She slammed her palm on the desk. “Tien Gum wasn’t escaping. She was abducted!” Miss Cameron turned to the judge. “This man knocked me to the street and stood watching as the highbinders fled with my daughter. I intend to have his badge for this!”
Judge Reinhardt scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “That’s a serious accusation, Miss. It sounds to me like you’re part of a foiled escape plan.”
Miss Cameron’s nostrils flared, a vein twitching at the side of her forehead. This woman was going to erupt like Vesuvius if he didn’t step in.
Charles took a step forward. “Judge, I noticed a reporter from the Chronicle in the gallery during the trial, and he appeared quite moved by the girl’s story. He was lingering in the hall as I made my way in here. I believe he’d like a few words with Miss Cameron before the guard escorts her to jail.” He let his gaze settle on Miss Cameron’s soiled dress. “Perhaps a photograph.”
“No.” The judge pushed up from his seat, straightening his robes. “Miss Cameron, since the girl is no longer in custody, I see no reason to detain you further.” He cleared his throat. “And I’d appreciate it if you would not speak to the press until we ascertain the girl’s whereabouts. If she’s been abducted, as you put it . . .” his nose wrinkled at the words. “We wouldn’t want to tip our hand to the criminals.”
Miss Cameron pressed her lips together and shot a quick glance at Charles before returning her attention to Judge Reinhardt. “Do I have your word you’ll pursue the matter? Tien Gum is but sixteen years old and a guest on our shores. She doesn’t deserve the life that’s been thrust upon her.”
The judge glowered. “We’ll find her.”
***
Elizabeth pressed the bolt of bleached muslin against her pounding heart and stared at the parquet flooring rather than the three rows of students. Whatever had made her think she could teach sewing?
Kum Yong looped her arm around Elizabeth’s waist as she addressed the class. “I know Miss Cameron wanted to be here to introduce you to the newest teacher at 920, but I’m afraid she’s been detained. Miss Elizabeth King is eager to take part in our work, and if you’ve seen any of her beautiful frocks, you already know she’s a gifted seamstress.”
Elizabeth ran a hand down the royal blue jacket she’d worn to court. There went her intentions of dressing simply, like every schoolteacher she’d known. Buoyed by Kum Yong’s words, she lifted her gaze and studied the room’s occupants. Twelve students of varying ages sat clustered at six sewing machines. Most of the girls wore stony expressions, their faces holding no hints of the impressions within.
Kum Yong nodded at the class. “I’m confident you will show Miss King all due respect. I can’t wait to see the beautiful things you will produce. May you work with eager hands.” After another quick squeeze to Elizabeth’s arm, Kum Yong departed.
For a sickening moment, the silent room seemed to swallow her. Elizabeth placed the cloth on the front table, bracing her hands against it for balance. “I’m honored to be here with you.” She dug in her pocket for the speech she’d written the night before, her fingers settling on the folded paper. “I wish to say a few words.” Elizabeth drew out the stationery and opened it. An oblong face, surrounded by pink flowers, stared up at her. Yoke Soo. Her carefully penned thoughts must still be sitting atop the bureau. Elizabeth sighed and returned the drawing to her pocket. “I have a confession to make.” She glanced around, taking in each face. “I’ve never taught school before. I hope you will show patience.”
Two older students glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. One young girl raised her hand, her quivering palm extended upward. “Teacher, my name is Ah Cheng, and I’ve never attended school.”
The class broke in hesitant giggles.
The knots in Elizabeth’s neck uncurled, the laughter coaxing a smile to her lips. “Then we’re even.” Perhaps this wouldn’t be so hard.
She unrolled the fabric, spreading it on the table. “This building smells of new paint and tile, but I’ve noticed very few curtains. Do any of your rooms have window coverings yet?”
The girls shook their heads, eyes widening.
“I think it’s time we fixed the problem. We can learn some basic stitches for practice. When we’re finished, you can hang your projects in your rooms. Then, if Miss Cameron approves, we can design some decorative ones for the common areas.”
The murmur of excitement lifted Elizabeth’s spirits. She lifted several cut pieces of muslin. “These will serve as the lining. We’ll start there, so if we make a few mistakes at first, they’ll be less noticeable. Have any of you threaded a machine before?”
A few tentative hands went up.
Elizabeth beckoned the four girls forward and distributed spools. “Will you help the other students? Make sure to show them all the steps.”
The children nodded, smiling.
The room dissolved into a steady hum of voices as the helpers took over, speaking a mixture of English and Cantonese.
Elizabeth pulled her stool close to the sewing machine, noting her white thread already in place. Someone must have prepared it beforehand. Isn’t that fortuitous? She placed her feet on the treadle and gave a couple cautious rocks, studying the needle as it rose and fell in quick succession.
Once the conversations settled, she waved the pupils up front. “Come close, where you’ll be able to see.”
Ah Cheng nestled beside her elbow. The others fanned about in a semicircle behind her.
Elizabeth lifted the fabric pieces, rotating on her stool so everyone could see. “You see how I have this section folded under? We’re going to stitch it down, so we have a nice edge and nothing unravels. I’ve already measured the windows and marked where you should stitch. I’ll show you how to do that another time.” She slid the material into place. After a quick demonstration on how the needle mechanism functioned, she rocked the treadle with her feet. Several stitches later, the tension on the thread increased, slowing the needle. Elizabeth frowned. Perhaps it hadn’t been used in awhile. She reversed the belt wheel and tried a second time.
A hush descended over the room. The girls leaned forward.
Heat gathered under Elizabeth’s collar. Some seamstress she turned out to be. If only it were a piano. She jammed her treadle down, working the device like a reluctant pump organ.
The device seized up, the needle yanking free from its clamp. Thread spilled loose, the spool bouncing like a marionette in the hands of an overexcited toddler.
The girls closest to her gasped while a few of the older ones drew back, tittering behind their palms.
Elizabeth’s throat clenched as her heart pounded against her ribs. She returned the spool to its place and wrenched the damaged fabric from the pressure foot, a tangled mess of knotted thread dangling from the half-finished seam. “I don’t know what happened here.” She bit her lip, studying the apparatus. Crouching down she stared at the thread controller. The needle dangled off-kilter from its screw, as if someone had installed it sideways. Why would someone do such a foolish thing?
She straightened and glanced around at the class. Two of the older students smirked.
Could this be a test of her authority? So soon? Elizabeth pushed down the tremors building in her stomach. “Did one of you set up this machine?”
All gazes dropped to the floor, except for one tall girl in the back. The student’s dark eyes narrowed as they fixed on Elizabeth, her hard stare sending a quiver through Elizabeth’s heart.
Settling both hands on the table, Elizabeth ignored her clammy palms. What could she do? How did one punish a girl who’d already lived through torture? Old Miss Westin at the Sacramento School for Girls would have had a ruler at the ready. Did Elizabeth dare do the same? You’re the instructor now. Act like it. She straightened, pressing her shoulders back. “What’s your name?”
The student’s brows shot up. “Qui N’gun . . . Teacher.” Her words were halting and loud, lips quivering.
A
h Cheng tugged Elizabeth’s sleeve. “It wasn’t her, teacher.”
Elizabeth lowered herself a few inches to meet the girl’s eyes. “How do you know?”
The little one stretched up on her toes. “Teacher. I did it. I wanted to surprise you.” Blotches of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “I thought I knew how.”
Elizabeth sucked in her breath. Not a prank. An innocent mistake. “Oh . . .” Perhaps Miss Westin wasn’t the best role model for this group of fragile souls. Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” She reached a hand out to Qui N’gun.
The student shook her head and tapped her ear. “I . . . I . . .” Her clumsy voice rattled.
Another tug on Elizabeth’s skirt drew her attention to her young helper. “She doesn’t hear well, teacher. She needs to see your mouth.”
Elizabeth sank back on the stool. Less than ten minutes in and she’d already proven her incompetence as a teacher. Perhaps she should pack her trunk now. “I understand.” She moistened her dry lips, gazing around at the students. She hadn’t even bothered to ask their names. Her father’s voice filtered into her memory. A patient is first and foremost a person. Treat them as such.
“Let’s begin again.” Elizabeth stood and dragged her stool away from the machine. “I’d like to get acquainted first. Can each of you say your name and a little bit about yourself? Why don’t you tell me what sort of projects you’d like to sew. Dresses? Waists? Handkerchiefs?”
The children glanced around at each other with shy smiles.
As the students returned to their seats, Elizabeth sat back and listened. The girls began chattering—slowly at first, then with greater animation as she prodded with additional questions. Sometimes a student interpreted for another, explaining a word or two. By the end of class, Elizabeth knew each name, plus the Cantonese words for fabric, thread, sewing, and thank you. Even when the foreign words muddled in her ears, the sound of the girls’ voices entranced her. Their pitches rose and fell like twittering birds. Maybe the key to being a teacher is remembering to be a student as well.
She glanced down at her timepiece with a grimace. The class period had filtered away with no sewing accomplished. And yet, she may have cleared a path for the future. “You have all been very helpful. M gah.” Elizabeth wrapped her mouth around the odd words.
The girls giggled.
“No!” Little Ah Cheng clicked her tongue. “M goi, teacher, m goi.” She bounced in her seat. “And we should be thanking you.” She jumped up and pressed herself into Elizabeth’s arms. “I’m sorry about your machine. I hope it can be fixed.”
“Of course it can. And you were a dear to try to help me. Tomorrow we will start on your new curtains.”
The students filed out, and Elizabeth lowered her head to the table for a brief moment. What a day. First the courtroom trial, then the trial of teaching. What more could happen?
A gentle rapping sounded from the door frame.
Elizabeth lifted her gaze.
Kum Yong waited in the doorway. “Good, you’re finished. Miss Cameron is back, and the new attorney is at her side.”
8
Charles escorted Miss Cameron into the Mission’s front hall. “I hate to take my leave, but I must return to the office. My uncle expected me hours ago.”
“I require one additional moment of your time, Mr. McKinley.” Miss Cameron gestured for him to follow, leading the way to a small room off the hall. Unlike Uncle Silas’s palatial office, the missionary barely had room for a desk, a few packed shelves, and two chairs by the window.
Charles lingered in the doorway, reaching into his trouser pocket for his watch. If he didn’t report back soon, his first official day at the firm might be his last.
She slid open a drawer. “We are in your debt, sir. If you could leave one of your calling cards, I’d like to send your uncle a letter of gratitude.” She lifted out a leather-bound book and flipped open the cover.
“I’m sure it’s not necessary. Coming to your aid was an honor.”
“Nonetheless, it’s the least I can do.”
Charles withdrew his uncle’s card from a vest pocket and laid it in her hand. “I’m new to the firm, so I don’t have one of my own yet.”
Elizabeth rushed in, sweeping past him like a breath of wind. “Miss Cameron, I’m so relieved.” She halted midstep, eyes wide. “Your dress!”
“It’s nothing, child. I had a minor altercation with some tong members. They took Tien Gum.” Her face pinched into a frown. “My dress can be replaced; she cannot.” She lifted a hand toward Charles. “Mr. McKinley served as my champion before the judge. He frightened the poor man into releasing me.”
Elizabeth rewarded him with a wide smile. “We owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr. McKinley.” She poured a glass of water and handed the drink to her disheveled employer. “What shall we do about Tien Gum?”
Miss Cameron laid the card on her desk. “After I’ve changed, we’ll make some inquiries around Chinatown.”
Charles pushed a hand through his hair. “While those thugs are still on the loose? It’s too dangerous.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Won’t the police take care of it?”
“To the police, she is one Chinese outcast among the masses of unwanted immigrants. They’re probably relieved to be rid of her.” The missionary pressed a hand against her chest. “We know the truth—she is a precious daughter of the King. A pearl of great price.”
Elizabeth folded her arms, a spark rising in her blue eyes. “I will accompany you.”
“Don’t be—” He cut off the words. Ridiculous. Charles’s throat tightened at the thought. What were two women against the tongs? “How would you know where to search? I hear Chinatown is a maze of interconnected passages.”
Miss Cameron rifled through her notebook. “I have my sources—shopkeepers and businessmen, sympathetic to our cause. Word travels fast in this community. If she is still in San Francisco, they’ll know.”
“Where else would she be?” Elizabeth’s brows drew down.
“They sometimes move girls to other cities to hide them from us. Oakland, Los Angeles, Portland.”
Charles’s mind raced. He couldn’t leave these women to wander Chinatown unescorted. Uncle Silas would understand if he accompanied them. Or not. “Perhaps I should come along.”
Elizabeth’s lips pursed. Obviously, her gratitude had its limits.
Was there no way to redeem himself in Elizabeth’s eyes? “I’m involved in this case now. I’d like to see it through.”
“It’s gallant of you, Mr. McKinley.” Miss Cameron smiled. “But I’m quite at home in this community, and we’re more likely to get beneficial information without a stranger in tow. I will inform you of what we learn, if anything.”
The set of Elizabeth’s jaw triggered an odd swirl of emotions in Charles’s gut. She looked as if she’d follow the missionary anywhere, regardless of the risk. He cleared his throat. “After what happened today, I’m concerned for your safety.”
The older woman tapped the Bible sitting open on her desk. “ ‘He is my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my high tower, and my refuge, my savior.’ Do you feel you could protect us better than our Lord?”
Charles curled his fingers into a fist behind his back. “Of course not.”
“Then you may depart in peace.”
He blew out a long breath. “Please, don’t hesitate to summon me if you need anything.”
Miss Cameron inclined her head. “We will. Thank you.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.” Elizabeth brushed past him.
That eager to be rid of me? Charles followed her to the outer hall. When they reached the door, he paused, hat pressed to his chest. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
The dim light caught a curious glint in her blue eyes. “Ever since we met, you keep appearing—like a melody trapped in my mind.”
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “My mother says, ‘A bad penny always turns up
.’ ”
A hint of a smile teased at her lips. “You helped Donaldina today, so I wouldn’t call you a bad penny.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to make of you.”
Charles settled the hat on his head, trying not to focus on the single honey-blonde curl at the nape of her neck. “Considering you accused me of being a swindler a few days ago, I’d call it a distinct improvement.”
The dimple in her left cheek deepened as she walked him to the door. “I suppose.”
Charles bid her farewell and tromped down the steps to the street, conscious of her presence lingering in the doorway. A few more smiles, a few less scowls. Progress, indeed. If only he didn’t need to return to work.
Work. The pocket watch hung heavy from its chain, a reminder of how much time had passed since the morning’s cancelled trial. His mood crashed like a judge’s gavel.
Uncle Silas would certainly be sporting a scowl.
***
As they entered Chinatown, Elizabeth followed close to Donaldina and Kum Yong’s heels, darting glances from beneath her hat’s brim. They’d only traveled four blocks from the Mission, but it resembled no place she’d ever experienced. Could this still be San Francisco? Signs littered with foreign characters, store windows sporting unidentifiable goods, groups of Chinese men in their dark clothes and long braided queues—Elizabeth didn’t know where to look first. She pulled her gray shawl further over her blue gown, the splash of color making her feel conspicuous among the shoppers.
Donaldina wandered from store to store, a picture of calm as she swung her shopping basket and stopped to point out delicacies in the market stands. She lifted her face and gestured to a nearby cafe. “Mmm. Roast duck. Can you smell it?”
Elizabeth squeezed her gloved fingers, willing away the uneasy sensation in her chest. The scent turned her stomach. How could they discuss food and shopping, knowing Tien Gum remained in harm’s way?
A young girl, barely older than Yoke Soo, walked along the edge of the street, a chubby baby strapped to her back. Her eyes widened as they settled on Donaldina and Kum Yong. Turning mid-step, she scampered back the way she’d come.
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