The wind was strong enough to knock her down, but she managed to stay up. Then she saw two forms at the gate and heard diminutive barking.
“Mistress,” Mi Tso-tze called.
Chi Lin hastened her pace. Mo Li was beside Tso-tze, toting her favoring wok. Mi Tso-tze clutched Raisin Cake, who wiggled free, running to his mistress. Chi Lin swooped him into her arms, the little beast licking her face.
“Calm. Calm,” she said. “Tso-tze, where are Lao Lao and Snapdragon?”
“They would not come,” Tso-tze replied. “You know they can be stubborn.”
“The old woman hopped into her coffin,” Mo Li added. “She wore her shroud and sang a death song.”
“Nonsense,” Chi Lin said. “I must persuade them.”
“The Master of the House commands you to the Jade Heart Hall,” came a booming voice.
Chi Lin thought it was the wind speaking to her. But it was Chou Kuai-tze on his steed, evidently corralling stragglers.
“But Kuai-tze, my custodian and his wife are still in the Silver Silence.”
“It cannot be helped,” Kuai-tze replied.
Chi Lin turned to Tso-tze, who followed the journeyman’s orders. Mo Li took the wok and placed it on her head, the rain making a racket as she rushed along. Chi Lin hugged Raisin Cake, fearing to let him down again, the puddles rising.
“I guess it must be so,” she said.
She went with a heavy heart.
2
Even inside the Jade Heart Hall, the wind could be heard rumbling across the land. The Master of the House sorted everyone for safety and yet keeping within the bounds of decorum and protocol. He ordered the children and wives into the cellar, the amahs and handmaidens allowed to go also. The servants were kept above ground, where they chattered and complained, but huddling made them safe enough, if the roof held. Servants could be replaced. The rest of the household needed to survive.
Chi Lin made her way with Tso-tze into the dark cellar, Mo Li sent to the kitchen for shelter. Raisin Cake fidgeted, but Chi Lin feared letting him loose under feet.
“Do not fall,” Tso-tze said. “The lanterns are not lit.”
But soon they were, revealing a shivering assembly of the family Wu. Chi Lin was fine above ground, but now her heart beat fast and her head pounded.
“I cannot stay here,” she told Mi Tso-tze.
“But mistress, you must.”
“Must I?”
Chi Lin thrust Raisin Cake into Tso-tze’s arms, and turned back to the stairs.
“Mistress, I will come also.”
“No. I need air.”
“But the wind.”
“I would be better outside wearing Mo Li’s metal hat than under the ground.”
Chi Lin ignored her handmaiden’s pleas, and did not answer the journeymen’s orders. She whisked by her father-in-law, who, perhaps knowing better, did not command her to return. The upper rooms were still dry, but crowded, the servants bustling for space. The wind pounded the walls and whistled through the eaves. Chi Lin thought that perhaps the wind would lift the roof away and there would be great damage to the hall. She went through the kitchen, and then to the edge of her mother-in-law’s ke-ting. To her surprise, the Old Lady of the House sat sewing, perhaps to take her mind off the storm. When she saw Chi Lin, she said nothing, but pointed to a table.
“Under here,” said a small voice.
It was Po Bo crouching under the table, tugging at Chi Lin’s wet robe hem.
“What are doing down there?” Chi Lin asked.
“Hiding from the wind demons,” Po Bo said. “They will never find me here.”
Suddenly, the wind demons swept through the Jade Heart Hall. The windows had been blocked and the door sealed with leather, but that seal broke as two more servants entered. It was Orchid’s handmaiden and Sapphire’s amah. They whimpered, and immediately went to their knees to Wu T’ai-po.
“Where are they?” T’ai-po asked.
“She would not come,” the handmaiden said. “I pleaded with her, but the hall was falling apart, and I feared for my life.”
“You should still fear for your life,” Wu T’ai-po shouted. “And my grand-daughter?”
“She would not leave her mother,” the amah said. “You know how she is, my lord. You know how she is.”
The Old Lady of the House threw her sewing aside and confronted these women.
“Why are you here?” she barked. “Why have you not stayed with your charges? If it is too late for them, it is certainly too late for you.”
Then she did something Chi Lin had never witnessed before. The Old Lady grabbed a bamboo stick from the corner and beat the women. No one tried to stop her, not even her husband, who turned his back. Chi Lin knew these two deserved it. They should have forced Orchid to come — pulled her out of her chair and carried her. They could have brought Sapphire, kicking and screaming to be sure, but safe nonetheless. Chi Lin was overcome with outrage, not only for the lack of spirit from these women, but because no one in the Jade Heart Hall went out into the storm to rescue Orchid and her child.
“We must make an effort,” she said, startling anyone who heard her.
The Old Lady stopped her beating.
“The time for that has passed,” The Old Lady shouted, and then gave the miscreants two last strokes.
“But we must,” Chi Lin cried. She looked the journeymen, and then to her father-in-law. “It is only wind and water.”
“It might as well be on a vessel at sea,” T’ai-po replied. “The power of the aroused dragon is not to be taken lightly.”
Chi Lin bowed to Wu T’ai-po, and then, inexplicably, her eye caught the leather seal on the door. It was still broken. She clenched her fists, tensed her chest, and then pulled it open, charging outside to brave the tai-feng.
3
Chi Lin heard voices on the wind as she leaped puddles and hopped over fallen branches. Those voices called her name. She realized it came from the Jade Heart Hall, where her kin were calling back. But she saw no sturdy fellow stir out into the blast to help her or save her, if she needed saving. Respected as she was, she was the ghost bride — expendable among the wives.
She reached the wooden causeway, which shook severely, the wind trying to lift the roof off. It had given way in places. Then she heard footsteps padding behind her. It was little Monkey.
“Po Bo,” she cried. “What are you doing here?”
“I come to help you, mistress.”
“But you are afraid of the demon winds.”
“Yes, and I am light enough to be blown away. But I like the daughter of the Golden Oak Hall and it would be a shame to see her gone.”
“Just so. Give me your hand.”
Po Bo grasped her hand just as a section of roof blew off. Chi Lin hopped off the causeway and onto the water soaked path. Other debris drifted by, including books and tables from the school. In fact, the school’s walls had collapsed, the rain ruining precious classics and brushes. She thought of her own hall and the bamboo box with the gift robes for the children. She hoped they would survive, and then thought of Sapphire.
“Come,” she said to Po Bo, “we must hurry.”
Hurrying was not an option. The wind opposed them as they approached the remains of the Golden Oak Hall. Being on the east side, where the storm swept in from the sea, a floodtide had spilled through the ji-tzao and into the eastern halls. The Golden Oak Hall was the easternmost and, although the waters had abated, the initial rush had collapsed the outer wall and dashed the wooden barriers of the hall. It would be dangerous to enter the place.
“Mistress,” Po Bo said. “I shall run ahead and see. If it is too late, I will call to you and you can turn around and be safe.”
He did not wait for Chi Lin’s agreement. Po Bo darted along the remaining causeway and into the wreckage. Chi Lin slipped on the boardwalk barely finding purchase to stay erect. Then she heard a voice on the wind.
“It is not too late.”
She rushe
d now into the wreckage — the Golden Oak Hall. The silk drapes that had marked the place were sodden and plunged onto the furniture. The roof was gone. Although the pillars stood — a calamitous ruin, the ridgepole had fallen and crashed to the floor. She saw Po Bo pawing his way along the ridgepole. Under it was Orchid, her head bleeding and her face pale. Beside her, crying pathetically and clutching her dolly, was Sapphire.
Chi Lin tripped into this wreckage, her heart pounding. Orchid appeared beyond hope, but her daughter was alive. Then, as she reached the ridgepole, the journeymen finally arrived. Chi Lin did not care whether they had searched their souls or were shamed into coming, she was relieved to see them. They were her familiars — Chou Kuai-tze and Pang Guo-ta.
“You are meddlesome, Mistress Purple Sage,” Kuai-tze said, working his way into the hall’s remains.
“But you have come anyway,” she remarked. “I do not think Orchid is well.” When Pang Guo-ta reached her, she whispered. “Whatever the case, she must be taken from here, otherwise Sapphire will not come or, if she does, she will be distressed.”
No further lecture was needed. Po Bo tried to help Sapphire, but the girl hit him with her dolly.
“I do not want to go.’
“But you must go,” Po Bo said. “The wind is a demon and will steal you away.”
Sapphire wept, choking in her fear.
“Come to me, child,” Chi Lin said. “Come to Auntie.”
“But ma ma.”
“These men will help her.”
Chou Kuai-tze had already given Pang Guo-ta the confirming look that Orchid had departed for the Yellow Springs, but at Chi Lin’s coaxing, they began speaking to the Third Wife as if she were alive.
“You see. Come,” Chi Lin said to Sapphire.
Sapphire did come, and Chi Lin lifted her, wondering whether she could bear the weight of the child along the damaged causeway.
4
Orchid’s body was wrapped in gauze and silk and kept far from prying eyes. There was enough consternation in the Jade Heart Hall to raise despair. Sapphire, grasping her dolly and crying for her mother, was cuffed by the amah, but the Old Lady of the House pushed the servant aside and took charge of her granddaughter. The amah wept in despair probably knowing that she would live the remainder of her service in the cold harbor. Chi Lin was greeted by her father-in-law.
“You are a meddlesome woman,” he said, not unkindly. “But a man cannot have so many grandchildren to expend even the least.”
“You are cold,” the Old Lady of the House said to Chi Lin, as she dried Sapphire. “Willow.”
Willow disappeared into the ke-ting, returning with dry robes and a blanket. Mi Tso-tze was attending her mistress, but Willow ordered her to hold the blanket high, allowing Chi Lin to strip, dry off and don the dry robes in privacy.
“You are too kind,” Chi Lin said to her mother-in-law.
“I cannot afford to lose the best stitches in the household,” came the reply.
Chi Lin was chilled to the marrow, her teeth chattering. Her feet were soaked, even when bare, so once she had donned the fresh robe, she attacked her feet with the blanket, while Tso-tze attended to her hair. This took some time and she had an audience of servants. Even Lin-kua and Chou-fa came topside to watch. Chi Lin did not care. She was tired from the ordeal, sad that Orchid was dead, but glad that she had saved Sapphire. Suddenly, she had a thought.
“Po Bo,” she said. “Where is he? He was so brave.”
“He is in the kitchen,” Wu T’ai-po said. “He is filling his jowls with the best buns we have. He shall soon have more belly ache than storm fever.” He gazed at Chi Lin, she feeling his eyes in the softest way. “He is yours, Mistress Purple Sage. You need a servant and you might need a new custodian.”
Chi Lin gasped. She had forgotten Lao Lao and Snapdragon, but she was not up to another rescue. What would be, would be.
“I thank you, father-in-law,” she said.
Chi Lin felt warm, wrapped in robe and blanket, her hair wedged with paper, her feet dry now. The wind still howled and the timbers still shook, but if they fell on her now, she would be too tired to do more than pray for safe passage to the Yellow Springs. She closed her eyes. Then she felt a hand on hers and stirred.
“See my boat, Auntie?” came a wee voice.
She opened her eyes. Ming-kuan stood before her, touching her hand and waving his toy. Chi Lin smiled, but was wary of responding, not wishing to anger Jasmine. She looked about for the First Wife and found her rousing to end this interview. But as she approached, the Old Lady of the House nodded.
“Wu Ming-kuan has asked you a question, Purple Sage,” she said.
Jasmine stopped short. Chi Lin grinned and reached for the boat.
“It is a fine boat, Ming-kuan.”
“I know,” the child said. “It is mine. When I grow big like Lin-kua and Chou-fa, I will ride in a boat far out on the water.”
“You will?”
“Yes, Auntie. It is a fine boat.”
He crawled onto her lap. Chi Lin’s entire being quaked with joy. She looked for frowns from those in authority, but nothing came beyond Jasmine’s smirk. So Chi Lin tugged Ming-kuan onto her lap.
“You will need to learn how to steer a boat like that one.”
“I can learn, Auntie. I am smart. Lin-kua said I could climb to the tippy-top and see the world from there.” He laughed. “Do you know the world, Auntie?”
She wanted to say she did, and that world sat on her lap now. But she did not want to press this brief encounter and raise Jasmine’s jealousy further. So she kissed Ming-kuan topknot.
“I do not, but I am sure when you return from the sea you will come to your Auntie and tell her all about it.”
“I will, Auntie. I will.”
He giggled, and in that giggle, the howling wind was silenced, because the storm had given her what no amount of patience could provide — a new friend.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Assessment
1
Chi Lin’s eyes were burning when she emerged from the Jade Heart Hall, The storm was diminished and the sky brightened, the sun glaring behind a grizzly halo. Chi Lin winced in order to see the wreckage of the courtyard. Trees lay crisscrossed and splintered over dashed benches and pots, partitions and statuary. Her mother-in-law’s prized loft of miniature trees were uprooted, much to the Old Lady’s chagrin. Family and servants lamented the damage and the loss, each looking at prized landmarks now fallen and smashed. The sons fled to the schoolhouse, or what remained of it, followed by Master P’ing Chin, who waved his hands and moaned at the loss of his books and brushes, not to mention the roof and walls. The amahs took charge of their children, except for Sapphire who remained in Willow’s care until some arrangement could be made to care for the child. The kitchen staff tried to resuscitate soaked cabbages in the vegetable garden. Overall, a sense of loss and heavy weariness spread across the House of Wu.
Chi Lin had witnessed the worst of it at the height of the blow, so this aftermath was just a calmer version of what she had already embraced. She led her brood – Mi Tso-tze, carrying Raisin Cake, Mo Li, clutching her wok, and Po Bo, still eating buns, toward the Silver Silence. When she reached the family shrine, she paused, looking askance hoping the shrine still stood. It did. With that confirmation, she veered her troop to the incense pots. The sand was soaked, the incense not burning, but a single candle flickered in the interior – low, true, but burning nonetheless. The family plaques and epitaphs were intact, the statue of Guan-yin firmly planted, if not slightly askew and Wu Hung-lin’s effigy stood proud and erect.
“See, Tso-tze,” she said. “He has survived,”
“And out in the full force of it, mistress.”
“Such is the man, my husband.” She turned to Po Bo. “When we go to the hall, you must find dry incense and refill the pots with clean sand.”
“Yes, mistress,” little Monkey mumbled.
“Our husband still watche
s over us from his place in the Jade Emperor’s court. And Mo Li, if the tinder is dry, you must start the stove and make Buddha Heart Buns to offer to our lord.”
Mo Li tapped the wok (clank, clank), and then nodded.
Chi Lin was delighted by this good sign. Still, her heart sank when she thought of the possible fate of her custodian and his wife. Why did they not come? she thought, and then sighed.
The wall surrounding the Silver Silence’s courtyard was breached and a Thuja tree compromised the gateway, but they were still able to pass under it. Then, to Chi Lin’s great joy, she saw that the hall appeared intact.
“It may be well,” Tso-tze said, letting Raisin Cake down.
“It is the proof of Gao Lin’s work,” Chi Lin replied. “The roof is strong and defied the demon wind.” Then she looked to the servants’ quarters, where the roof also survived, but one wall had collapsed. “Let us see how they have fared.”
Nothing stirred outside except Raisin Cake finding his favorite spots. As Chi Lin passed the pool, she could see that the koi had survived and the landscaping was no less for wear. But the servant’s quarter seemed a trap for anything within it, especially for two ancients.
Chi Lin crossed the remains of the threshold, the inside strewn with tables and chairs. The stove remained embedded in the remaining wall and the brick kang, although wet, still nabbed its linen. But the back quarters were as silent as the grave.
“La la la la,” Chi Lin called. “Say something if you can.”
No answer. She looked to Tso-tze, and then to Po Bo.
“Little Monkey,” she said. “Poke about and see.”
Po Bo lurched forward climbing over the overturned table, and then going into the next room.
“I see the old man here.”
Chi Lin sighed, and then negotiated the broken furniture to see for herself. Lao Lao lay in a corner, his head against a box, that box being Snapdragon’s coffin. He was motionless. His wind was gone and his eyes closed.
“The old lady must be in her coffin,” Tso-tze said, tripping into the room.
“Help me,” Chi Lin said to Po Bo. “Lift the cover.”
Master Wu's Bride Page 21