She could do this, taking over Miss Culbertson’s duty yet again.
“You’ll be fine,” Officer Cook told Dolly, moving by her side as they strode toward Bartlett Alley.
“Is my nervousness that obvious?” Dolly asked.
“I’ve never seen you walk so fast.”
She was too anxious to laugh. “Are these rescue missions why you smoke?”
Cook glanced at the cigarette in his hand. “One of many reasons.”
Once they entered the alley, they continued past the area where Dolly’s first rescue outing had been. The window grate had been repaired and replaced. The scents of rotting vegetables and urine, combined with the now recognizable sickly-sweet smell of opium, made Dolly want to cover her nose and breathe through her fingers. But she continued, ignoring her rebelling senses and cramping stomach as best as she could.
The sound of desperate crying came from a second-story window. In the darkness, Dolly couldn’t make out the exact location, but the crying felt like nails scraping her skin. She wanted to change course, find out what was going on in the building above her. But the squad pushed forward deeper into the alley.
When the officers finally slowed their progress, Dolly scanned the rows of shacks that were no more than twelve by fourteen feet in size. The wicket windows were the only thing separating the street from the women inside. The structures looked like human cages. Her throat burned, and bile threatened as she watched the officers rattle one of them.
“Sing Leen,” Cook called out. “Are you in there?”
A voice so quiet it sounded like a wisp of wind said, “I am here.”
“Stand back,” Cook said, then used his crowbar to pry off the grate.
Ah Cheng linked arms with Dolly, and together they backed up.
Riordan set the grate aside, and Cook climbed into the square hole.
“Let’s go,” Ah Cheng whispered, then followed Cook through the window while Riordan kept watch on the alley.
Before Dolly could follow, she heard Ah Cheng’s quiet Chinese.
Dolly knew that Ah Cheng would first verify if Sing Leen was the one who had sent the message.
With shaking hands, Dolly gripped the edge of the crude wooden opening and stepped down into a room not much larger than a closet. It contained only a washbowl, a single bamboo chair, and a bed covered with matting. The space was completely taken up with Cook, Ah Cheng, Dolly, and a woman who was the size of a child.
The young woman held up a torn piece of red fabric and began to cry.
“Come with us,” Ah Cheng said in a gentle tone. “We’ll take you to safety. This is Miss Cameron from the mission home.”
Dolly tried not to blanch at the foul, cell-like room. She smiled at the Chinese woman. “We are here to help you.”
Ah Cheng translated, and Sing Leen unfolded herself from her crouched position. She wore the uniform of her trade, a blue silk blouse with embroidered green piping. With the help of both Ah Cheng and Dolly, she climbed out of the crib.
The woman clung to Dolly’s arm as she stepped into the alleyway, as if she were petrified. Dolly grasped her around her waist to make her feel secure. Sing Leen’s hold was so desperate, so fierce, that Dolly wished they had a buggy to whisk her away in to get her to the mission home faster. Sing Leen’s face in the glow of the moonlight showed a woman who was perhaps twenty, despite her birdlike limbs. Her frailness was only accentuated by her bare feet.
As they walked through the alley, Dolly expected someone to chase after them, or, at the very least, for the woman’s owner to confront them. But the alley was eerily silent and empty. Even the police officers were quiet, their expressions wary, alert.
By the time they reached 920 Sacramento, the adrenaline running through Dolly had left her emotionally exhausted. Thankfully, the moment they crossed the threshold of the mission home, Miss Culbertson had hot tea ready in the kitchen.
Sing Leen allowed herself to be taken to the kitchen, although she was trembling like an autumn leaf in a windstorm. Ah Cheng went to fetch the woman a shawl while Dolly and Miss Culbertson sat with Sing Leen.
Sing Leen’s hand shook as she reached for the tea. Her eyes closed as she sipped the hot liquid, and Dolly couldn’t help but notice the bruising along her neck.
“Eat something,” Miss Culbertson said in a soft voice as she slid over a dessert plate with a leftover pastry from dinner.
Sing Leen eyed the food, then gingerly broke off a corner. She ate a single bite, but strangely, she didn’t seem interested in the food. She picked at another piece but didn’t put it in her mouth. Then she pushed the plate away.
Miss Culbertson didn’t seem bothered by the action, but a knot of worry curled in Dolly’s stomach. Surely this woman was hungry. Why wouldn’t she eat more? When Ah Cheng returned with a shawl, Sing Leen snapped her gaze to the interpreter. She said something in rapid Chinese, refusing the shawl.
Ah Cheng’s thin brows pulled together, and she replied, her words urgent.
Dolly looked over at Miss Culbertson, but the director made no move to intervene. Suddenly, Sing Leen stood and backed away from the table.
“Wait,” Miss Culbertson said in English. She moved to the Chinese woman’s side and took her arm, but Sing Leen twisted out of the older woman’s grasp.
“What’s wrong with her?” Dolly asked.
“She wants to leave,” Miss Culbertson said. “She’s addicted to opium, and she needs another dose.”
Sing Leen continued to twist away until Ah Cheng wrapped an arm about her shoulders.
“I will take her upstairs,” Ah Cheng broke in. “She’ll stay with me tonight. I don’t trust her on her own. Help me, Miss Cameron.”
Dolly followed, walking behind the pair as Ah Cheng kept a firm hold on Sing Leen, who had begun to wail in Chinese.
“Hush!” Ah Cheng said over and over, but the woman continued to wail, oblivious to anyone who might be sleeping in the home.
They made it to Ah Cheng’s bedroom, where Sing Leen immediately went to the window and opened it. There was no escape though, not through the secure grate.
“Can I do something?” Dolly didn’t think she should leave Ah Cheng alone with the upset woman. “Should I stay too?”
“No,” Ah Cheng was quick to say. “There’s no reason for us both to miss a night’s sleep. You have your classes in the morning. I’ll sleep when Sing Leen does.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone with—”
“It is better this way.” Ah Cheng practically pushed Dolly out of the bedroom. “I speak her language, and I’ll get her to calm down. Having you here will only put her more on edge.”
“All right.” Dolly was still hesitant, but she trusted Ah Cheng’s logic. Dolly left the women. Regardless, she spent the rest of the night listening to Sing Leen’s wails and Ah Cheng’s replies, soothing words alternating with reprimands.
Perhaps she slept; perhaps she didn’t. The night became a haze of passing time. When the approaching dawn finally shifted the purple twilight outside Dolly’s bedroom window to a warm yellow, she heard footsteps pounding down the staircase.
On instinct, Dolly flew out of her room to see what the commotion was. Ah Cheng was following after Sing Leen.
“Help me stop her!” Ah Cheng cried out when she saw Dolly. “She wants to return to the cribs where the opium is.”
Miss Culbertson and Anna stood at the front door waiting, as if they had known Sing Leen would try to flee the mission home.
Dolly reached the bottom of the stairs as the women faced off, Sing Leen’s flushed face streaked with tears, her breathing coming in gasps. Ah Cheng’s face was equally flushed, her gaze desperate.
When Ah Cheng latched onto Sing Leen’s arm with a tight grip, Miss Culbertson moved toward the pair. “We cannot force her to remain or to change,” she said
in a calm, firm voice.
“She’s going through withdrawals,” Ah Cheng protested, keeping her grip on the Chinese woman. “Once they pass, she will feel better.”
But Miss Culbertson continued in a perfectly calm tone, “Let her go, Ah Cheng. This must be her decision.”
Dolly stared as Miss Culbertson opened the front door. It was as if a barrier had burst. Sing Leen wrenched from Ah Cheng’s failing grasp and bolted out the double doors. She nearly tripped going down the porch steps, then ran, fleeing down the hill into the early morning light.
No one spoke. Dolly’s eyes pricked with heat. There was no doubt that each person watching Sing Leen’s departure knew what she had in store for her if she returned to the cribs. She would return to her depraved life, going back to where she would live out what few months or years she had left as a slave to the darkness that had become her one and only mistress.
“SEC. 11. That any person who shall knowingly bring into or cause to be brought into the United States by land, or who shall knowingly aid or abet the same, or aid or abet the landing in the United States from any vessel of any Chinese person not lawfully entitled to enter the United States, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor. . . .
“SEC. 14. That hereafter no State court or court of the United States shall admit Chinese to citizenship; and all laws in conflict with this act are hereby repealed.”
—Chinese Exclusion Act, approved May 6, 1882, US Congress
1903
Mei Lien stood with the other travelers on the steamship’s deck as the shores of San Francisco grew closer. She hadn’t been above deck in the daylight since leaving Hong Kong. Uncle and Auntie had allowed her only short visits when it was dark—in order to protect her from others, they had claimed.
The first thing that Mei Lien noticed about her spotting of San Francisco was that there was no gold mountain. The grays and greens of the approaching land seemed ordinary enough, yet Mei Lien’s pulse felt like it was on fire. She was almost to America, a fabled land of opportunity, where poor Chinese women like her could secure their futures, marry, and raise children who would never face starvation or poverty.
The smaller fishing boats they passed shimmered orange in the late summer sun, and Mei Lien studied the fishermen with interest. She had never seen a white man until she’d stepped on the ship and seen the captain and his officers. Now she would be in a land of many colors, many religions, and many opportunities. If only her mother could be here with her; they could share the experience together.
The ocean breeze cut a chill across her skin, but Mei Lien didn’t mind. Auntie had told her to wear the finest cheongsam they’d brought in order to impress upon the immigration agents that she came from a wealthy family and would not be a burden upon society.
Mei Lien was mindful of any ocean spray so as not to damage the silk she wore. The handful of other young women on the ship had also come above deck to watch the approaching land. Mei Lien had been obedient to Auntie’s request to not speak to any of them.
“They’ll tell you lies,” Auntie had whispered. “Or they will try to involve you in their deceit. Chinese women are not allowed to enter America unless they are the daughter or wife of a man already living there.”
Mei Lien kept to herself, but here on the deck, she wanted to talk to someone about what she was seeing, about what things to expect.
She wasn’t given the chance.
“Remember all that you’ve learned,” Uncle said, breathing close to her ear as he took his place next to her at the railing.
Without turning to look at him, Mei Lien nodded.
“We will all be separated and questioned.” His hands gripped the railing next to her. “Our stories must be identical.”
“Yes, I am ready.” And she was, although her heart raced and her palms felt hot when she thought about being interrogated.
Soon it would all be over. Soon she would be presented to her new husband and her future would begin.
The excitement and chaos of disembarking echoed in Mei Lien’s rapid heartbeat. She found herself in a line herded by immigration agents. Uncle and Auntie were with her one moment, then separated the next, just as Uncle had warned.
Mei Lien was led into an airless room with a high window. She sat on a bench with three other girls. None of them spoke to each other, but Mei Lien was by far the best dressed among the group. When her name was called by a white immigration officer with a thick mustache, she followed him into a second room. There at a table sat a Chinese man who Mei Lien guessed was the interpreter.
For the next several minutes, she was asked all kinds of questions, and some of them more than once. The immigration officer watched her closely, his deep green eyes seeming to pierce right through her. But Mei Lien had been well trained. Although her palms sweated and she felt prickly all over her body, she didn’t lose her composure. She kept her voice calm, even, and innocent.
Even as she answered the questions, she thought of her new life. If she could only get through this interview, she would be free. That thought kept her focused on each and every question. Finally, she was ushered out of the room and told to sit again on the bench. The other young women were gone, and Mei Lien didn’t know what that meant. Had they passed their interviews? Would they be sent back to Hong Kong?
Then the immigration officer returned with the interpreter. “You may join your family now,” he said. “Your answers have matched with those of your aunt and uncle.”
Mei Lien felt like she might melt with joy. She rose on shaky limbs and bowed to the interpreter. He gave a brief nod and nothing else.
When she came out of the building, Uncle and Auntie were waiting for her. Mei Lien couldn’t help but smile, and Auntie gave her a half smile and a nod of approval. The small acknowledgment only compounded Mei Lien’s relief. She was here, in America. Her life would be nothing but wonderful.
“We’ll hire a buggy to take us to our destination,” Uncle said, his tone light and cheerful. It seemed he was happy to have made it this far.
Mei Lien was eager to keep pace with Uncle and Auntie as they walked along the harbor to where Uncle hired a cab. Hunger cramped her stomach, and her legs still felt wobbly from the ship, but neither mattered. She couldn’t wait to meet the man she would marry.
The three of them crowded inside the cab, but Mei Lien didn’t mind. There was much to see outside the windows. She gazed at the children with their white skin and Western clothing. Girls and women strolled about, the girls wearing short dresses with frilly hems, the women clothed in long skirts, blouses, hats, and gloves. These women and girls walked like men, with their flat feet and long strides.
In Hong Kong, proper women didn’t walk the streets; only their servants did. Proper women had bound feet, and they ran their homes and raised their children. Mei Lien had not grown up in a wealthy home. Her feet had never been bound, which Auntie had been very pleased about during their first interview, since she wouldn’t be limited to stay inside a house in America.
Mei Lien took in the sights and wondered if she’d ever be able to tell her mother about all that she was seeing. She imagined her mother’s exclamations, especially about the tall buildings and the different-colored people. “Japanese are here too?” Mei Lien said when she saw two men who were at least a head shorter than the average Chinese man.
“Some Japanese are here,” Uncle said. “But they keep to themselves. You will see, once we get to Chinatown, that most of us are Chinese.”
The change in architecture and scenery was a sharp contrast once they arrived at the so-called Chinatown. Nostalgia twisted hard inside Mei Lien. The people, the smells of food, the shop displays, all made her miss her mother even more. Most of the people she saw were Chinese men wearing loose, dark clothing, long queues braided down their backs, their dark eyes following the buggy as if they wanted to see inside. The lack of women on the nar
row streets told her the women were properly settled in their homes raising their babies and running their households.
“How long until I meet my husband?” Mei Lien asked, her nerves buzzing along her skin. Would he be handsome? Young? Old?
“Not long,” Uncle said.
Auntie pressed her lips together and exchanged glances with Uncle.
Mei Lien wanted to ask what not long meant, but it seemed the elation of having cleared immigration had already worn off of Auntie, and she was back to her glowering self.
The buggy jolted to a stop, and Uncle climbed out.
Mei Lien made to rise, but Auntie shoved her back into her seat. “We’re not there yet. Stay seated.”
Mei Lien didn’t move after that. Not when Uncle got back in and said that the buggy driver hadn’t wanted to take them past a certain point, so Uncle had given him a tip. Now, the buggy rumbled forward again, and, after a couple more turns, it stopped again.
Uncle climbed out, then held open the door for Auntie. Mei Lien was the last one to step down. They had stopped in front of a three-story building. The outside lettering scaling up the brick wall proclaimed that it was a hotel. Mei Lien had thought Uncle owned a house in the area, but perhaps they were meeting her husband here?
She didn’t have time to ask, because Auntie’s clawlike fingers propelled her forward. They stepped into the dim interior of the building, and the smoky atmosphere made Mei Lien’s throat tickle. The sickly-sweet smell was familiar, and she immediately knew it had to be opium or some form of it. But here it was stronger than she had ever smelled, less bitter, sweeter.
The tickle in her throat turned to a burning, and she started to cough.
“Enough coughing,” Auntie hissed, tightening her grip. “You don’t want them to think you’re sick.”
The Paper Daughters of Chinatown Page 7