaken her hand as if she were his equal, and hadn’t been the least bit cowed by her father. Of course, that he was also good-looking and of her age, with an intriguing American accent, didn’t help any.
Don’t be a fool, Genie. Be yourself. Pretend this is like any other afternoon when your father is home and the village elders have come to call. Drawing a deep breath, she breezed into her father’s study. The lieutenant’s gaze met hers as she entered, and her heart immediately skipped a beat. Hurrying on to her father’s desk, she prayed her cheeks weren’t as bright red as she feared. Then, turning her back to the room, she set the lacquered tray down.
As she poured the tea, she couldn’t help but overhear the recently arrived Wu Fang arguing with Nathan in emphatic Chinese that his information was completely reliable—a statement that made Nathan snort in disbelief. As put out as she was with Nathan, his skepticism wasn’t entirely unfounded, since Wu Fang had been known, on occasion, to exaggerate and even embellish his tales.
Picking up one of the freshly poured cups, she turned around. Lieutenant Younan stood off to the side, his hands in his pockets, looking from one speaker to another, clearly not understanding a word of Chinese. Since it might be a while before someone remembered to translate for him, she walked over and held the cup out to him. “Tea?”
“Thanks.” He took a sip and then jerked, nearly spilling the contents. “Ow!”
“Be careful; it’s hot.”
While he sipped more carefully, she used the moment to study his face in more detail. In the filtered light coming through the study window, she could make out the slightly lighter skin stretching from temple to temple and surrounding both his eyes, like a reverse mask. Or a pair of goggles.
“You’re one of the volunteer pilots,” she said suddenly, the pieces all coming together. “That’s why you don’t look Chinese and don’t understand the language.”
Startled, he glanced at her. “Pardon?”
“One of the Americans who volunteered to come fight for us. I should have guessed right away. But these . . .” She drew invisible circles around both her eyes with her finger. “They were the final giveaway.”
“Ah, my unfortunate suntan lines.” The laughter in his voice turned it rich and warm. She could listen to it all day. “And here I thought it was this that gave me away,” he said, turning to expose the back of his jacket.
Her eyes widened. Large conjoined Chinese and US flags were embroidered on the leather, with a section of Chinese writing sewn on below. She moved closer, curiosity overwhelming any lingering shyness. “What on earth?”
“They’re called blood chits, and they were on the back of all of our flight jackets when we got here. More than that, your guess is as good as mine, though your father says it tells whoever finds me to give me aid.” He somehow managed to sound both intrigued and doubtful, which made her smile.
“Well, my father doesn’t lie, but give me a moment, and I can tell you for sure.”
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“You can read Chinese?” The incredulity in his voice widened her smile.
“Depending on the dialect and script, usually.” She finished reading the first line. “Luckily this is written in the traditional style.”
“That you can read any kind is impressive, at least in my book.”
Her skin warmed with the unexpected praise. She smoothed her fingers over the silk embroidery, unable to stop herself. “And I’m impressed you came all this way to help us.”
“‘Us’? You’re not an American, then?” He looked at her curiously over his shoulder.
“No, I am. Or at least both my parents were . . . are. My mother is deceased. But I was born here, in China, so I’m not always sure.”
“I see. And my condolences on your mother.” He turned around again so she could continue translating the patch. “As I was saying, the Chinese air force needed experienced pilots to fight the Japanese, but the US couldn’t send them. Not officially, at least. Not before last month. So Uncle Sam rounded up a bunch of ‘volunteers’ to come over. Of course the AVG—sorry, that would be the ‘All Volunteer Group’—is bankrolled by the US, even though we fly for the Chinese. Though that’ll likely change now America is at war with Japan, too.”
“Of course.” A curious emotion gripped her chest at his almost casual reminder.
“Not that I would mind flying for the US again, as long as we could keep our planes painted the same. And our nickname: the Flying Tigers. Maybe you’ve heard of us? The Chinese press gave it to us not long ago, and we kinda liked it. Anyway, I was told that patch you’re looking at would guarantee me safe passage back to Kunming if I crashed.”
“Well, it does say the Chinese government promises a substantial reward for your safe return.”
He turned to face her, one black eyebrow raised. “No kidding? Then why was your father the first person willing to help me?”
“They probably didn’t know what to make of you, a guai lo wearing a Chinese uniform.” She smiled wryly. “Rather than grousing about your cool reception, I’d say you were lucky they didn’t shoot you on sight.”
“But the blood chit—”
“Probably isn’t that much of a help, since most of the people around here—unless they are administrators of some sort—are illiterate.”
He laughed once in disbelief. “I guess I should thank my lucky stars your father showed up when he did, then.”
“Or thank the Lord.” She glanced up to find him watching her, his dark gaze intent . . . mesmerizing. For a moment she forgot to breathe.
“Lieutenant.” Her father’s voice cut through the din, and Genie jumped back, full awareness of the crowded room returning with heart-thumping speed.
“We will ask the lieutenant’s opinion,” her father continued in English.
Lieutenant Younan turned around. “On what?”
Genie hurried over to the desk, ostensibly to pour the rest of the tea. What she really wanted was a moment alone to regain her composure.
“What do you know of the current Japanese troop position?” her father asked. “Is the situation as dire as Wu Fang is making it out to be?”
“It depends on what he’s told you,” the lieutenant answered. “But I would say ‘dire’ about sums it up at the moment. We’re losing ground in Burma, the Philippines—throughout the region. Most of the East Indies will be under Japanese control soon, if it isn’t already.”
“But the Americans are in the war now,” Nathan pointed out.
“As are the Australians, the Brits, and the Dutch.” The lieutenant dragged his fingers through his hair in helpless frustration. “We’re trying, all right? But Hirohito got a head start.”
“How long until China falls?” her father asked.
Genie flinched, and tea sloshed over the edge of her cup.
“It won’t, as long as we can keep the enemy occupied elsewhere. Which is why I’ve got to radio in ASAP. The sooner I can get back to my unit, the sooner I can return to the fight.”
“Wu Fang, is it possible to radio the Kuomintang base in Kunming?” her father asked the old man in Chinese.
At the mention of the Chinese Nationalist government, Wu Fang’s face puckered in distaste, and Genie was afraid the old man might actually spit on the polished wood floors. “Why would I want to talk to those pigs?”
Her father sighed before responding in Chinese. “Because this young defender of the Chinese needs to return to his people, taking Yu Jie with him. You are right; it is time my little flower left the garden. Even if China doesn’t fall, the storm still approaches.”
Genie stiffened. Her heart slammed against her ribs as her gaze flew from the implacable determination of her father to the uncertainty reflected in Wu Fang’s eyes. An impassioned avowal to not leave burned on her tongue, but she couldn’t get the words out. To gainsay her father in public would be an unforgivable act.
The lines around the elderly man’s mouth deepened. “It is possible,” he said finally.
“So you agree to send a message?” her father pressed.
“Fine. I’ll try tonight. When the heavens are clear and the signal will travel like a well-feathered arrow. A flaming arrow, though. Or the enemy will track its flight, bringing danger.”
“Understood,” her father said, even as Genie’s world crumbled. He turned to Lieutenant Younan and said in English, “Wu Fang will try to contact Kunming tonight, after sunset. In the meantime, write out your message, and I’ll have Eugenia translate it.”
“It’d be easier if I talked to them directly.”
“Wu Fang has only a field transmitter, and unless you’re well versed in Chinese telegraphic code, you’ll have a tough go of it.”
“Why not use Morse code? That I do know. Every pilot does,” the lieutenant said, clearly not understanding.
“First, the Chinese language doesn’t have an alphabet, so Morse won’t work.” Nathan’s tone was derisive. “And second, with the Japanese listening, nothing would arouse suspicions like picking up a transmission in Morse code. You might as well broadcast ‘downed American pilot’ to the entire countryside.”
The lieutenant exhaled in frustration. “Fine. Your point is valid. But fair warning—if your idea doesn’t work, I’m making that radio call my way, risky or not.”
“Even if it endangers everyone in this valley? Miss Baker included?” Nathan gestured at her, and she wanted to sink into the ground.
“You got a better idea?” the lieutenant said sharply. “Because I’m not sticking around, coolin’ my heels while there’s a war going on.”
A tense silence fell over the study, one broken only by the faint barking of dogs in the fields.
“Eugenia,” her father said after a moment, “if you’re done pouring the tea, you may leave us.”
Chapter 4
Genie crossed the courtyard in a daze, her thoughts circling in panic. There had to be a way to change her father’s mind. Maybe if she translated faster to show her worth. Or slower so he would want to keep her around. Or if she were more attentive, more loving. The familiar haze of spice and cooking oil engulfed her as she entered the kitchen, but it offered no comfort. Instead it made her stomach lurch. Swallowing hard, she set the tray next to the wash bucket.
“Well?” Zhenzhu’s gaze stayed on the rice paper as she rolled it out. The stone cylinder struck the low wooden table with a steady rhythmic thump that mocked the frantic beating of Genie’s heart.
Her fingers trembled as she dunked the teapot in the water. “You were right. I’m to be sent away.”
“Good.”
“How can you say that?” Genie cried as she whirled to face the woman she had always regarded as her stepmother, if not more than that. Her voice broke as she continued, “Don’t you love me?”
Zhenzhu sighed and set the stone aside. “Beautiful Jade, only a fool shuns the truth.”
“How is it foolish to not want to leave my family, my home?”
“Would you rather
be raped by the Japanese? Or killed?” she asked sharply.
“If the alternative was never seeing you or Father again? Yes.”
Zhenzhu made a dismissive sound as she sprinkled diced cabbage and leeks over the rice-paper squares. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for. Preferring death over bringing peace to your father’s heart. Huh.”
Genie’s gaze dropped to the dirt floor under the sting of Zhenzhu’s words. She knew Zhenzhu was right: Father would worry if she stayed, but wouldn’t he also worry if she left? Leaving the dishes to soak, she went outside, but there were no answers to be found there, either. Only ancient stone walls that couldn’t keep out a modern enemy, and barren patches on the ground where vegetables would grow come spring . . . if anyone was left to plant them.
Tears blurred her vision as the unfairness of it all squeezed her chest. She needed to think . . . plan . . . something. She wasn’t going to be sent away. She wasn’t. To ask her obedience in this matter was too much. If she could just find the right words to convince him.
She sucked in a deep breath as inspiration hit her: Li Ming would know what to say. Hadn’t she somehow convinced her own father to accept Xiao’s proposal, even though he thought the young man not good enough?
Hope gave her feet wings as she bolted through the front entryway. She tried not to listen as the men discussed in both English and Chinese distances and travel times, but she wasn’t fast enough to miss hearing the lieutenant’s distinctive drawl cut through the hubbub, his tone sharp with anger.
“I don’t care what you say. I’m not taking her with me.”
Renewed panic had her fumbling with the latch. Finally, the heavy cherrywood door opened with a loud scrape, and she slipped outside. If she was in luck, Li Ming would be at her loom. As if demons were chasing her, Genie flew down the narrow alley that ran between the stone buildings, past a neighbor’s chickens—which darted into a nearby doorway in a clucking flurry of brown-and-gold feathers—and toward Li Ming’s house. Her wool slippers were nearly silent on the hard-packed dirt.
“Yu Jie.” Li Ming’s voice came from behind her. “Stop. Wait for me!”
A Girl Divided Page 3