She nodded and reached for her pocket. Encountering her bloodstained coat, she shuddered and snatched her hand back. Jason reached into his own pocket and withdrew a clean white lawn handkerchief. “Here. Use this.” He almost added a darling to the last sentence, thereby shocking himself and making him release her shoulders with haste.
Standing and shoving his hands into his pockets, he continued to gaze down at her, wishing . . . wishing . . . well, he wasn’t sure what he wished. “How about I pour each of us a little drink. I’ve got some rice wine in one of these cupboards somewhere.”
“I’ll get it,” said Lo Sing, rising from his own chair.
Still mopping tears from her face, Marjorie looked up with a tremulous smile. “A payment from one of your patients?”
It embarrassed Jason that his friends all knew about his habit of taking inconsequential tokens in payment for his services. He tried to laugh it off. “Mr. Hsiu. He’s always paying me in rice wine. I think he makes it in his cellar.”Marjorie blew her nose, then looked guiltily at Jason’s handkerchief. “I’ll wash it,” she said.
“Don’t bother. I have plenty of handkerchiefs.” He made an awkward gesture meant to be comical. “Mrs. Fong makes ‘em for me.”
After sniffling a couple of times, Marjorie whispered, “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He began to get nervous, standing there, peering down at her. His insides were fluttering as if a hive of bees had taken up residence in him, and he didn’t understand why. He vaguely recalled having had this reaction to Mai once or twice. But Mai and Marjorie were polar opposites from one another. He shouldn’t be feeling for Marjorie anything at all akin to the feelings he’d had for Mai.
Because this was so, and because he was having the feelings anyway, he forced himself to turn away from her and mosey over to his desk. He sat in his regular office chair. Marjorie and Lo Sing had worked in tandem and without speaking while Jason was stitching up his last patient. They’d mopped up the blood from the floor and washed down all the furniture. He felt guilty for having put Marjorie through this, even if it had been she who’d volunteered.
“I’ve never heard of wine made from rice,” she said after a few moments of silence.
“Aha! There it is.” Lo Sing withdrew a brown crockery bottle from a cupboard and turned to smile at Marjorie. “My people make just about everything from rice.”
“Oh?”
“Everything from noodles to wine to floor mats.”
“I had no idea,” said Marjorie in a thread of her normal voice. “How enterprising of them.”
“Oh, we’re very enterprising.” Lo Sing brought the bottle to Jason’s desk, along with three tiny teacups. “Guess we’ll have to use these.”
Marjorie stood up, swayed slightly, and sat again with a thump. Jason jumped to his feet. “Marjorie!”
She flapped a hand at him. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a wee bit shaky on my pins.” She unbuttoned her blood-stained coat, slipped it from her shoulders, inspected it briefly, shuddered, and thrust it into the chair Jason had recently vacated. Bracing herself on the arms of her own chair, she pushed herself to her feet.
Fighting the impulse to dash over and pick her up, Jason remained standing until he was reasonably certain she wouldn’t fall over. He’d been holding his breath, although he only realized it as he expelled it in a whoosh when Marjorie smiled and said, “I’m fine now.” He sank back into his desk chair as she walked over to his desk with her old, sturdy gait. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Jason, thinking he knew what had come over her, splashed wine into a teacup and thrust it at her. “Here. Drink this. Maybe it’ll settle you.”
“Don’t feel bad, Miss MacTavish. When I first started working for Dr. Abernathy, I was sick for days.” Lo Sing chuckled softly.
“True, true,” agreed Jason with a grin.
“Thank you for telling me that.” Even Marjorie managed a small smile. “It makes me feel less of a nyaff.”
Both men eyed her with blank expressions, and she sighed and said, “A fool.”
Jason’s eyebrows drew together. “Say, didn’t you call me a nyaff once or twice?”
He knew she was recovering when her green eyes twinkled. “Probably. If I didn’t, I’m sure I meant to.”
# # #
The sky had just begun to display faint, blurry rays of pink and orange when Marjorie, after shaking hands with Lo Sing and telling him how glad she was to have met him—and almost meaning it—walked out the door of Jason’s clinic and into the new day. Glancing down, she realized she couldn’t see her feet. Bluidy fog. Or . . . the word bloody had taken on a new meaning in her life during the last several hours. How interesting. Or . . . perhaps she meant how appalling.
Nevertheless, she didn’t appreciate the fog this morning. Shivering, she muttered, “I’m tired of the infernal fog.”
“Me, too,” said Jason. He hesitated. “Do you mind if I leave you here and go look for a cab?”
After thinking about it for a second or two, Marjorie said, “Aye, I do mind. I’ll walk wi’ ye.”
“You sure? I know you’re exhausted.”
She offered him a grim smile. “As Loretta would say, so are you, and women are as capable of motion even when exhausted as men. I’m fit to walk, thank you.”
“Let me take your arm, then,” Jason said with a grin.
So she did, and they started walking from Sacramento to Grant, where there was a greater chance they’d find a cab. After the night’s adventures, Marjorie wouldn’t want to hazard a guess as to why a cab might be lingering in Chinatown at this hour of the day. Her happy ignorance had been shattered with a vengeance, and she didn’t expect she’d be able to ignore at least one of Loretta’s many causes any longer. She heaved a big sigh and wondered if her congressman would bother to read a letter from an immigrant Scotswoman.
“You all right?”
She nodded. “Aye, I will be.”
“I really do appreciate your help, Marjorie.”
With a shrug, she said, “I didna do much. I didna know how. Wish I did.”
“No you don’t. It’s very discouraging work.”
Fog had beaded Jason’s hat brim with little water pearls. Marjorie felt as if she were slogging through a mush of the stuff, although it was really weightless. Her heart was heavy, though, and the fog might as well weigh a ton. Smudges of light streaked the air as it filtered through the mist from the street lamps.
Looking around her, she decided that this part of San Francisco might as well be Glasgow, although this fog wasn’t as foul as the coal-smoke fogs that smothered her homeland. The things that went on under its muffling blanket were every bit as cruel, though, and Marjorie’s head and heart both hurt.
Although she knew that to do so was tantamount to surrendering in a war, she said, “You’re a good man, Jason Abernathy. I didn’t realize it until tonight.”
She sensed his shock a moment before he shrugged off her compliment. “I only do what I can do. It’s pitifully little.”
“You try, though, and that’s what’s important.”
He didn’t speak for a moment. Marjorie figured he was trying to think up a withering retort. Therefore, she was surprised when he only said, at last, “Thank you.”
Their footsteps made muffled claps on the sidewalk. The streets in this part of the city had been paved years before, mainly because Chinatown attracted so many tourists. According to Jason and Loretta, if the city fathers had only the Chinese who lived in Chinatown to consider, the streets wouldn’t have been paved at all, ever. As much as Marjorie wanted not to believe them, she couldn’t do it any longer. Lost innocence was a right burden, and she wished she hadn’t so blithely rushed to accept it. How did that line of poetry start? “Fools rush in?” Well, she was a fool, and no mistake.
After a little while of walking and not speaking, Jason said, “I think I hear a horse. It must be a cab.” He stepped away from her and was swallowed up
by the fog.
For a few seconds, Marjorie felt as if she’d been abandoned in an evil land of frothing gray nothingness. Her joy when Jason emerged from the fog, smiling, was as overwhelming as it was strange. She’d never been glad to see him before. Because she was ashamed of herself for her reaction to the fog and to him, she forced herself to speak. “Was it a cab?”
“Yes.” He took her arm again. “The only horse-drawn vehicles in the city these days are the cabs that work at night.”
“Ah. They’re too slow for daytime traffic, I expect.”
“Right.” He led her to the waiting horse and carriage. The vehicle was shabby affair that had probably been dashing in about 1880. The horse didn’t look much younger. “Here we go.”
“You needn’t see me home. You must be dead beat.”
“Nuts. I’m going to see you to the door. You performed yeoman’s service tonight, Marjorie, and I appreciate it.”
“It was . . . interesting.” She hoped he didn’t see her shiver.
“Right.” He gave the address to the cabbie and climbed inside the carriage with Marjorie. “Say, are you really interested in learning Chinese?”
She sighed. “I suppose so. Might as well. But, Jason, what’s going on in Chinatown? Is there really a war between the tongs? And that poor girl. Where did she go? That man who picked her up, who was he? I canna stand the notion of her going back to . . . to . . .” She couldn’t say it and chided herself for her cowardice.
“I’m afraid she did. Women aren’t legally allowed to immigrate to the United States from China, you know.”
“Aye. Loretta’s told me as much.” Many and many a time, as a matter of fact.
“Yes, I’m sure she has.” He chuckled softly. “Anyhow, the result of the Exclusion Act is that a Chinese man either has to marry an American woman, and most of them don’t want to, or they have to import women illegally.”
She shuddered and again hoped he couldn’t see her in the dark. The notion of human beings being bought and sold disturbed her and made something way down deep in her soul ache. “I thought America abolished slavery half a century ago.”
“It did, for plantation slaves in the south. The problem is that slavery of Chinese women is supposed not to exist. Rather like the Black Hand, I suppose.”
“The Black Hand?”
“An Italian organization that terrorizes neighborhoods in New York City.”
“And it’s real?”
“Oh, yes, it’s real, all right.”
Marjorie thought about that for a few seconds. “Are governments always so blind?”
“Yes.” His voice was firm. “When they’re not lying to us, they’re pretending such horrors don’t exist.”
“That’s a vurra bleak assessment of things.”
“I suppose it is, but I believe it’s accurate.”
She shook her head, thinking he was probably right, and wishing he was wrong.
“Conditions are so bad in parts of China these days that families sometimes sell their daughters into service of one sort or another. Daughters aren’t regarded as being as valuable as sons, except in so far as they can marry well. If that’s out of the question for one reason or another, there’s always been a lively market for prostitutes. Now it’s spread to the United States.”
“The Chinese government sanctions such trade in human beings?”
“Oh, yes. So does ours, by turning a blind eye to the problem.” Marjorie heard the smile in his voice. “You should hear what Loretta says about the old-fashioned notion that women are only good for one thing.”
Marjorie couldn’t make herself smile. “That’s terrible.”
“Yes, it is. Any kind of slave trade is vile, and buying women to work in—” He broke off suddenly.
Marjorie thought she knew why. “You can say it, Jason. I think I can take it.”
“It’s such an ugly word.”
“The words aren’t as ugly as the deed.”
“True, true.”
“And that poor woman tonight—Jia Lee? Is that her name?”
“Yes.”
“That man who came to get her was her owner?”
“I guess. There seems to be some dispute as to whom she really belongs.”
“But she’s so young.”
“Probably fifteen or sixteen.”
“Och, God.” After thinking about the word, she added, “I dinna know why He allows such goings-on.”
“I doubt God has much to do with it.”
“Nae. He couldna. He gives us His gifts, expecting us to use them wisely, and we both just saw what some of us have done with them.”
“Eloquently put.”
Marjorie heard the dryness in his voice and didn’t blame him. It was difficult to believe in a good God sometimes. Giving up the fight to remain strong and in control, Marjorie buried her face in her hands. She didn’t cry. She just wanted to escape from the world and its horrors for a moment or two. When she felt Jason move to her side, she turned into his arms. “I canna stand life sometimes,” she whispered.
“I know. A few hours ago we were singing delightful music in your church. Music has to be one of man’s highest accomplishments. And then we were plunged into the depths of degradation that only man seems capable of.”
“Aye.” She didn’t draw away. His arms felt warm and comforting; a refuge from the damp, foggy, gray, miserable world that contained women like Jia Lee and men like those who claimed to own her.
“I think we’re getting close to Loretta’s house,” Jason said after a long, silent respite.
Since he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to let her go, Marjorie subsided against the shabby bolster, but allowed his arm to remain around her shoulder. It was warm and strong and gave her a measure of solace. “I’m tired.”
“You and me both. I’m going to rest for a couple of hours and go back to the clinic, though. Maybe I can get to the bottom of the troubles.”
“Do you need help?”
She felt his head turn and knew he was eyeing her sharply. With an odd-sounding laugh, he said, “Didn’t you get enough ugliness tonight to keep you satisfied?”
“Aye. But it’s work that needs doing.”
“What about your duties to Loretta?”
“I don’t have any duties to Loretta,” she said upon a grim note. “That’s one of the problems. She’s been all but keeping me for years now.” She was disappointed when he drew his arm away and moved to the other side of the cab.
“I know that’s not true, Marjorie. Loretta has told me many times that she relies for everything. She says you take care of her correspondence and you accompany her to different meetings and keep track of her appointments and all sorts of other secretarial things.”
“She’s only being kind. She really doesna need me. Or,” she amended, “if she does need a secretary, it’s surely not a full-time job. I could help at your clinic.” Feeling foolish all of a sudden, she added, “If I can be useful. If ye canna use a person with little training and fewer skills, I’ll understand.”
“Nonsense.” Jason stopped speaking as the cab pulled into Loretta’s long drive.
The sky had lightened enough for Marjorie to be able to make out the tall iron fence she now knew so well. She loved Loretta’s house, but even though she’d lived in it for more than three years, she considered herself an interloper there. Loretta had done, and continued to do, everything in her power to vanquish that feeling in Marjorie, but Marjorie still felt like a fish out of water. Perhaps getting involved in something worthwhile—or that she considered worthwhile—might lessen her sense of alienation.
It looked, however, as though Jason didn’t need her. She wasn’t surprised. She’d made a first-rate stewardess for White Star, but since Titanic sank, she’d been rather like a feather floating on the breeze, with nothing to anchor her to any specific spot. Except her fear. Fear kept her at Loretta’s house, and in a position that was, at best, a sinecure. Fear kept her from doing anyt
hing useful with her life. It was a melancholy thought.
The clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves stopped and so did the cab. Jason said, “We’re here.”
“Aye.”
He pushed the door open. “Let me get out first, and I’ll help you to the door.”
“You needn’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
She didn’t argue. Her spirits had plummeted during the last few minutes. She was so useless, and she felt her uselessness acutely right then. Jason flipped the stairs down and, accepting his hand, she stepped out of the cab. When her feet hit the gravel walk, she swayed slightly. Jason steadied her, and she felt foolish.
“Sorry. I’m a wee bit tuckered.”
“More than a wee bit, I think.”
Jason’s chuckle sent a shaft of heat through Marjorie. She chalked up this strange reaction to her state of exhaustion.
They both jumped slightly when the front door flew open and light spilled out, getting lost in the fog before it reached Marjorie and Jason. “Marjorie? Marjorie, is that you?” It was Loretta’s voice, anxious and tense.
Jason led Marjorie up the porch steps. “It’s both of us, Loretta. Sorry we’ve been so long. I should have telephoned.”
“What in the world are you doing, coming home at this hour?”
Marjorie might have been embarrassed, had Loretta not been who she was. As it was, she knew that Loretta probably would have thrown a party had Marjorie ever done anything outré. “It’s naught scandalous, you may be sure,” she said, and she actually smiled for real.
“Of course it’s not. I know you too well to think you actually did anything unusual, Marjorie MacTavish.” Loretta made a pretty picture, framed in the light from the entryway of her house. She was enormously pregnant, and her blue brocade dressing gown pooched in front of her as if she’d strapped pillows to her waist. Her masses of dark hair had been braided and fell over her shoulders, and her big brown eyes were wide with avid curiosity.
“Let Marjorie inside, Loretta, and I’ll tell you all about it,” Jason said.
Loretta’s eyes grew even wider. “You mean you had an adventure, and you didn’t take me along?”
Marjorie, recalling Jia Lee, the dead man, and the others whom Jason had bandaged, said tightly, “Aye, it was an adventure, all right.”
Perfect Wedding Page 7