“Fronah!” he exclaimed urgently, and she came fully awake. “Take the tiller. Just keep her straight.”
Gabriel pattered to the foredeck and released the pole that held the jib out from the hull. The starboard sheet coiled around his hand, he hurried back to the cockpit. With disciplined haste he pulled in the sheet and secured it around a wooden cleat.
“A squall,” he explained, taking the tiller. “It’ll hit us in a minute. Keep your head down.”
A black shape raced across the Long River, the wind-driven rain churning the muddy water. The river was placid outside the squall, which bore directly down upon them. Fronah shivered in the sudden coolness, though she knew she was safe in Gabriel’s hands. His bare foot controlling the tiller, he reeled in the mainsail sheet with both hands.
Fronah struggled to rise from the bench, which canted sharply as the cutter tilted to starboard. Grasping the tiller with his left hand, Gabriel frantically tugged at the mainsheet, which appeared to be snagged against the mast.
“Down!” he shouted. “Get down, damn it!”
The mainsail swung across the cockpit, crashing when the taut sheet checked its momentum. The massive boom hurtled so close it ruffled Fronah’s hair. The entire cutter trembled, and she was flung into the well of the cockpit. Sprawled on the floorboards, she watched Gabriel wrestle with the sheets and the tiller as the boom swung out of control. Half a minute later, the center of the squall had passed. Both sails taut to starboard, the cutter raced toward a wooded inlet.
Fronah was startled but not alarmed. She picked herself up and perched on the port-side bench, which reared high as the cutter heeled under the weight of the wind.
“Get down, I said!” Gabriel screamed at her. “Get down, damn it! And stay down!”
Startled by his vehemence, Fronah slid onto the bench. Clinging to the cockpit’s coaming, she watched as he eased the sheets slightly. Their wild charge across the stream slowed, and the cutter rose marginally upright.
“I’m sorry!” His voice was harsh with tension. “We’ve got to anchor.”
“But the wind’s dropping,” she protested. “Why must we …”
“Be quiet, Fronah!” he commanded. “Just be quiet and stay out of my way. Do as I say, damn it!”
She was astonished by the abrupt alteration in the sailor who had weathered many storms far more violent than this passing squall. His clenched lips were twitching; his face was whiter than the sails; and his eyes blinked incessantly. His hand trembled on the tiller, his fingers whitened by the strength of his grasp.
Unspeaking, Gabriel guided the cutter into the shelter of the inlet. When the prow rounded a bend, he steered toward the wooded shore, released the tiller, and scurried to the foredeck. Fronah was for the first time alarmed. It was mad to abandon control of the craft.
But the bow swung to point into the wind, and the wind-starved sails quivered quiescent amidships. As the cutter’s forward motion ceased, Gabriel flung the anchor overboard. He jerked hard on the line to make sure it would hold. Apparently satisfied, he released the jib halyard, and the sail slid down to the deck. Still unspeaking, he gathered in the jib and secured it before lowering the mainsail.
He did not speak until the stiff canvas was furled above the heavy boom. Fronah wisely remained silent, though she marveled at the contrast between his unhurried competence and his stricken expression.
“You’ll find brandy in the cabin locker,” Gabriel finally said. “Could you bring it up?”
He raised the green bottle to his lips and gulped hard. After taking a second long draft, he corked the neck and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Red splotches gleamed on his cheekbones as his normal ruddy tan slowly returned.
“I’m sorry, Fronah,” he apologized. “Very sorry I was so rough with you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “But what’s wrong? It wasn’t that dangerous, was it? I didn’t have time to be afraid.”
“There was no need to be afraid. It was nothing—just a baby squall.”
“Then why … why were you so shaken? Why did you …”
“I said I was sorry, Fronah, and I am.” Tension still edged his voice. “But if you want the truth, I was afraid, damned frightened.”
“It must have been dangerous. Otherwise you wouldn’t … I know you’ve seen much worse … far more dangerous storms. And David says you hardly turned a hair in the fighting.”
“Not so he could see it,” the American laughed shakily. “I’ve been scared to death before, but afraid to show it. Only once, though, was I as frightened as just now … out there.”
“Why, my dear?” The endearment slipped out. “Won’t you tell me? Of course, if you’d rather not …”
“What the hell, Fronah! I might as well. But first let me have a tumbler for my brandy. Why not get one for yourself? It’s chilly here under the trees.”
Despite the dappled shadows cast on the still water by the foliage, it was actually warmer inshore than on the river. But Gabriel was still shivering. She poured him a generous brandy and took a small one for herself. He drank half at one swallow, while she sipped. The spirits were warm in her throat, but his shivering hardly subsided.
“A couple of years ago, near Marblehead,” he began jerkily, “Jane—my wife Jane and I—we were sailing a cutter like this one. A beautiful day without a cloud. I was cocksure. I damned well knew the weather would keep perfect. Just a steady breeze from the southwest and a light chop, but nothing to worry about. I didn’t even bother to check the forecast. I was a great sailor—and I knew.”
Still trembling, Gabriel took a pull of his brandy.
“Jane was carrying our child, about six months along. I laughed when she worried about going out. Damned heavy lead keel under you and one of the best small-boat men in New England at the helm, I told her.”
He looked into his brandy and was silent for half a minute.
“It happened in the second hour,” he resumed slowly. “A damned big squall, not a little fellow like this one. I fought it single-handed for maybe an hour and a half. I got reefed down, and even set the storm jib. Only God knows how I got the cutter pointed into the wind alone. Jane kept down with a rope tied under her arms. She wasn’t fazed, but was laughing and saying I hadn’t just been boasting, I really was the best small-boat man in New England. The wind began to drop, and I reckoned everything was all right.”
Fronah laid her hand on his. It was shaking, and his eyes were wet. Sitting very still, she waited for him to continue.
“I reckoned it was all over. Still a bit rough, but nothing to worry about. So I asked her to ease the jib sheet. Out of nowhere a gust swooped down on us and practically knocked the cutter over. Naturally, the boom swung. It grazed her head and … and knocked her overboard. Oh, I hauled her back quickly … but …”
“Don’t talk about it any more, my dear.” Fronah put her arm around his neck and drew his head down to her breast. “You’re just torturing yourself.”
“I might as well, seeing as I’m almost through. I’ve never told anyone the whole story before. Not that I … I asked her to ease the sheet. Jane never regained consciousness after the miscarriage. It was a boy, they told me, a boy, but she never knew, though she opened her eyes, those wonderful brown eyes, and looked at me … so serene for a few seconds. A day later, she … she died. All because of my stupid arrogance. All my fault!”
He was muttering incoherently. She pressed his head closer and felt his tears seep through the thin dimity. She smoothed his hair, her hand lingering on the nape of his neck. Her free hand stroked his back. He trembled and pressed closer, his arms reaching around her. Just as naturally, she unbuttoned her bodice so that she could feel his cheek against her breasts. He clasped her tighter when she tried to slip out of his grasp.
“Just a moment, my darling,” she soothed him. “Just let me loose for a moment.”
Fronah drew her dress and shift over her head. She lay down beside him on the
bench and opened his shirt. He looked up and gasped at her nakedness.
“Oh, Fronah,” he whispered hoarsely. “Oh, my darling. But it’s not … we shouldn’t …”
“Hush, my love, hush,” she crooned. “Just be quiet.”
They came together naturally. She felt no great ecstasy as he entered her, only comfort and peace. When he shuddered and lay still, she drew his face to her breasts again. Gazing into the sunlight, she stroked his hair and murmured endearments.
“Oh, Fronah, my darling.” His arms tightened around her. “Fronah, my love, I’ve wanted …”
He pushed himself up against the teak coaming, but his arms still clasped her.
“This is terrible.” His eyes were shadowed. “I shouldn’t have … I never meant to Fronah, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Gabriel,” she said slowly. “I’ll never be sorry. I think I’ve wanted this to happen for a long time.”
CHAPTER 69
July 14, 1873
SHANGHAI
“Why I celebrated the French Republic by gulping all those bubbles, I don’t know,” Saul Haleevie complained. “I don’t approve of republics, and I’m not fond of the French.”
“Your position, my dear.” Sarah Haleevie laughed. “The French would be hurt if a municipal councilor didn’t appear. Besides, I rather like champagne.”
The merchant paced the veranda, grumbling each time he passed his wife, who was placidly pushing a needle through her embroidery. It was the evening of Bastille Day, July 14, 1873, and the oppressive Shanghai weather intensified his irritation.
He was tired, but not sleepy. He was hungry, but he had no desire to eat. On Szechwan Road cats swished their tails nervously and dogs yapped protests against the muggy atmosphere that permitted them neither to sleep nor to prowl.
“Let’s take a stroll,” Saul abruptly suggested.
“It’s too hot,” Sarah replied. “I’d melt.”
“All right, let’s take a drive and get some air.”
“If you must,” Sarah sighed, “I’ll come along.”
“The young boy finally gave in.” Saul was slightly more cheerful after making a decision, however trivial. “About time, too.”
“What young boy, Saul?”
“That Manchu boy, the Emperor. He’s finally received the ambassadors after delaying for months after his coronation.”
“I see, Saul.”
“Everybody’s satisfied and nobody’s satisfied. The ambassadors have finally seen the Son of Heaven. And they didn’t kowtow, but just bowed. Believe it or not, they joked with each other in his presence. Can you imagine ambassadors joking before Queen Victoria?”
“So the Manchus came out badly?”
“Of course not.” Saul’s tone was heavily ironic. “His Majesty received the barbarian ambassadors in the Kiosk of Purple Brilliance, where envoys from tributary peoples like Vietnamese or Koreans are normally received. The Peking Gazette set the whole thing in perspective. Being the oldest journal in the world, it is, naturally, the most mendacious. The Gazette reported: ‘The barbarian envoys were so awe-stricken they trembled and dared not look upon the Imperial countenance.’”
“Well, that’s that. How long have they been arguing about this audience?”
“Since 1860. But, finally, the ambassadors can report they didn’t kowtow. And the Manchus can tell themselves the Emperor wasn’t humbled but graciously overlooked the barbarians’ bad manners. May God keep us from all monarchs and all ambassadors.”
“A moment ago you were denouncing republics.”
“God defend us from presidents, too.” He grinned. “From everyone who meddles with honest merchants.”
The pony trap rattled westward on the cobblestones of Bubbling Well Road, passing cross streets called after the provinces of the Empire. Chinese families lounging on cane chairs obstructed the footpaths, their faces wan in the lamplight from open doors. The normally frenetic city was stifled by the heat. Though the smart trot stirred a breeze, Sarah touched the groom’s arm when he raised his whip to slash the pony’s sweaty haunches again.
“Mafoo, more better go more slow,” she said. “No wanchee makee pony dead.”
Saul smiled at her pidgin, wondering again why a woman who spoke four languages well could not master Shanghainese. His smile faded when she turned to question him.
“Saul, why are you so edgy? Aren’t things getting better?”
“So how could business be better?” He shrugged in self-parody. “What can I say, Sarah? It’s not disastrous, but that’s about all.”
“You’re worried about Samuelsons’ loan?”
“Naturally, but I’ll manage somehow. I had to buy out Khartoons, and I’ll have to make good. If only property would begin moving, prices come off the floor.”
“Is there any hope?”
“There’s always hope, but right now nothing else. There’s also hope for Aisek Lee’s pardon. David writes he’s very hopeful but needs funds for bribes. How can I not give, even if I’m paying for Aisek to come back to ruin us?”
“You must, of course.”
“Sarah, that’s enough. Let’s not discuss business on an already depressing night.”
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Fronah,” she said. “If I must take this pointless drive …”
The merchant’s daughter, like his business, was a subject he preferred to avoid.
“Maylu’s overjoyed, you know.” Sarah’s genius for indirection still amazed him. “She hasn’t seen Fronah happier in years.”
“I’m glad Maylu’s also happy. At least two people’re happy about this … this …”
“I’m happy, too, Saul. Gabriel’s so good for her she’s a new woman.”
“And Judah? Must my grandson see his mother behave like a …”
“Your grandson’s innocence isn’t sullied. They’re grownups, Saul, and they’re very careful Judah doesn’t know. You should be happy Fronah’s come alive again.”
“So I’m happy. You want me to sing a little song, perhaps dance a jig? Maybe I should make up their bed?”
“Stop it, Saul,” she rejoined. “You’re acting jealous … as if she were your sweetheart, not your daughter.”
“Gabriel is a good man, I admit it. I like him, but am I supposed to jump with joy because my daughter’s having an affair with a Gentile?”
“Saul, we must show her the ring, Lionel’s ring!”
“So she can marry Hyde?” He looked at her in astonishment. “Are you crazy tonight?”
“Not so she can marry Gabriel. It’s still too early for that.”
“Too early!”
“Much too early!” Sarah was undeterred. “She must be sure. As long as she thinks Lionel could be alive, she’ll never know how she really feels. Saul, it’s her last chance for happiness. We should have told her years ago.”
“Things just slipped along. Maybe we should’ve years ago, but not now. Let her think Lionel could be alive—and let her believe she can’t divorce him. Let her, God forbid, have affairs with a dozen Gentiles, but not marry.”
“Saul, please stop talking like a fool.” Sarah silenced him. “Stop indulging yourself. If you don’t show her the ring, she’ll never be free to know how she really feels.”
“I don’t want a Gentile son-in-law, Sarah. That’s flat.”
“The Jewish son-in-law you … we … picked was no bargain, was he? Besides, the children would be Jewish.”
“I know, Sarah. I’m not a fool.”
“Then you’ll show her the ring?”
“I’ll think about it,” he conceded, “though I hate to interfere.”
“Not telling her is interfering,” she pressed. “You haven’t promised, Saul.”
“In six months, if they’re still together, I’ll tell her.”
The built-up cross streets had given way to open fields intersected by paths. The pony trap approached a cluster of bonfires, torches, and lanterns, which flared on a long
two-story building sheathed with bamboo scaffolding. Sarah counted nine windows on the ground floor of the central structure and nine more in each of the wings behind the balustraded veranda of the second floor, while, beside the pillars of the portico, French windows opened from the first floor onto a marble terrace. Three wide stairways descended from the terrace to an open expanse cluttered with the debris and the shacks of the builders.
“It’s beautiful, dear,” Sarah gasped. “But I never expected … You said you stopped work.”
“Otherwise it would be finished by now. I’ve just started again, but it’ll be ready by Yom Kippur. I promised you Jade House, and I’m giving you Jade House.”
“Saul, this is really crazy.” She slipped her arm through his and held it close. “It’s beautiful, but it’s crazy.”
“I had to start building again,” he explained defensively. “It gives a lot of men work.”
“Then business is really better?”
“To tell the truth, Sarah, business is worse … much worse.”
“Then why, Saul? Why put all this money into Jade House?”
“I have to. If I didn’t build again, everyone—the banks, Jardines, Derwents, everyone—would be certain Haleevie and Lee was following Benjamin into bankruptcy. This way they’ll believe I’ve got funds they’ve never even heard of. And they’ll carry me longer.”
“Then it’s a bluff?”
“Yes, Sarah, it’s a bluff—a big bluff.”
CHAPTER 70
September 3, 1873
SHANGHAI
The brutality of the Shanghai sun in summer had not abated on the late afternoon of September 3, 1873. The aggressive rays pierced the reed screen covering the window and cast alternating stripes of radiance and shadow on the broad bed. When the breeze off the Hwangpoo tossed the screen, light played on the feminine and masculine clothing heaped on the rosewood chest at the foot of the bed. On the blue-and-white Tientsin carpet, a high-heeled pink slipper and a gauzy shift lay beside a white shirt with the arms turned inside out.
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