THE IMPERIAL ENGINEER

by Judith B. Glad

He went to the back door and rattled the knob. Opening it, he inspected the lock. "You're right, ma'am. This lock is about as useless as ti...about the most useless thing I ever did see. You got a hammer and some nails?"

  "No, I don't. We took them to the other house." All of a sudden, tears clogged her throat. For the first time since she and Tony had come home to destruction of all they owned, she wept. Refusing to let Deputy Goode see her tears, she went into the parlor and on to the bedroom. Its lack of anything beyond bare necessities only made her weep the more. Even the bedspread was borrowed, one Mrs. Graham had intended to give to charity. She pushed the door shut and leaned against it, letting the tears flow freely down her cheeks.

  The door vibrated as he knocked on it. "Mrs. Dewitt, you gotta open this door. I have to watch you."

  "In a minute," she said. "I have to...just give me a moment's privacy."

  "Oh...uh. Sure. Yes, ma'am."

  She heard his footsteps recede, but only a little way. He was probably standing three feet from the door, never taking his eyes off of it.

  Lulu stood there until she felt calm and in control of herself again. She wiped her face and blinked several times to clear her vision. When she opened the door, she knew he could see the traces of her tears, but she didn't care. She had always prided herself on her strength of will, and now was the time to show it. Giving him a smile she knew looked as fragile and as uncertain as she felt, she said, "I'm sure Mrs. Graham, next door, has a hammer and nails. Perhaps you could get them and fix the windows so they can't be opened from outside."

  As he was about to open the back door, she added, "Warn her to stay indoors and keep Xi...her servant inside, until you let her know it's safe to go out. It would be just like her to rush over here to protect me."

  He returned in a few minutes, carrying the hammer and a stack of sheets. "She says to put these over the windows." Frowning he looked around. "How come you ain't got curtains?"

  "It's not important. Let's get started." The gingham curtains she had sewn for the parlor windows here had been hanging in the kitchen of Tony's house. They still hung there, in shreds.

  Once she and Goode had covered all the windows, Lulu dusted her hands together. "Well that's that. We'll have supper shortly, and then--" She looked at him, so solemn and earnest. "Do you play cribbage, Deputy? Perhaps after supper we might have a game or two."

  She'd be darned if she'd let him see her fear. For Tony and for herself.

  * * * *

  When Tony woke, he was lying in a dark room that neither smelled nor sounded like his own. He started to sit up and something stabbed him in the left side. Something sharp and painful, that robbed him of strength and breath, so he fell back, panting. When his head landed on the pillow, pain flared behind his left ear. Cautiously he touched the area and found a good-sized lump.

  Where the hell am I? And why? He tried to think back, but the last thing he could remember was...Great God, somebody shot me!

  So who'd brought him here? He turned his head, saw a faint line of light under a door some feet to his right. Cautiously he rolled to his side, got himself up on one elbow, then into a sitting position. The wound grabbed at him again, but now he was expecting the pain, it wasn't so bad. He was dizzy though, so he sat still for a minute or two, just making sure he was going to stay upright.

  There wasn't a sound from beyond the door, yet he could hear a far-off growl, as if many people were talking at once. Even as he cocked his head, trying to make out individual sounds, he heard a gunshot, then a series of them. The growl swelled, then subsided.

  The door opened and he blinked at the sudden light from a kerosene lantern. "You're awake. Good. I need your help."

  Tony recognized the sheriff's voice, even though his face was in deep shadow. "Need me?" he said, feeling as if his every thought was caught in thick, clinging mud. "Why?"

  "To talk to those damn Chinamen. Some of the boys got liquored up and decided to burn them out. We managed to stop 'em before they'd done more than scorch the side of one building. But now the Chinamen are convinced they have to defend themselves. They've blockaded the streets and are standing out there with pitchforks and clubs."

  Tony shook his head, wondering why "What makes you think they'll listen to me?"

  "That laundryman, Yu? He looks to be their spokesman He asked for you. Says he'll talk to you and nobody else."

  Well, hell! There went any hopes he had of keeping secrets. I guess I owe it to Mr. Yu. He's helped me out.

  Although he occasionally had to lay a hand against the wall to steady himself, Tony got his clothes on. The wound in his side stabbed sharply a couple of times, making his breath hiss between clenched teeth. He was sitting on the side of the cot, wondering how he was going to bend to tie his boots, when the doctor came in.

  "Let me take a look at your eyes," he said, holding a lamp high. "Hmmm." He peered closely at Tony's eyes, so close he was little more than a tan-and-gray blur. "Pupils look all right. But if you feel dizzy or light-headed anytime in the next day or two, you come see me. You hit that rock floor pretty hard when you fell. Too bad it didn't knock some sense into you." He removed the bandage around Tony's ribs. "Good, the bleeding's stopped."

  Tony craned his neck, trying to see the damage, but the doctor had replaced the bandage. "How bad?"

  "Not as bad as it could have been, if he'd hit you square. You've got a cracked rib and an ugly tear where the bullet slid along the bone. Just be happy he was using a handgun." Finished tying the strips that held the bandage snug, he said, "Are you up to this?"

  "Believe me, Doctor, I'd rather stay in this bed than go anywhere right now." Tony stood and tested his balance. Better. As long as he didn't turn his head too rapidly, he should be fine. "But I'd better go talk to Mr. Yu."

  Alone again, he took a wide stance and closed his eyes. Breathing to his belly, he calmed his mind and reached for strength. In a few moments, he felt it flood him, until his legs were firm and his mind clear. He performed a quick Qigong routine, then opened the door. "I'm ready," he said.

  * * * *

  Lulu could hear the deputy's snores when she pressed her ear to the door. Good. He's sound asleep. She had already worked loose the nails he'd pounded into the window frame. Fortunately he'd paid attention when she insisted he should drive them no more than halfway in.

  If only the vandal hadn't destroyed her britches along with everything else. Tony's really didn't fit. If she tried to walk anywhere in them, they'd trip her up.

  She pulled her skirt between her legs and tucked it into her waistband. The wool socks she'd found among Tony's clothing covered the legs of her Union suit, and the dark shawl, its ends knotted at her back, held the too-big, ragged sweater close to her body. She'd be cold if she had to stand still for long, but the outlandish getup would let her move freely.

  She listened a bit longer, making sure Deputy Goode was truly asleep. When she was satisfied, she tiptoed across the room to where she'd leaned the shotgun beside the window. Easing the lower sash up, she slipped out, gun in hand. Again she paused to listen. Something was happening down toward Chinatown. A mob? Had the local troublemakers decided to take the law into their own hands? "I wouldn't be surprised," she muttered.

  Her breath formed an icy cloud before her face as she crossed the small back yard and emerged onto Second Street from behind the bare lilac bushes. If only there was a moon, she grumbled silently, as she all but tripped over something. Again she paused, listened. Both sides of the duplex house were quiet. Soft light shone though the sheet stretched over the parlor window of her half, but Mrs. Graham's half was completely dark. Staying close to the edge of the street, she headed south, hoping that the house where Tony was belonged to Dr. Lewis. She had no idea where the other doctors kept their offices.

  The noise from Chinatown grew fainter as she walked north. Chinatown sat lower than Main Street, and the slope, combined with the tall buildings downtown, effectively cut off the worst of the racket. All she
could hear was the deep, formless snarl of anger and fear.

  She was across the street from the doctor's house when the door opened and the sheriff emerged. "I'll be back to get him in a while," he called to someone inside. "You get him ready to go."

  She had a terrible suspicion he referred to Tony. What were they going to do with her husband? Sacrifice him to a mob?

  How did they discover he is Chinese?

  She waited until the sheriff was out of sight, then crossed the street and crept along the side of the house. At each window, she halted and tried to peer inside.

  The first was covered by a roller blind, so all she could see was a narrow strip of the room. Enough to tell it was an office, faintly illuminated by light from an open door. It was unoccupied, unless someone was sitting in the dark. The next window was uncovered, but since it gave onto a dark room, she could see nothing beyond a pale outline of a four-poster bed.

  There was a picket fence across the lot, attached to the back corner of the house. It had a gate, but Lulu chose to climb it. In her experience, gates always squeaked. With a little effort and having acquired only one splinter, she got to the other side and into the back yard. She rounded the corner and eased along the back wall, past a screened porch that undoubtedly gave off the kitchen. As she approached the next window, a light went on inside. Lulu pressed herself against the siding and winced when the shotgun barrel scraped the wood. Holding her breath, she waited for someone to come and check, but after a while decided no one had heard, or if they had, they'd ignored it.

  She eased up to the edge of the window and looked inside. All she could see was the foot of a bed and a man standing at its foot. Because all that was visible was his shoulder and arm, she couldn't be sure if he was the doctor or the sheriff. Squatting, she duckwalked under the window and rose again on the other side. Once more she peeked around the edge of the window.

  Yes! There was Tony, sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed. The other man was Dr. Lewis. Both men's voices came only faintly to her ears. After a while, the doctor left, pulling the door shut behind himself.

  Tony looked awful. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. As she watched, he touched the back of his head, gingerly, as if it hurt. About to tap on the window, she hesitated when he got to his feet. He moved with caution and a certain clumsiness, unlike his usual catlike grace.

  The fool! Where did he think he was going?

  She watched until he left the room, then dashed back the way she'd come, no longer caring whether someone heard her or not. The fence slowed her briefly when one of the pickets caught on her skirt and pulled it free of her waistband. She let it hang, because she'd heard the front door open.

  The sheriff was just coming up the walk when she got to the corner. She ducked back, out of sight.

  "You about ready?" she heard him say.

  "As ready as I'll ever be," Tony replied. His voice was steady and strong. Perhaps he wasn't hurt as badly as she'd feared.

  Never mind. She was going to make sure he stayed out of trouble.

  Lulu kept half a block behind the two men as they walked south along Main. When they turned into Silver Street, a narrow, willow-lined lane, she hurried to catch up. Afraid she'd lose them in the dark, she all but trod on their heels. Being silent was no longer an issue, for the crowd noise had increased as they drew nearer. It was filled with anger and a wordless warning of violence to come. She could hear individual voices, but not the words they yelled. Now and then a loud report, either a pistol shot or a firecracker, punctuated the rumble.

  Bitter memories all but overwhelmed her. So had the mob of Klansmen spoken with one enraged, dangerous voice as they gathered before Reverend Thomas's house.

  Would tonight's outcome be the same?

  When Tony and the sheriff stepped into the flickering light of the many torches, she slipped behind a tangle of leafless willows. Half a dozen men with rifles stood in the middle of River Road, their backs to the Chinese barricade. Protecting the Chinese? They must be. Afraid to draw attention to herself, she stayed where she was and fumed.

  The sheriff called out. "Fun's over boys. Go on home now, and let me settle this."

  Catcalls answered him. A rock clattered on the icy road by his feet. Lulu stepped out of her hiding place far enough that she could see the crowd of men filling the street between where the sheriff stood and the edge of town. No, not a crowd, a mob, for the angry roar came from the men comprising it.

  She recognized several faces in the mob, although she could put names to only a few, idlers and layabouts mostly, who were often to be found sitting on the benches in front of one or another saloon. They carried torches, pitchforks, clubs, and coils of rope. One man in the front held a can of coal oil.

  She had no doubt what he intended it for.

  Piled diagonally across the intersection, the barricade was made up of furniture, logs, turned-over carts, and debris. Behind it were the Chinese. They carried torches, pitchforks, and clubs, but they stood quietly. Waiting.

  The sheriff said something to Tony, then turned to face the mob of townspeople.

  Tony walked toward the barricade.

  An opening was made between two carts, and he disappeared into it.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  It is by the goodness of God that in our country we have those three unspeakably precious things: freedom of speech, freedom of conscience, and the prudence never to practice either of them.

  Mark Twain

  ~~~

  Tony felt the pressure of a hundred angry glares upon his back as he walked to the barricade. When it opened before him, he resisted the urge to move faster, and when it closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. There were far too many rifles in that crowd.

  Mr. Yu stepped forward and greeted him.

  He bowed. "You summoned me?"

  "I regret we must impose on your goodwill," Mr. Yu said. "Only in the greatest necessity would we do so."

  "It is of no import. You have been obliging when I requested assistance. I am merely repaying the kindness."

  "We have prepared a statement to be presented to the rulers of this town. If you would be so kind as to read it and ascertain it contains the words we wish to say, we would be eternally in your debt." A bespectacled man handed Mr. Yu a paper, which he in turn gave to Tony.

  Opening it, he saw it was covered with Chinese characters. Well, hell!

  "As you can see, we have not yet translated it into English. We hoped--"

  "Mr. Yu, I am willing to assist you as much as I can." Even as he spoke the words, Tony realized they were true. The Chinese community had helped him over and above the assistance he'd asked for. They had welcomed him as one of them--at least Mr. Yu had--yet they had kept his guilty secret. "I'm willing to help," he repeated, "but I cannot read this. I never learned."

  "Ah. Unfortunate. Perhaps if we spoke the words, you would be kind enough then to write them down."

  "Certainly. Is there somewhere we can go to sit down?"

  Shortly he was ensconced at a table in a small room. Scrolls and packets of paper were piled neatly on shelves along one wall, and the smell of cooking reminded him he hadn't had a bite since dinner. At least twelve hours ago. "I'm ready," he said, sternly telling his belly to be patient. "Tell me what you wish to say."

  The declaration was a simple one, a reiteration of their previous statement. The Chinese of Wood River communities had a right to stay in the homes they had made for themselves and had no intention of leaving. They had him list the work they did and the property they owned. "Are you sure you want to put valuations on these buildings?" he said. "Wasn't there already an accusation you'd underpaid your property taxes?"

  "Perhaps we have not paid taxes for as much as the buildings are worth. We did not know their true value, only what a person not Chinese would offer us for them." He cast a quick glance at an older man who stood in the shadows. "We have since been advised what our property is worth."

  Tony listed t
he numbers without further comment, wondering if they'd gotten honest advice.

  He worked for an hour and more. When he lay down his pen at last, he saw that half a dozen older men were crowded into the room. "Shall I read it?"

  "In English, if you please, very slowly. I will translate," the fellow with spectacles said.

  When he'd done reading, the men in the room all nodded. "It is good," Mr. Yu said after looking around. "May we prevail upon you to carry it to the office of the newspaper tomorrow?"

  "To the newspaper? I thought you wanted to give it to the sheriff."

  "The sheriff will treat us fairly, unless he is ordered to do otherwise by those who govern this place. Thus far they have restrained themselves."

  "Let's hope they keep on doing it," Tony said. When he saw the puzzled looks on several faces, he realized he'd spoken in English. He repeated his words in Chinese.

  Everyone nodded again. "It is to be devoutly desired," Mr. Yu agreed. "Are you ready to depart?"

  "More than," Tony told him, feeling the results of a gunshot, a lump on the head, and a week of too-short nights.

  When he emerged from the barricade, he saw that the crowd had dispersed while he'd been in Chinatown. The sheriff was waiting for him, accompanied by a tall man with a rifle over his arm. And a woman.

  "Lulu?"

  She couldn't decide whether to kiss him or kick him. At the very least, she was going to tear a strip from his hide for risking his fool neck.

  "What the devil are you doing here?"

  Caught with her mouth open, she could only gape.

  The sheriff answered for her. "She followed us. You'd no more than gone inside when she came busting out of the brush, waving that shotgun around and yelling for us to stop you."

  "Do you blame me? Sending that deputy to tell me my husband had been shot, then locking me up so I couldn't find out if he was alive or dead!" She glared at the sheriff, then at Tony. "What are you laughing at?"

  "You." He put his arms around her. "Were you really worried about me, Lulu?"