“There is plenty of work for you and much to learn.”
“Yes, mother of the husband.”
“Yes, remember that. You are a useless acquisition, but it was not your fault the demons crossed our threshold and took my son to the Yellow Springs. Still, you will not contribute a son and that was your intended purpose. Jasmine has produced heirs and has the place of honor below me. Lotus has given us expense — daughters, as has Orchid. But both are baubles in this house, acquired for pleasure, for a man’s jaundiced eye. They served their purpose, but are now an expense. They are tiny hoofed and cannot work. But you, Purple Sage, you are full footed and look strong enough. Your dowry was meager, but was acceptable in the contract. Still, a barren wife can be nothing more than a chore mistress and an auntie to her husband’s other children. So you shall earn your keep.”
“I understand, mother of my husband.”
“You will honor him every day, learn to sew and mend furniture, assist with daily meals and, when the time comes, act as go-between for tenants and the master’s rule of law.”
“I understand, mother of my husband.”
“No need to understand what you must do because you must earn your keep. But you are my son’s wife, and so, unlike the servants, you will have respect, although you are the lowest member of the household. You know it to be true.” She reached beside her chair into a small satchel. “Here.”
The old woman withdrew four silver ingots placing them in Chi Lin’s hands. Chi Lin bowed, touching the shiny buttons to her forehead.
“The Hall of Silver Silence is in disarray. Your husband meant for it to be repaired and made comfortable for his wife. Use these wisely, because you cannot expect more. You may also wear a purple flower in your hair and a tzi-jing jewel in your pins — only one, and a small one. I would prefer you wear purple robes, but I suppose you must make due with Peony’s cast-offs, so I shall tolerate other colors.”
Chi Lin bowed again.
“Now, try again to sew the slipper, Purple Sage and by night fall you will have mastered the first of many chores.”
Chi Lin squirreled the silver ingots into her sash purse, picked up the slipper and tried again. By nightfall, her hands would be blistered and her back sore, but she would master the first of her many chores.
Chapter Six
Evening Shades and Shadows
1
It was a long day with few breaks in the sewing for Chi Lin. Lao Lao’s old woman came quietly to the threshold to deliver a steam bun, which was brought to Chi Lin, who dared not stop to eat it until her mother-in-law set her own work aside to tend to the kitchen staff. By that time Chi Lin’s belly sang a rumbling tune, which the steam bun hardly quelled. It also confirmed that Lao Lao’s old woman needed lessons in steaming buns. A light repast from a different quarter was brought, no doubt on the Old Lady of the House’s orders — jasmine rice with plums, a small ration of mashed pork and a sliver of bitter melon. It was much to Chi Lin’s delight and she ate it like a serving girl, which quite fit the moment. When her mother-in-law returned, she chastised Chi Lin lightly for not finishing the shoes allotted. This did not discourage the woman, because she ordered another basket of sandals for mending. She also delivered a constant lecture on the quality of the stitches and how, in time, Chi Lin would need to embroider lion faces and lotus blossoms on the children’s shoes — an art to be sure, but one she would be expected to master. Between the craft talk came the reminder that she was a ghost bride and needed to earn her way, expense that she was. Soon this mantra was lost on Chi Lin. She could think of nothing more than the four silver ingot buttons hidden in her sash purse and the improvements she could wrought on her living quarters with such a sum. It offered hope.
At one point, the other women returned from their furniture mending and continued sewing — robe tatting, sash hemming and cap refinements as well as the never ending shoe and sandal mend. How many feet did this household have? Chi Lin thought. But they all ceased working when the Master of the House, Wu T’ai-po, visited the work hall, mumbling his greetings, but ignoring their work as men were disposed to do. He stared for some time at Chi Lin, her face demure and downcast. He inspected her with eyes only, no words exchanged, not even with his wife. Silence spoke louder to the occasion. He came to see his daughter-in-law but it was not seemly for him to speak with her, so he just made her uncomfortable, and then nodded to his wife, leaving just as spontaneously as he had arrived.
By nightfall, Chi Lin was alone with another cup of rice and three ripe cherries, carefully eating them, avoiding any stain to the shoe cloth. Then Willow appeared to escort her back to the Hall of Silver Silence, where she was met on the threshold by Lao Lao and his wife. A modest meal sat near the cabinet bed — more steamed buns, bean curd and a bowl of cabbage. Chi Lin was too hungry and tired to be bothered with it. She was hot and sweaty, wishing a basin of water more than slimy cabbage and bean curd.
“Lao Lao,” she said.
“Yes, mistress.”
“Is there water?”
“Boiled on the table.”
“Not to drink, but to bathe.”
“Is that wise, mistress? It is not a bathing day.”
She turned, and sighed. Lao Lao bowed, disappeared over the threshold and soon returned with a basin of water and two lotus pods. He set the bowl near the bed, and then retired.
Chi Lin stared into the water, the light reflecting her tired face. It was clean water, not drawn from that dirty pool. She wondered about the source and how it might be made more available. At this thought, she retrieved the silver ingots, rolling them between her fingers. She decided the first repair would be to the pool. It would be a reminder of home and the duck pond she loved so. Gazing at the silver she had many thoughts for its use. Perhaps a floor rug and a place to keep her hair brush, a dressing table perhaps. The walls could use some new paper and beadwork; and the bed, mending. It creaked. The underbox was useless for storage and there was a crack in the cabinet leg. As she examined that crack, she cocked her head. She expected a cricket or mouse to emerge, but then she had a thought.
“It will do,” she said.
She took the four ingots and wedged them into the crack until they disappeared from sight. She then turned to her bath, dipping the lotus pods into the basin, the chilly water caressing her hands.
Chi Lin slipped her robe down halfway and opened her sash. Peony’s blouse was hot and sticky and peeled off like a second skin, exposing her breasts to the dim light. The air felt good — delightful. She splashed some water on her chest and squeezed the dripping pods over her cleavage — refreshing and invigorating. She closed her eyes as she rubbed herself, dreaming of a place where she could have been instead of the place where she was now. The pods were her consolation, the husband who would never touch her. It was a maiden’s dream, a poor one, but fleeting as the cool water rolled between her breasts.
Suddenly, she heard giggling. Her eyes flashed open to see small heads peering through the window — three little girls and two not so little boys. Chi Lin dropped the pods and pulled up her blouse.
“Why are you here?” she snapped.
The children giggled. One, a boy of eleven, reached in, his hands outstretched.
“We come to say hello,” he said, while the others laughed.
“It is not proper at your age.”
“How are we to learn about ladies if we cannot see them without their robes?” the other one quipped.
Chi Lin stood, holding her robe tenaciously.
“Go. Shoo. It is not proper.”
The boys disappeared, but the girls remained. She recognized Pearl and assumed the other two were her sisters.
“We can watch,” said a squat-nosed tot (not Pearl). “We are not boys.”
“No,” Chi Lin said. “It is not proper.”
Suddenly, the girls’ heads careened about, terror in their eyes. They gurgled, and then disappeared. Chi Lin was glad to see them go, although on some level
their behavior amused her. But she was puzzled by the fierce look on their faces as they departed. Then she heard a different sound. Clopping. An approaching horse.
Lao Lao appeared on the threshold, bowing curtly, and then quickly approaching.
“Go, Lao Lao,” Chi Lin said. “I am not finished my bath.”
“Yes, mistress, you must finish it now. It is over. He comes.”
“Who comes?”
Lao Lao came closer.
“Liang-tze,” he whispered. “The second son. You must be careful.”
“Why?”
Lao Lao set the basin aside and dared to pulled Chi Lin’s robes closed tight.
“He is to be watched with care, mistress. He is the Tiger of the Wu clan and . . .”
Chi Lin was confused, but had little time to listen to an explanation. The Tiger was on her threshold.
2
Wu Liang-tze stepped over the threshold and stood in the dim light. Chi Lin nodded her head, but quickly raised it again to see this man, her brother-in-law, who came unwelcome to her hall. He was dressed in black leather riding trousers and a short robe. A sword was slung haphazardly from his belt. He wore a dark blue turban, a throwback from an earlier time. Chi Lin could see the resemblance to her husband, but also a crucial difference. While Wu Hung-lin’s portrait displayed a gentle countenance, kind in most respects, Wu Liang-tze squinted and boded peril beneath his mustached lip. He exposed grim teeth, less tiger than dog.
“I have come,” he said, his voice raspy, a defect groomed from shouting orders, no doubt. “It is my right to inspect my brother’s bride.”
Chi Lin stood, and then bowed.
“It is late, brother-in-law. Is this proper?”
“Do not speak of propriety to me, ghost bride. You are fortunate that I speak to you at all.” He strode to the table and glanced at the cabbage and bean curd. “Peasant food, I see. I suspected my brother lowered his sights with this choice. But no matter. He is dead and you are baked into our walls.” He laughed, and then turned to Lao Lao. “Why can I see your face, servant?”
Lao Lao crouched into a ball. Liang-tze picked at a piece of curd, tasted it, and then spit it at the servant.
“I am sure you are welcomed to eat my lowly repast,” Chi Lin said.
“My dogs eat better.” He cocked his head and inspected her. “Why not open your robe so I may see what my brother never saw.”
“Please,” she said. “It is not proper.”
“Perhaps not. But who are you to say, ghost bride?” His eyes swept to the floor. “Big feet. The other two wives are dainty footed, to my delight, now that I can entertain them with my wit and good looks. But a big footed peasant girl is not much to my fancy. But my brother was not one to chose without reason. What special gift have you brought?”
“Just my dowry, brother-in-law.”
“No jewels or serving ladies?” He peered at the clothes chest. “I know that piece. Is that all you harbor here? Peony’s cast offs? I would not touch those because she would haunt me as she haunts my mother. But surely my brother had intended to repair this old heap of a ruin. Come, come. Where is it?”
Chi Lin shivered. He wanted her silver ingots? How did he know about them? She cast her eyes down, but away from the crevice in the bed post.
“I have no such gift, brother-in-law. I am as you see me.”
“But I do not see you. Uncover. I demand it. Uncover, at once.”
Chi Lin felt a cold shiver run through her spine. She dared not defy this man, a man to whom she just favored with a lie. He appeared a dangerous sort. He could beat her and throw her out naked in the courtyard and no punishment would be meted to the second son of the Master of the House. So, slowly she let the robe fall, and slipped the under blouse away allowing her breasts to become a feast for his eyes.
The tiger growled, his hands just short of touching her. But he stopped and turned to the servant.
“You,” he shouted. “Open the chest and dump it out.”
Lao Lao fidgeted with the bone slips, and then lifted the cover. He then began to toss Peony’s clothing to the floor, while Liang-tze rumbled through them looking for Chi Lin’s treasure. When he came to a small jewel box, he carefully opened it, expecting something wonderful, but frowned.
“Peony’s,” he grumbled. “My brother is a disappointment.” He threw the box at Lao Lao, and then turned to Chi Lin, who was shaking now. “He indeed left you with nothing more than this old shit house and the second wife’s underwear. I would pity you, except you will thrive here, no doubt once you have earned your keep. My mother is stern, but fair. She will insist on keeping up appearances, which will benefit your sagging breasts and your peasant feet. Cover up!”
Chi Lin quickly pulled the robe up and shrank away to the window. Wu Liang-tze snarled at Lao Lao, but knew better than to strike him. Purple Sage may be to his disliking, but she was the fourth wife and deserved this lowly old piss ant to wait upon her.
Liang-tze nodded to her.
“I leave you, sister-in-law . . . for now.”
She curtsied as he marched to the threshold. He paused, looked back, and then spat. The tiger was gone.
3
Chi Lin collapsed to the bed, weeping. Lao Lao did not console her, but managed the clothing into neat stacks and reclosed the chest. When he turned to his mistress, she was kneeling on the floor, her hand poking into a chink in the bed cabinet.
“Mistress,” Lao Lao said. “He is a brute. We are lucky he does not live here, but in the Villa. He was tossed out when Master Hung-lin married Mistress Jasmine.” Lao Lao’s eyes rolled. “He could not be trusted in the house. He is a rover. He has three wives, but I suspect they never see him. In the tavern, they say, he is always at the House of Perfumed Beauty or the Sojourn of Heaven’s Eye. Two of his wives came from the pleasure houses. I am surprised he does not have twelve wives from . . .”
“Please, Lao Lao. This is indelicate.”
“Yes, mistress, but true. You must know to beware the man. Be glad, for now, that he does not like your breasts and despises your big feet.” Lao Lao suddenly frowned, and then bowed. “Forgive me.”
Chi Lin smiled. This servant was refreshing in his honesty, but pitiful in his embarrassing statements.
“I am glad also for my big feet, and not just for warding off the attentions of my brother-in-law.” Her hand favored the bedstead cranny. “He is unpleasant. I am glad he does not live here.”
“Mistress,” Lao Lao said. “If that break in your bed is bothersome, I will have it repaired tomorrow morning.”
“No,” she said. “No. It is fine.” She smiled. “In fact, I am of glad of it, because I have had a gift from my husband.”
“Truly?”
“Our secret, Lao Lao. Our secret.”
“Who would I tell? My old lady?”
“Tell no one, but I will be able to afford some repairs, beginning with the rock pool.”
“I would begin with the roof, mistress.”
Chi Lin looked up. The roof looked fine to her.
“The rock pool would give me some place to relax after chores.”
“But when it rains, you will be glad that the roof has been repaired.”
She laughed. This man knew the state of things better than she did. Some silver must be reserved for roof repairs. She patted the crevice, and then stood.
“I am weary. Very weary. And tomorrow will be as wearisome.”
“You must sleep, mistress. You can tell me of your great plans tomorrow.”
“The plans must evolve slowly, Lao Lao. Slowly. If my courtyard and hall are suddenly beautified, what would my brother-in-law think?”
“He would think you were not truthful.”
“He would buzz about me like a bee on a flower. I must remain humble, quiet and unattractive to his eye.”
Lao Lao grinned.
“You are like her, mistress. Most like her.”
“Who?”
“Second wife P
eony,” he said. “But take care in that resemblance, because the Old Lady of the House is haunted by her. In that the second son spoke the truth, and he mostly lies and does not care who knows it.”
Lao Lao bowed out of the hall. Chi Lin sat for some time, despite her weariness, starring out the window. Finally, she finished undressing and gathered Peony’s bed clothing loosely about her shoulders. With her noggin laid back on the porcelain pillow rest, she closed her eyes.
“Father, how I miss you,” she whispered, and then visited home in her dreams.
Chapter Seven
The Crawl of Industry
1
When Chi Lin awoke after a restless sleep, her fingers pained beyond belief. The tips were sore and unfendered. She crabbed them to the daylight and wondered whether she could hold a needle again. But she needed to earn her place. Complaints would be unacceptable. Beyond the needle pricks, her head still dwelled on the ugly face of her brother-in-law and his untoward intentions, which were unclear, beyond fleecing her of her meager household silver. To that she had more thoughts, agreeing that the roof would be a priority. If she improved the interior of the hall, it would be quite useless if ruined in the first heavy rainfall. The pool could wait. She exercised her fingers — her aching fingers.
“Wake up,” she said. “You must keep alive for my mother-in-law.”
She laughed, but then sighed. The ubiquitous bowl of morning mush was waiting on the table beside the tea bowl. Her thoughts again went to her brother-in-law’s visit, the ugliness of his face and the blackness of his mood. While her prospects were not bright in the House of Wu, the chance visitation of Wu Liang-tze was terrifying. She could not mention it to anyone for fear they would think her disrespectful to the second son, and yet his reputation was such she was sure any complaint would fall on sympathetic ears. Yet no one would help her against this frightener of women and children. He was the second son, after all, and was curbed by few protocols.
“I must live with it,” she said, getting up and heading for the morning congee and tea.
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