Robbie greeted the woman with a smile, though he was still somewhat affronted by the doctor’s remarks. The usually sparky and congenial Robbie Taggart found himself in a very uncharacteristic and uncomfortable position of being treated like an outsider. He wasn’t sure he at all liked being lumped together in Wallace’s mind with a bunch of Chinese pagans!
But before Robbie had the chance to dwell on his perturbation further, the entire remaining retinue of the mission had gathered for dinner, all except for Hsi-chen and her mother, who were still in the kitchen. Besides Miss Trumbull, the only other Westerner connected to the staff was Thomas Coombs, assistant pastor to Wallace, who acted as both senior pastor and physician to the mission. Coombs was twenty-two, of fair skin and blonde hair, a youth who hardly appeared even to have begun shaving. Of stocky build and an inch or two shorter than Wallace, he was several pounds heavier, and openly deferred to the older man in all things. Wallace was clearly the patriarch of the mission, its heartbeat, the man everyone looked to for direction and initiation. Robbie’s first reaction in observing Coombs, and then the others, was that they all must feel intimidated by Wallace. How else would he have been able to command such unquestioning loyalty, obedience, and apparent respect? Why, the man almost reminded him of old Commander Barclay!
The Vicar soon joined the group, arriving with the young medical attendant, Ying Nien, an orphan who lived at the mission in exchange for his assistance in the hospital.
The group took their seats at the long table, and a moment later, Hsi-chen appeared, carrying a steaming bowl of rice. With her hobbled a middle-aged Chinese woman, similarly laden with fish and cabbage. This must be Hsi-chen’s mother, thought Robbie, probably the housekeeper or cook at the mission. She was striking in appearance, lovely like her daughter, with clear, unwrinkled skin, hardly revealing her age other than with a bit of gray in her black hair and in the air of maturity and practiced grace she wore. She walked with effort; her tiny crippled feet, which had been footbound when she was a child, moved along beneath a skirt similar in style to Hsi-chen’s.
As the two set down their burdens, Wallace stood and extended a hand in their direction.
“I believe, Mr. Taggart and Mr. Drew,” he said, “that these are the only two remaining members of our mission family that you have not met. My daughter, Hsi-chen, and my wife, Shan-fei1.” His voice had softened as he spoke, and his tone held an unmistakable depth of love and respect.
Incredible! thought Robbie. The austere, implacable doctor married to a Chinese woman—a footbound one at that! If he was as intolerant a man as Robbie had already labeled him, this was certainly an incongruous way of showing it! But perhaps there was a certain consistency here. Wallace boldly spoke his mind and tolerated nothing less from others. If he indeed loved a Chinese woman, would such a man not marry her, mindless of cultural and social prejudices and obstacles, with the same single-minded boldness with which he expressed his opinions?
Hsi-chen and Shan-fei served the meal, waiting even on Miss Trumbull. But it seemed to Robbie that they acted more the part of hostesses than domestic servants. It was not until everyone else’s initial needs had been met that mother and daughter took their places and joined into the conversation. As the meal progressed it became clear that Shan-fei herself, like her husband, also commanded a great deal of esteem from the others. Oddly enough, the tone for this respect seemed to originate with Wallace himself. His wife responded in kind, affording him all manner of submission and admiration. A strong sense of equality came through in their relation to each other. The wife was gentle, soft-spoken, and demurring, yet displayed none of the stereotyped attributes of the subjugated female so expected among Chinese women. Robbie would later learn that this demeanor of confidence she displayed had blossomed only after years of the husband’s patient efforts to draw it out of her. Shan-fei was not intimidated by her stern husband because she knew that he loved her even above himself. She thus held him in even higher regard than would have been possible had she seen only that side of him which Robbie at this moment was capable of seeing.
After the meal was laid out before them, Robbie lifted his fork to begin. Midway to the rice on his plate, he stopped. No one else had yet moved a hand. Sheepishly Robbie replaced his fork as Wallace said, “Let us give thanks,” and then proceeded to ask the Lord’s blessing on the meal, adding a prayer for the recovery of “our two guests, Moses and Jonah.” When Robbie opened his eyes, no one (except for the Vicar, who directed a subtle glance in his direction) took the least notice of his faux pas.
As the simple meal began, the conversation was soon monopolized by Miss Trumbull, Coombs, and Wallace as they gave one another reports of their day’s activity. It appeared that the mission served five surrounding villages within a ten-mile radius. The clinic and dispensary attended to the greatest number of residents, but the Sunday congregation often numbered as many as seventy-five. Twenty children were a regular part of the school, small by comparison to many. But in a poor, agricultural village such a Wukiang, often children could not be spared for the relative luxury of an education.
“I went out as far as Takung today,” said Coombs, midway through the meal.
“That’s past our territory,” replied Wallace. “Father Froelich does not appreciate our proselytizing his people.”
“I know,” said Coombs apologetically. “But there is an old gentleman there who likes to receive our literature. He’s not a Catholic, and I saw no harm in supplying him. But unfortunately, there was another problem.”
“What happened, Thomas?” asked Wallace, concerned.
“It had nothing to do with Froelich’s people, I’m sure. By the look of the ruffians, they were probably salt smugglers, or the like . . .”
He paused, seeming none too anxious to finish his account.
“Go on,” said Wallace. “Were you hurt?”
“No, thank the Lord! But there were four or five of them, and they nearly capsized my boat—would have, too, if some decent Chinese chaps hadn’t come along and rousted them off.”
“You were alone?” asked Wallace pointedly.
Coombs nodded.
“We’ve discussed this before, Thomas,” he continued pointedly. “You simply must not go so far out into the countryside by yourself. There are too many dangers.” Wallace frowned and his jaw muscles tightened as he added with an intense quiver in his voice, “Especially now, Thomas. You know the situation.”
“Yes, sir. I know that. But, Dr. Wallace, I came here to assist. How can I be of any use if someone must hold my hand all the time? There’s too much to do here to spare someone for a nursemaid also.”
“Indeed,” sighed Wallace. “‘The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few . . .’ But, Thomas, while we must be diligent to pray to the Lord of the harvest to send forth laborers into His harvest, we do not wish the laborers He has already given us to be one fewer as the result of some calamity which might befall you. You are still new to us. In due time you will be able to shoulder your fair share of the burden. In the meantime, let us mingle a bit of practicality with our zeal.”
The rebuke was gentle, even fatherly. Yet there remained an unyielding aspect to the doctor’s voice, a tone of finality, and a resolution in his eyes that allowed no further argument on the subject.
The reprimand was well taken by Coombs, for he humbly nodded, then said, “Yes, sir, I will do my best.” It was clear he meant it.
Wallace then turned toward Robbie and the Vicar. Both men unconsciously sank an inch or two in their chairs, perhaps fearing they were about to be pressed into service.
“You see, Mr. Taggart, Mr. Drew, the work of God’s mission here in China is a mammoth task,” he said. “Over four hundred million people, with souls crying out in their poverty for the Lord Jesus Christ, yet barely a thousand laborers now answering that cry. But we are by no means daunted. God is working wondrously in China! The labors of my colleague and brother, Dr. Hudson Taylor, of the China Inl
and Mission, have been instrumental in getting the Gospel into all the provinces. And there are now resident missionaries in most. Imagine!”
For a moment Wallace’s measured voice nearly trembled in its enthusiasm. “God has taken a seeming impossibility and made it very, very possible. But as everywhere, there are thugs and hoodlums and resisters, and, yes, even good people who are simply slow in accepting the truths of God. Yet I doubt that any of us would choose another place on the face of the earth to be.”
“Amen to that!” put in Coombs, unconsciously having been caught up in his mentor’s inspired speech.
“But I suppose you gentlemen,” Wallace went on, “are quite anxious to be elsewhere—back to your homes, no doubt?”
Such a question was a difficult one for either Robbie or the Vicar to answer. But it was Elliot who ventured one. “We are traveling men,” he said vaguely. “Thus home is a rather nebulous term for us.”
“It does not trouble you to be separated from shipmates and friends?”
Now it was Robbie’s turn, and he answered in a deeply earnest voice. “It appears that all our shipmates were lost at sea—and that troubles us very greatly. As for our other friends, we are well used to being separated from them for long periods.”
“Then you may consider tarrying with us a while?” asked Wallace. “Certainly for a couple of weeks, maybe more, until your bodies have completely recovered from their ordeals.”
Drew quickly began his attempt to steer clear of any potentially awkward encumbrances. “I must, speaking for myself, get to Shanghai as quickly as possible.”
Robbie attempted to follow his lead. “There is some . . . ah—business . . . that may detain me in China before I seek work on a return voyage.”
“Business?” queried Wallace.
“I believe he is referring to the state of our ship’s skipper,” added Drew, “whom we have reason to believe may still be alive. We would be remiss in our loyalty if we did not do what lay in our power to locate him. We think he may be in trouble of some kind.”
“That’s it,” agreed Robbie quickly. “Of course I would like to find some way to repay you for your kindness before I go. I have no money, however. Everything we had went down with our ship.”
“We are not accustomed to accepting payment for our services,” said the doctor, then paused thoughtfully. “However, if it would ease your mind, there is always work to be done here at the mission. As I said, the laborers are few.”
“I’m afraid preaching is not quite in my line.”
Wallace gave one of his subdued smiles. “I had in mind some desperately needed repairs on our buildings. Thomas and I have sorely neglected them for the more important call of our other duties.”
“That sounds . . . well, a possibility,” said Robbie, trying not to commit himself. Whatever he did, he didn’t relish the thought of spending much time in the presence of the doctor. It shouldn’t be too difficult to avoid him, he thought. He probably spent all his free time in his study preparing sermons or reading the Bible or something. Besides, a few days here would give him time to think things through and decide what to do next. With no money, and stuck in the middle of China, things would no doubt be a bit rough until he’d arranged for a spot on another ship. But whatever he did, he had to settle his mind about Pike. He’d never be able to rest until he knew for certain whether the old skipper had double-crossed them or not.
Robbie glanced in Drew’s direction, curious as to his response to Wallace’s suggestion.
The Vicar merely raised his eyebrows, as if to say he would be insane to consider staying in this place even for another day, much less a week. Robbie might be a friend, but no church was going to get its claws into Elliot Drew one second longer than was necessary!
Later, as Robbie and Drew walked back to their beds at the hospital building, the Vicar said, “I know these people saved our lives, Robbie. But we’ve got to get out of here! That doctor is a fanatic. I’ve met men like him before!”
Robbie laughed. “You’re not worried about me, are you, Elliot?”
“I’ve been that path, my friend. And it’s not for you!”
“So you’ll keep me on the straight and narrow, is that right? Or should I say from the straight and narrow!”
Drew saw no humor in the interchange. The religious atmosphere was already stifling him.
“Don’t worry. Finding Pike is the first order of business. Then, depending on whether we need to rescue him or turn him in, the next will be finding a ship bound for home.”
For a brief instant, as Robbie’s uncertainty about Pike surfaced again in his mind, his eyes narrowed and uncharacteristically hardened. When they turned into the building, he was already thinking of what he might have to do in order to locate the old skipper. For Robbie had no intention of turning into a white swan . . . or anything else, for that matter.
1. Pronounced Shan-fay.
33
An Unexpected Witness
The searing heat burned Robbie’s bare back as he crouched upon the hospital’s roof. His hand clasped a hammer, while several nails were clenched between his teeth.
After several days of inactivity and relative confinement, he had finally managed to convince Wallace that his strength had returned sufficiently to lend a hand with some project around the place. But he had hardly anticipated this! Nor how taxing it would be to his system. But he would not flinch, even in the face of exhaustion.
Wallace had set him about the most pressing task at hand. With the rainy season almost upon them, every roof in the compound required immediate attention. From the makeshift patches that had been attempted in so many places, Robbie guessed that buckets had been in constant use the previous year.
This was now the third day of the job. The Vicar had joined in yesterday, and, with him now cutting shingles on the ground, while Robbie installed them above, they were attempting, section by section, to give the hospital building substantially a new roof. They were nearly finished, and Robbie was thankful that at least they were able to use wooden shingles instead of the stone materials used on most of the other village dwellings.
Robbie’s path had not frequently crossed the doctor’s the past few days, for which he was also thankful. Wallace was up every morning before dawn and spent much of his time during the day away from the compound. He did hold a clinic at the hospital twice a week, during which he saw a steady stream of villagers—the mission served some five thousand people in the surrounding area. And if only seventy-five attended church services, the rest made up for their absence on Sunday by coming in droves to avail themselves of the medical facilities. What Wallace did during the remainder of his time, Robbie could only guess.
Coombs usually accompanied Wallace, and Miss Trumbull kept mostly to her school. It was the women Robbie and Elliot saw most and they usually lunched with the three of them.
Robbie pounded in the last of his nails, straightened his back, and called down to Drew that he needed more supplies. But Elliot was behind in his cutting and had no more shingles ready. Robbie therefore descended the ladder, grabbed his shirt from the rail where he had tossed it, and, wiping it across his sweaty brow, strode over to where Elliot was furiously sawing a new length of wood before he could split the shingles.
“You’re going to kill yourself in this heat at that pace, Vicar!” said Robbie.
“No doubt I’ll die of thirst first. How much longer do you intend to keep us in this workhouse of righteousness?”
“I’m still trying to decide just what to do,” replied Robbie. “But I doubt you’ll go thirsty with all this water around.”
“Water was not exactly what I had in mind. Now that we’re not onboard the Tiger, surely you would have no objections.”
Robbie chuckled. “I doubt you’ll find so much as an ounce of sacramental wine around here.”
“I know,” was Drew’s dour reply. “Imagine a good Scotsman stumbling into such a teetotaling nightmare?” As he spoke his arm slow
ed noticeably.
“Here, let me have a go at it,” said Robbie, stepping up, taking the saw, and nudging the Vicar aside. Elliot conceded without an argument, dragged his exhausted frame to a nearby shade tree, and dropped down against its trunk.
Just as Robbie set his foot to the framing board in which the log rested in order to brace it against the action of the saw, Hsi-chen approached slowly from the house. Though the heat had obviously affected her too, and her skin was abnormally pale, she yet moved with an unaffected grace. Her movements were never hurried, yet there was purpose in her steps. When she smiled, Robbie found himself smiling in return, glad to see her as a respite in his work.
He had by now had two brief encounters with villagers, and the Chinese-Occidental barriers were very much evident, in more ways than language alone. But Hsi-chen spoke and laughed with him in an easy manner. Undoubtedly under Wallace’s hand she had been well educated in Western ways. Although she still retained an Oriental charm, the cultural distinctions were not nearly so strong as he had seen in the villagers, nor even her mother Shan-fei.
“I have brought you some refreshment,” she said, and now Robbie realized she was carrying a tray, which he had not noticed as she approached. “Goat’s milk is not a luxury,” she went on, “but it is cool and will quench your thirst.”
“Ah, just what we were wanting,” said Robbie, with a mischievous wink in Elliot’s direction. “That was thoughtful of you,” he added more seriously.
“You have worked hard—well beyond any debt you might owe us. I see the hospital roof is nearly completed.”
Robbie Taggart Page 26