“Lo Mo told her to trust God. She says today we will all learn to trust Him better.”
Abby sighed. “It seems to me today makes it even harder to trust God.”
Kum Yong frowned. “Maybe. But, God has kept us safe, so far. And I can’t forget how God rescued me from slavery.”
Abby’s stomach quivered. “In China?”
Kum Yong shifted her load. “No, here in Chinatown.”
“But, it’s against the law,” Abby sputtered, and fell silent, her face burning. As if laws fixed every problem. “How did you become a slave?”
Kum Yong’s eyebrows drew together. “I was very young when I lived in China, but I remember a man spoke to my father about taking girls to America. He told my father my sister and I would be daughters for rich Chinese merchants. We would help the wives with their little babies. Everyone in China calls America ‘Gold Mountain.’ He said we would have plenty of food and fine clothes. We would marry well.
“He gave my father money for my sister and me. Father thought it better to send us to America than for our brothers to die from hunger.”
Abby’s mouth dropped open, but she snapped it shut. Walking in the shadow of the mansions along Sacramento Avenue, it was difficult to imagine the desperation leading a father to sell his daughters. “So the man lied?”
“Yes. When we got to America, they took my sister away and handed me over to strangers. I learned quickly I was no daughter.” Kum Yong drew her hands up into her sleeves, her eyes darkening.
“After many months there, Lo Mo arrived with policemen. They showed the master papers and asked about a slave girl. He said, ‘No, no slave girl. Just my loving daughter.’ ” Kum Yong’s lips pulled back from her teeth as she spoke.
“I was terrified. I thought this white stranger was coming to take me to the brothel or a jail.”
In spite of the warm late-afternoon sun, an uncomfortable chill swept over Abby, raising gooseflesh on her arms.
Kum Yong shifted her pack again. “Lo Mo told me, ‘Jesus can save you from this life. Jesus is a kind master. He will give you rest, not beatings.’ ”
“How long have you been at the Mission?” Abby steered the conversation away from religion.
“Eight years, now. At first I was like them.” Kum Yong gestured to the younger girls, “Going to school at the Mission, learning English. Now, I’m eighteen, I work in the kitchen and help Lo Mo with rescues and in court.” She straightened her shoulders. “Lo Mo rescues more girls all the time, most from the brothels. Those girls have a very hard time. I am very thankful Jesus saved me before I ended up there.”
Abby shook her head. “Don’t you wonder why Jesus didn’t save you from all of it? Why would he let you be a slave at all? Why would he allow your family to starve in the first place?”
“I used to ask. But now, I think . . .” Her lips pursed. “If Jesus hadn’t let me come to America and be a slave, I might not have known him at all.”
A prickle raced across Abby’s arms. This girl spoke of God in the same manner as Cecelia. Like a friend. A shiver crawled up her spine. Why have I never experienced this?
“Someday . . .” Kum Yong bit her lip. “Someday, I want to go back to China and find my father. I will tell him how much God loves him, too.”
Abby’s throat tightened. “Aren’t you angry with him?” She pushed knuckles against her side. “Fathers are supposed to protect their daughters.”
The Chinese woman clasped one arm behind her, pushing the load higher on her back, looking up at the sky as she walked. “I used to be angry. But, I think he meant well. He thought he was doing a good thing.” She twisted a lock of hair. “Do you know the story of Joseph? His brothers sold him into slavery, like me. But God used his trouble and raised Joseph up into a position of power in Egypt so he could save his family. God sometimes makes good out of the bad.” She set her chin. “I would like to go home someday and save my family—like Joseph.”
Abby glanced down at her dusty skirt. “I thought God would help my sister. I asked him to. But she died anyway. He can’t make good out of that.” She gestured to the city. “And I certainly can’t see any good coming out of all this mess.”
Kum Yong’s eyes widened. She touched Abby’s sleeve. “I am sorry about your sister. I miss my sister, too.”
Abby blinked back tears, turning her face away.
Kum Yong stepped closer and looped an arm through Abby’s as they walked, plodding up the steep hill together.
4:15 p.m.
Robert stared at the giant oak. He balled his hand into a fist, burying it in the pocket of his trousers. A few months ago, he’d sat under the tree with a beautiful woman and gotten her to smile. Today, crowds of refugees surrounded it, milling about like lost sheep.
He jammed a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers encountered the goose egg at the base of his skull. How could he locate Abby in this throng? He didn’t even know if she was here.
Gerald walked down the path toward him. “Any luck?”
Robert shook his head, grinding his foot against the ground. Desperation hung over the park like the smoke clinging to the air. “They could be anywhere.”
Sighing, Gerald gestured toward the car. “Let’s go. We’ve looked everywhere. Hopefully they’ll make their way back to my house. With your injury, you should be resting. You’ve done far too much today already.”
Robert gave one last glance through the park, praying he’d spot Abby amongst the faces. “I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I, but what choice do we have? We’ll pray God keeps them safe.” Gerald ran a hand over his chin.
Robert cocked a brow. “I didn’t take you for a praying man.”
One corner of Gerald’s mouth lifted into a smirk. “Yes, well, if you live with my mother long enough, she rubs off on you, I suppose.”
Robert fell in beside his friend, maneuvering through the campsites on their way back to the road. “Mrs. Larkspur is quite outspoken about her faith.”
Pushing back his hat, Gerald’s smile deepened. “The good Lord seems to listen to her, too. She was always praying for me as a kid—mostly so I’d get caught whenever I did something wrong. I always did, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I can’t picture you as a troublemaker.” Robert chuckled.
“I held my own. But my father was pretty quick with the belt, so between his discipline and my mother’s prayers—I didn’t stand much of a chance. I learned to walk the straight and narrow.”
Robert reached for the automobile door. “In my house, it was my dad who was always praying and quoting Scripture.”
His friend slid behind the wheel. “He was a doctor, too, right?”
Robert scanned the crowd one last time before climbing in. “I suppose I found it somewhat confusing. He prayed for his patients’ health, yet it looked to me as if his own hands did the healing.” Robert shrugged. “When I went away to medical school, I placed my faith on the shelf in favor of science.”
“And how has it worked for you?”
Robert braced a foot against the front rail as Gerald eased the auto onto the road. “Fine, until recently.” He coughed, the smoky air tickling at his lungs.
The car bumped along the road, weaving past horse-drawn carts sagging under the weight of people’s belongings. “Because of Cecelia?”
Robert nodded, the memory bringing a lump to his throat.
Gerald pulled in behind a milk van, grimacing at the slow traffic. “She’s better off now. You know that. We’re the ones who are hurting.”
“So, who has the answers? God or science?” Robert rapped his fingers against his knee.
Gerald pulled back on the throttle, the engine idling as they waited for an opportunity to cross the intersection. “Perhaps science is one of God’s tools. Here’s how I see it . . .” He turned to face Robert. “How does one learn to understand God?”
Robert frowned. “You study Scripture, go to church—listen to the teaching.�
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Gerald eased the car forward. “And those things are great. But think of God as an artist. If you believe God created the world, His fingerprints must be everywhere, all around us. You learn about an artist by studying his art. The human body is the most complex masterpiece ever created. We’ve only begun to scratch the surface with our scientific knowledge. To claim we’ve somehow mastered science is like a baby trying to recite the complete works of Shakespeare.”
Gerald tipped his hat back. “I just don’t see how science and faith are so different. What is science, but a study of the Maker?”
Robert pondered his friend’s words in silence until they stopped in front of the house. “So, why doesn’t He give us the answers? Let us heal people?”
“Now there’s the big question.” Gerald stepped out, closing the door with a bang. “Maybe because He knows we’d take credit.”
30
4:40 p.m.
Abby tipped her head back, her gaze climbing the tall wooden church steeple, a bold finger pointing at the heavens. Miss Cameron gestured for the group to wait as she entered the building. Mrs. Ling and the other older woman, like a pair of sheepdogs, herded the girls into a tight group.
Abby leaned close to Kum Yong. “Are they afraid someone is going to wander off?”
Kum Yong’s inky black brows lifted. “Wander off? Where would we go? No, they are keeping watch for highbinders—men who would try to take us back to slavery.”
Miss Cameron, hat in hand, appeared in the doorway and beckoned to the girls. Her silvery hair glinted in the late afternoon light, a sharp contrast to her youthful complexion.
Abby hesitated, trailing after the group as they filed into the sanctuary. The heavy doors closed, locking out the fearful smoky street. She stared up at the huge windows, the colored glass filtering the afternoon light and adding a sense of calm to the cavernous space.
The chatter quieted as the girls piled belongings against the wall and took seats on the wooden pews, rubbing tired necks and looking about with large eyes.
Abby hovered by the entrance, heart fluttering. As much as she wanted to hide in this beautiful place, she knew she didn’t belong.
Kum Yong seized Abby’s hand and tugged her to Miss Cameron’s side. “Lo Mo, do you remember Abby from Lane Hospital?”
Abby glanced down at the floor before meeting Miss Cameron’s eyes. The missionary took Abby’s hand and squeezed it. “Yes, of course. Welcome, Abby. Mrs. Ling and I were just speaking of you a moment ago. I am glad she invited you to join us. No one should be alone today.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate your kindness.”
Abby followed Kum Yong to a bench, collapsing in near exhaustion.
Miss Cameron and the minister spoke in hushed tones, while the Chinese girls chattered to each other in their foreign tongue.
Abby pushed her back against the seat, her tired muscles relaxing. She unfastened her shoe buttons and wrapped firm fingers around her throbbing ankle. Leaning forward, she draped her arms over the pew in front of her and allowed her head to drop down onto her wrists. Wisps of hair fell alongside her face, screening her from the others’ eyes.
Even in the moment of quiet, Abby’s mind fluttered from one image to another: the crushed buildings, the plumes of smoke, people dragging their belongings, Kum Yong’s scars, Mama’s glazed eyes, giant cracks in the road, Robert’s hand on her arm, Davy’s sticky face. Digging into her skirt pocket, she drew out the journal. Perhaps its words could chase away these thoughts. She let the book fall open.
April 23, 1853
Mama seems better today. Maybe it’s the sun shining in her window. She says she loves the feel of the light on her face. I wish Papa would take her outside, but he’s worried the air would make her worse. I gathered flowers and put them by her bed. She smiled real big. Papa even smiled a bit, too. I’m going to double my prayers tonight and maybe Mama will be even better tomorrow.
April 25, 1853
I didn’t write yesterday because it was such a bad day. The sun shone, but Mama said the light hurt. She’s coughing more. At one point she couldn’t breathe, the coughs came so fast. Her face went blue and her lips stained with blood. I ran from the room, I was so scared. I’m writing this in the yard, under the lilac bushes. They’re Mama’s favorites, but Papa said no more flowers. He thinks it makes her coughing worse. I’d pull up every flower in the yard if it would make her better.
April 30, 1853
We buried her today down by the lilac tree. Mama loved those lilacs.
Abby closed the book, leaving a finger to hold the place. Twisting a handful of skirt, she took a deep breath, waiting for the pain in her heart to ease. She forced her eyes back to the page.
May 1
I woke up early this morning and ran to Mama’s room. I’d forgotten during the night. Can you believe it? It’s like she died all over again.
My class memorized the 23rd Psalm for the Sunday school lesson. All the other girls lined up to recite. Teacher just patted my shoulder as she went past. All the girls whispered behind my back.
I felt sick when I heard the part about “walking through the valley of the shadow of death . . . ” Preacher said those words at Mama’s funeral. I never wanted to hear those verses again and then in Sunday school I had to hear it eight times.
Abby closed the journal and returned it to her pocket. The minister had read the Psalm at Cecelia’s funeral, too. The words floated through her mind like a smoky haze. The valley of the shadow of death was an apt description for San Francisco today.
The windows rattled as another blast of dynamite shook the city.
Several of the girls began to sing. Abby closed her eyes and listened, absently kicking the pew in front of her. The melody pricked her heart until the air felt like a weight crushing against her shoulders. Abby lurched to her feet.
Kum Yong looked up. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t stay. I must find my family.” Abby stumbled down the row toward the aisle, her chest tightening until she struggled for breath.
Her new friend followed, clutching at her arm. “Stay the night with us. Tomorrow you can find your family. It is not safe to be out at night with the city on fire.”
Abby’s feet and legs trembled with exhaustion. Mama wouldn’t want her out after dark, especially with things in such a muddle, but she must be crazy with worry by now. Abby pushed her hands into her hair. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
Mrs. Ling appeared at her side. “Yes, Miss Abby, stay. You should not be wandering streets by yourself.” The woman placed her small hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Sit, child. You look like you are sleeping on your feet already. Your mother would not want you to be in danger.”
As if to confirm her words, the windows rattled. A hush descended on the group. Yoke Hay whimpered, tears sliding down her face. Kum Yong scooped up the child, cradling her against her long white blouse and crooning in the girl’s ear. Other girls joined in the song, the frightening sounds giving way to the warmth of their voices.
Abby sank back into the pew. Kum Yong sat down, the girl cuddled against her shoulder. “You wouldn’t find them in the dark anyway. You will find them tomorrow.”
Tears blurred Abby’s eyes. One night. That’s all it would be.
31
Thursday, April 19, 1906
2:00 a.m.
Robert tossed off the bedspread and flung himself upright as a rumble tore through the house. He jumped to his feet, stumbling as the ground rose up to meet him, his balance thrown into disarray by the throbbing in his skull. His chest and shoulder hit the floor like a pile of bricks and he lay still, gasping for breath.
The gentle tremor eased, but not before his mind rushed through visions from the previous morning—falling beams, patients screaming, chaos. He dug his fingers into the rag rug, legs trembling, a miniature quake spreading outward from his chest.
Robert rose to his hands and knees, fighting the urge to retch. The dull pain a
bove his eyes retreated into the background as his breathing slowed.
Mrs. Larkspur’s tremulous voice carried down the hall. “Gerald?”
Footsteps passed in front of his door, proceeding down the hall. “Everything is all right, Mother. Just a small one. Nothing to worry about.”
The footsteps returned, pausing briefly outside his room before continuing. A door closed.
Robert expelled a long breath, feeling his heart rate slow. He pressed both hands against his face, banishing the memories.
As soon as he chased one worry away, another rushed in to fill the void. Where were Abby and Davy and their mother? Were they sleeping in the open somewhere? He pushed to his feet and wandered to the window. Pulling back the loose drapery, he gazed out into the night. The horizon glowed, the inferno still raging in the distance.
Robert clutched the windowsill. She could be anywhere. And here he stood in a safe house, surrounded by people who cared about him. His skin crawled, a sickly sensation starting at his feet and traveling upward across his body.
How can I wait for morning? He yanked his folded trousers from the chair. Who cares if it is the middle of the night?
Pulling on his clothes, he mapped out the city in his mind. Maple Manor was north from Nob Hill. The fires approached from the east and south. Since the family didn’t come to the Larkspur house, the officials leading the evacuation must have sent them someplace. Union Square? No, the fires must have long since burned through the area.
They could be anywhere, but his thoughts kept returning to Golden Gate Park, the place of their first picnic.
Robert retrieved his shoes and pushed his feet into them. He gripped the doorknob, slowing his movements to preserve the silence. His footsteps echoed in the quiet hall, so he yanked the shoes back off and walked in his stocking feet. A fresh wave of pain rolled through his head, the dark stairs swimming before his eyes. Robert grasped the railing for support, the bottom stair creaking under his weight.
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