The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  Dolly was about to question him, when up ahead Miss Culbertson turned and waved for her to join her. Dolly moved quickly to her side, and Miss Culbertson grasped her hand. “The men will get us inside, and then we must be fast and persuasive.”

  As they headed down the alley, Dolly was surprised how dark and quiet it was. Yet she sensed they were not alone. She kept her breath shallow so as to not inhale the scents of rotting vegetables and the sickly sweet of opium. Officer Cook stopped in front of a heavy door. His size and presence seemed to fill the dilapidated alley. Wasting no time, he knocked firmly on the rough wood.

  Dolly nearly jumped. She must calm down. They weren’t even to the hard part yet.

  No one answered; the only sounds were the drip drip drip of water nearby. Cook glanced over his shoulder at Dolly and Miss Culbertson. The director nodded, and Cook pounded again, calling out in a gruff voice, “Open the door!”

  No response. Unless Dolly counted the furious beating of her heart.

  Officer Green moved to a covered window only a few feet away and rattled the metal grating. The sound pinged against the cobblestone road, and Dolly’s heart jumped at the rhythm. “Open up!”

  Dolly tried to imagine what must be going on inside the dark building. Were people hiding? Fleeing?

  “Stand back,” Cook growled as he lifted his sledgehammer and brought it down on the door latch.

  Officer Green took hold of the metal grate over the window and wrested it free.

  There was no way anyone within a hundred yards of the place didn’t know that police officers were breaking into this building. Dolly wrapped her arms about her torso to steady her nerves as Officer Riordan shattered the window with an axe. Then he climbed in through the opening.

  “It’s our turn,” Miss Culbertson said.

  And somehow Dolly moved to the window, ready to help. She crouched, her heart thundering in her ears. Whatever room was beyond, it was nearly all dark save for the flicker of a guttered candle. Perhaps this building had no electricity. Dolly gathered in the fullness of her skirt and climbed through the window, following after Miss Culbertson and Ah Cheng.

  It was the smell that hit Dolly first. Her throat squeezed, and she clamped her mouth shut to avoid breathing in any more of the rancid air. Despite the broken window, the small room was stifling. A ratty bed stood against the wall, its blanket soiled, and a basin sat in one corner next to a single, lopsided chair missing one leg. A cracked bucket served as a latrine. Someone huddled against the far wall of the room on the dirt-packed floor. At first glance, Dolly thought it was a small child.

  But when she stood, the girl looked to be around fifteen, although it was hard to be certain because the young woman was very thin. Her too-large dress hung limply around her body, doing very little to conceal a bruise on her shoulder and scratches along her arms.

  Miss Culbertson approached her with careful steps. “We’re from the mission home. You sent for us?”

  Ah Cheng translated, and the Chinese girl looked from Officer Riordan to Dolly and Miss Culbertson. Slowly the girl uncurled her clenched fist to reveal a scrap of red cloth.

  “She will come,” Ah Cheng announced, her voice triumphant.

  Miss Culbertson extended her hand, but the Chinese girl didn’t move. Instead she rattled off several phrases in Chinese.

  Ah Cheng translated quickly. “She has valuables with her mistress. Some jewelry. She wants to bring them.”

  Dolly wanted to tell the young woman no. Shouldn’t they hurry out of this dank place? She could hear the other two officers pacing outside, and someone shouted in the distance. What if the Chinese mistress retaliated?

  Dolly was doing everything she could not to gag, not to flee this horrible room. She already wanted to scrub her hands with soap and rub these images of filth from her eyes.

  “All right,” Miss Culbertson said in a soft tone. “Tell her we will go with her to get her belongings.”

  Once Ah Cheng had translated, the young woman shook her head vigorously. “My mistress has them, and—”

  They were interrupted by a man unlocking the door to the room from the outside. He burst through the doorway. He was Chinese, and evidently the owner of the place, if the angry flush on his face was any indication. “You cannot be here,” he barked, glowering at Miss Culbertson. He glanced at Riordan, but didn’t seem to care about the broken window. Instead, he turned to the young woman and issued a sharp reprimand in Chinese.

  The young woman replied in a meek tone, and the Chinese master stepped toward Miss Culbertson, who didn’t shy away from his aggressive stance. “She cannot prove she has jewelry,” he said in clipped English. “These mui tsai lie. She no good. Look at her. Pitiful prostitute.”

  Even if the young woman didn’t understand all the harsh words said about her, the words felt like a slap to Dolly. Who was this man to call the girl names?

  Miss Culbertson only tilted her head, keeping her gaze steady on the man. “You are the one who took away her dignity, sir. You care only about the money she can bring you, no matter the cost to her life.”

  The man’s face darkened another shade of red. His mouth worked, and his glance darted to Riordan. At that moment, the other two officers crouched at the broken window, making their presence known. The Chinese man glowered at them, then turned to the trembling girl and began berating her in Chinese. Ah Cheng did not translate his words.

  “That’s enough,” Miss Culbertson said, her tone steely.

  The owner grabbed the girl’s arm and shoved her against the wall, then pointed a finger at Miss Culbertson. “You stop talking, woman. You will pay for this.”

  Officer Cook was through the window in a flash. He backed up the Chinese man against the wall without even touching him. His towering demeanor was enough.

  Green joined them too and stood between the women and the Chinese owner.

  The Chinese man lifted his hands in surrender and moved toward the open door, his expression twisted in rage.

  Dolly was rooted to the ground, her stomach ready to heave, either from the awful smell, or in anticipation of someone getting hurt.

  But nothing in Miss Culbertson’s demeanor shifted. It was as if she hadn’t been fazed at all. She simply told the young Chinese woman, through the interpreter, “Come with us now, before he tries to stop you. We will inquire about your property later.”

  The young woman’s wide, dark eyes shifted from her owner to Miss Culbertson. Then she nodded, moved to her bed, and scrambled for something beneath the soiled scrap of a blanket. She brought out a round picture frame and clutched it to her chest. Her nod told them she was ready to go. One item was all she would take to begin her new life. Sounds erupted from within the depths of the house—someone shouting and someone else crying. But the Chinese girl didn’t seem interested in turning around, and she climbed out the window with the help of Ah Cheng.

  The cool night air was a godsend after the foulness of the basement room.

  The police officers abandoned the mess they’d made, and their group moved quickly. Miss Culbertson held one arm of the young woman while Ah Cheng held her other arm. The poor girl was trembling, and she kept mumbling something in Chinese.

  Dolly’s heart felt like it had been ripped in half.

  “Are you all right, miss?” Cook asked in a low tone after they’d cleared Bartlett Alley.

  “I think so,” she said, although she was pretty sure the shaking in her voice gave her away.

  “It will get easier,” Cook said. “Not that it’s something you want to be easy, by any means.”

  “I understand.” And she did. She was also grateful that this police officer cared about her well-being.

  “You did fine in there, Miss Cameron,” Cook continued. “I’ve known the director for many years, and she wouldn’t have brought you along if she didn’t think you would be
an asset.”

  Dolly glanced over at him beneath the light of the moon. He walked with sure steps, his sledgehammer casually swinging at his side, as if he hadn’t just beaten down a door a short time ago. “I did nothing, though,” Dolly said.

  “You observed,” Cook said. “Don’t worry, you will have plenty of chances to do more. This war is not over yet.”

  His words sent a shiver along Dolly’s neck. “Will they not come after us for what we have done?” she asked.

  “Not openly,” Cook said. “These men work in secret, in shadowed corners and beyond prying eyes. Miss Culbertson keeps the girls under watch at all times.”

  How many slave girls had been rescued by Miss Culbertson and her team, and how many others were still out there, living in misery and filth? She marveled at how the Chinese girl they had rescued tonight was walking resolutely between the two women up ahead. Her entire life had changed tonight, and Dolly could only hope she would flourish at the mission home.

  When they reached the base of Sacramento Street, Officer Green said, “We’ll wait here to make sure you get up the hill. Lock things up tight. One of us will be around every hour or so to make sure no one is trying to get her back.”

  His words made Dolly’s stomach tighten with worry, but there was nothing she could do except move forward with the women. After they separated from the officers, the Chinese slave started quietly crying. Ah Cheng said a few soothing words to her, but the crying continued.

  By the time they reached the mission home and were safely inside, with the door bolted once again by Anna, who had let them in, the Chinese girl was shaking so hard that Dolly wondered if she would become sick.

  Anna took one look at her and said, “Can you help me, Dolly? We need to get her in a warm bath.”

  For the next hour, Dolly learned what it was to care intimately for another human, one who was scarred and soiled in ways that made Dolly’s eyes scald with tears. She and Anna bathed the young woman while she sat in the bathtub and cried. Dolly was gentle with the soap and washcloth. The slave was thin enough that Dolly could have counted her ribs on her back.

  Next, they washed her hair. At first the young woman was afraid to dunk her head, but Anna explained in broken Chinese that it would make her feel better. After the bath, the young woman trembled as she stood in a clean robe, her hair twisted into a towel. Her eyes were swollen from her crying, but in their depths was gratitude.

  When the girl asked Anna how to say “thank you” in English, Dolly felt her heart would burst with both pain and relief.

  Only when they had the young woman tucked between fresh, clean sheets, with a pot of hot tea beside her bed, did Dolly allow herself to absorb the events of the evening. Anna would be staying in the Chinese girl’s room to offer her comfort and soothe any possible hysterics.

  When Dolly left the new charge to Anna, she stood in the dimness of the hallway for a few moments, trying to comprehend the squalor and degradation she’d witnessed in Bartlett Alley. Tonight had not been what she’d expected. It had been both worse than she’d imagined and more rewarding. She’d never witnessed such grime, seen such desperation, or aided someone in such dire distress. The small acts of bathing and feeding the young woman had been simple, yet significant as well. And to think that this girl was sleeping in a clean and safe bed tonight because of the initiative of Miss Culbertson. . . .

  Yes, Dolly had helped, but mostly she’d been an observer.

  This war is not over, Officer Cook had said. His words wouldn’t leave her mind.

  How long had things like this been going on, and Dolly had been oblivious to them? She had been an observer most of her life. She’d been diligent, cheerful, hardworking, but she’d attended church each week and listened to sermons that she then ignored. Feed my sheep, the Lord had said. Sure, Dolly had served others in small ways. She believed she was a good aunt to her nieces and nephews. She’d been a good daughter to her father when he was alive.

  Yet tonight had been the first time in her life that she felt like she’d accomplished something with eternal consequences. She had literally helped change a life for the better. She’d assisted in pulling out a young woman from the darkest, deepest, most vile pit of despair, and in doing so, Dolly had not only helped rescue another’s soul, she’d rescued her own.

  Her tears were not of sorrow, or pain, but gratitude.

  A small cry caught Dolly’s attention. She walked down the hall that led to some of the bedrooms. Someone sat huddled at the end of the hallway.

  “Tien,” Dolly whispered. “Why are you out of bed?”

  The girl scooted farther into the corner, pulling her knees tightly to her chest.

  Dolly saw the faint sheen of tears on the girl’s face, even though Tien quickly tucked her head against her knees.

  “Did you see the new woman we brought in tonight?”

  Tien didn’t move, didn’t respond.

  “She’ll be all right,” Dolly said. “She was very hungry and very dirty, but she took a bath and we gave her food, and now she is safe.”

  Tien’s small shoulders trembled.

  Dolly could only imagine that whatever horrible memories Tien had about her former life in slavery, they were now haunting her anew.

  “Come, I’ll sit with you in your room until you fall asleep,” Dolly said, touching the girl’s shoulder, hoping to give some comfort.

  But Tien’s head shot up, and she shoved Dolly’s arm away, scratching her in the process with surprisingly sharp fingernails. Then Tien bolted past her, running down the hall, and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. The door slammed shut.

  Dolly braced a hand against the wall, wondering what had just happened. She rubbed at the scratch on her arm. The sting of the scrape was nothing, she knew, compared to the pain that Tien must be feeling. Was this something she should report? Would punishing Tien make things worse?

  Dolly waited in the dark hallway for a long moment, but no other sounds came from Tien’s bedroom. Eventually, Dolly headed for the stairs and went up to the third floor to her own bedroom—to find Miss Culbertson waiting.

  “Is everything with the new rescue all right?” Miss Culbertson said in a quiet voice, her face shadowed from where she sat by the single lamp.

  “She seemed very grateful, and now she’s resting, with Anna watching over her.” Dolly rubbed at her stinging arm. “Tien was in the hallway, crying. I tried to speak with her, but she lashed out.”

  Miss Culbertson frowned and rose to her feet. “Let me see your arm.”

  Dolly showed the director her scrape.

  “I’ll speak to Tien in the morning,” Miss Culbertson said. “Sometimes these girls reenact the things that have been done to them. But we need to reinforce proper behavior and respect.”

  Dolly felt like she should have been more upset, but after going on the rescue, she found she could harbor no ill feelings against a child like Tien. “Be gentle with her. She is hurting too.”

  Miss Culbertson studied Dolly. “You are generous, Donaldina. And tonight you helped when needed and stayed out of the way when required. I hope you haven’t been scared off from the mission work.”

  “No.” Dolly’s throat pulled tight. “I’m honored that you invited me to help. I didn’t know the living conditions would be so . . . depraved. And I didn’t know a person could be so . . . abused.”

  Miss Culbertson’s nod was grave. “We are lucky she came willingly. Her owner cursed her, and sometimes that’s enough to change a girl’s mind.”

  “What did he say?” Dolly asked.

  Miss Culbertson returned to the single chair and sat down, then folded her hands in her lap. “He told her if she came with us, all her ancestors would curse her, and she would become a turtle.”

  Dolly frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “Slave owners call women without virtue
turtles.”

  “A prostitute, then.” Dolly hated the word, but there was no help for that. She was no longer living a protected life at her family’s ranch. Over the past couple of hours, everything had changed. She’d seen for herself the result of pure corruption. And she’d found herself in the middle of the war that Officer Cook had referred to.

  “Ironic that the slave owner threatens a slave with what he has already made her, yes?” Miss Culbertson sighed. “Most of these girls have no idea what lies ahead of them in America. Their families are promised that their daughters will be married to wealthy men. And because of the Chinese anti-immigration laws, the agents train the girls on a new identity and produce false papers.”

  Dolly sat on the edge of her bed, trying to soak in all this information.

  “Some of the girls are kidnapped by the highbinders, and their families have no idea that their daughters are alive,” Miss Culbertson continued. “The girls take on new identities in America, and their lives are controlled in every way. They’ve been reduced to what we call paper daughters. Without a home. Without care or love.”

  “Paper daughters,” Dolly whispered. These girls had become no more than documents with false names; they had given up not only their identities but their dignity.

  Miss Culbertson clasped her hands together. “We were also fortunate that we had little interference transporting her to the mission home. Not all cases will be this easy.”

  This easy? Dolly didn’t know if she could process any more atrocities tonight. Her mind was already reeling with all that she had seen and experienced. And right now, her heart was bleeding for a young woman one floor below who had spent most of her life living no better than a rat—and for the girl whose wounds had been reopened and who now huddled alone in her bedroom.

  Dolly had no words. If she tried to form them, she knew she would only cry.

  Miss Culbertson seemed to understand and rose to her feet, then crossed to Dolly and squeezed her shoulder. “Good night, Donaldina. Tomorrow is a new day. The sun will shine through the darkness you’ve experienced tonight. We must always be grateful for the blessings we do have. Tonight, one more Chinese girl is safe.”