Mei Lien tried to keep her coughing to a minimum, which only made her eyes water and her throat burn more. She had never been inside a hotel before, and she didn’t know what to expect. The lobby was lovely, with tall plants, velvet drapes, a deep burgundy rug, and teak furniture.
A man who was tall for Chinese stepped through a set of velvet drapes and walked toward them. Was this her husband? He was dressed in an elegant silk suit, and his hair was smoothed back from his high forehead so tightly that it made his eyebrows arch into peaks. His braid down his back told her that he was traditional. He nodded to Auntie and Uncle; then his gaze landed on Mei Lien. The man studied her for a moment, and no one spoke, as if they were waiting for him to make some kind of pronouncement. That he approved of his new bride? The man was older than she had thought, perhaps late forties, and Mei Lien sensed that she wouldn’t be his first wife. Hopefully she would be second wife then, and still have status in his household.
When the man nodded, Auntie’s grip on her arm lessened a fraction.
Mei Lien wanted to know what the nod meant.
“This way,” the man said. “The others will be here soon.”
Others? Were they witnesses, and she was to marry tonight? Was his family coming, and the ceremony would be in this hotel? Mei Lien thought of her mother’s wedding dress, crushed and wrinkled in her small trunk. Would she have time to press it?
They followed the man through the hanging drapes, and the sweet smoke intensified. Mei Lien covered her mouth to suppress another cough, and Auntie increased her grip once again. As they headed up a flight of narrow stairs, mercifully, the smoke lessened. At the top of the corridor was a long hallway, the walls covered in a patterned paper, connecting with the dusty wooden floor below. Mei Lien breathed freer as they walked down the hallway.
The man opened a door at the end of the hallway, and they all walked inside a bedroom. This room was absolutely opulent, with silk hangings, jade statues, and landscape art. Then Mei Lien noticed they weren’t alone. Three young women, close to Mei Lien’s age, stood along one wall, opposite the large bed. Another Chinese man, in his late fifties or early sixties, with shoulders as broad as an ox, perched on the edge of the bed, smoking.
The girls’ painted faces and expensive satin clothing sent a shiver of warning through Mei Lien, and she remembered the foul names she’d been called at the harbor in Hong Kong. Were these women daughters of the night? Did her husband want concubines, too?
Mei Lien’s eyes watered, but she miraculously held back her cough. Was she to be married to the old man? Her heart sank at the prospect. She didn’t want to be a widow in a few years, kicked to the street to fend for herself. If her husband died, she wouldn’t be able to marry again, and unless she had a grown son, there would be no one to care for her, no extra money to send to her mother.
Mei Lien knew she couldn’t ask any questions now, not with so many strangers staring at her. The other women didn’t look too pleased that she had come. Mei Lien finally identified her unease about the women: the eyes of each had that same glassy look that reminded her of Li Qiang, her betrothed, who had become addicted to opium.
Then the door opened again, and three more people entered. All men.
Uncle crossed to the men and bowed as if the new arrivals were of some importance. Their words were fast and whispered. Mei Lien caught only a small part of their discussion, which sounded like they were bartering over something. Discussing prices.
Mei Lien glanced again at the women against the wall. One appeared about to faint. The other two met her gaze, then quickly looked away.
The man with the pipe spoke for all to hear and ordered the three women to stand on chairs. It was then that Mei Lien noticed four chairs had been lined up in front of the wardrobe. The women moved to the chairs and obediently climbed up on them.
Auntie turned toward Mei Lien and hissed, “Are you stupid? Did you not hear the man? Get on a chair!”
Mei Lien opened her mouth to protest. What was going on? Where was her husband? Who were all these people? But Auntie pinched the top of her hip. Hard.
Mei Lien nearly yelped. Her eyes watered from the sharp sting, and she moved to the last chair and climbed up on it.
The men were still talking to Uncle, and now the man with the pipe had joined in. Their conversation became heated, rising whispers. When Uncle and the man with the pipe quieted and stood aside, Mei Lien watched the three men advance toward the chairs.
One of them stepped close to Mei Lien. He leaned forward and drew in a deep breath.
Mei Lien wanted to slap him away. What was he doing? Why was he smelling her? Then he lifted his head and met her gaze.
His eyes were very dark, like two pools with no end to their depths, and a slow chill spread across her skin. She supposed he was handsome, but his sharp features and cold eyes were disconcerting. Then he snapped his fingers.
The sound was unexpected, and Mei Lien flinched.
A bright flush spread across Auntie’s face. “Take off your dress now.”
Heat prickled Mei Lien’s neck. “What?” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears.
Auntie advanced toward her, her cheeks enflaming. “The man wants to see you without clothes. Take off your robe now so that he will know exactly what he is buying.”
“Jan. 17/94. Tai Choie alias Teen Fook was rescued by Miss Houseworth, Miss Florence Worley and some police officers from her inhuman mistress who lived on Jackson St. near Stockton St. The child had been very cruelly treated—her flesh pinched and twisted till her face was scarred. Another method of torture was to dip lighted candlewicking in oil and burn her arms with it. Teen Fook is a pretty child of about ten years old, rosy cheeked and fair complexion.”
—Margaret Culbertson, director of the mission home,
writing about Tien Fu Wu, 1894
July 1897
“The apples are all gone,” Ah Cheng said, coming into the office where Dolly had been working because Miss Culbertson was still faring poorly.
Dolly rose to her feet, alarm shooting through her. Apples were a delicacy—to have them go missing was no small matter. “What do you mean? Maybe someone moved them? Did you ask any of the girls?”
Ah Cheng folded her hands in that patient way of hers. “I’ve questioned several of the girls, but will you come with me to Bible study and we’ll ask them as a group? I don’t want Miss Culbertson hearing of this and worrying over it.”
“Of course,” Dolly said. The mountains of paperwork would have to wait, as usual. If only she could do one or the other—manage the girls, or do paperwork. The superintendent’s job was overwhelming.
She followed Ah Cheng to the parlor where the girls were gathered for Bible study and singing. Evelyn Browne was volunteering today, and she always had a sweet way with the girls and women.
Evelyn paused when she saw the two women, and Dolly walked to the front of the room. “We need to talk about something important. The apples from the kitchen are missing, and we know that apples are a special treat. It’s not fair if someone keeps them all to herself. Remember how we learned about the Ten Commandments in the Bible, and how stealing is a sin?”
“Lying is a sin too!” Lonnie announced.
“You’re correct,” Dolly said, scanning the faces before her. It was good to see Jiao and her brother, Kang, sitting next to Lonnie—the girl had taken them under her wing like a big sister. Dolly had been able to secure guardianship papers for the children, and as soon as Kang was old enough for school, he would be transferring to a mission home for boys. “After Bible study, I hope that the person who knows what happened to the apples will visit me in the office.” She was just about to find a seat when Tien spoke up.
“I took the apples.”
Dolly froze, then slowly turned her gaze to Tien. At nearly twelve now, her legs and arms had lengthened and her thin face had
become more rounded. Dolly couldn’t say she was entirely surprised that Tien had been behind the missing apples, but she was surprised at the public confession. Dolly knew she had to tread carefully. Her relationship with Tien had never warmed, something that she wished she could change. “Why did you take them?”
“So that I wouldn’t be hungry.”
The idea wasn’t logical to Dolly, since they had three meals a day at the mission home. But she had seen enough of what these girls and women went through to know that the fear of starvation didn’t just disappear.
“Don’t you want the others in this room to enjoy the apples too?” Dolly continued.
Tien blinked, then looked at a few of the other girls—girls she had been living with for three years now. When her gaze returned to Dolly, Tien said, “I didn’t want to lie, either, because I want Miss Culbertson to trust me.”
Dolly remembered one of their first conversations from when she had started teaching sewing. Miss Culbertson’s illness was another complication. The girls worried about her.
“Thank you for being honest, Tien,” Dolly said.
“I’ll go get the apples right now.” Tien ran out of the room, and her footsteps could be heard pounding up the stairs.
This is good, Dolly decided. Tien could make recompense by returning the apples. It seemed that even when Dolly wasn’t sure if she was getting through to the girl, she in fact had made some progress.
The next day, Miss Culbertson took a turn for the worse, with violent fits of coughing. Dolly spent the morning at the director’s bedside as her body shuddered with the aftermath of a coughing spasm.
When she could take a normal breath, Miss Culbertson said, “I’ve decided to retire.”
The news shouldn’t have surprised Dolly, but the reality of it still shocked her.
“I’ll move back east to be with my siblings and their families,” Miss Culbertson said. “Then perhaps I can recover my health.”
“Does the board know?” Dolly asked in a quiet voice. The board meeting would take place that day, and Dolly had planned to give the reports in the director’s stead.
Miss Culbertson rested her frail hand on Dolly’s wrist. “I sent them word yesterday. And now, today, you must go hear what the board has to say.” The crack in her voice only testified of the pain she endured. “You are the only staff member who has the capacity to fill my shoes, Donaldina. You’ve been fearless in the rescues, and you’re not afraid to say what you think. You’ve been a leader, and the Chinese women look up to you.”
But Dolly didn’t want to attend the board meeting that started in an hour. She knew what the board members would propose: that she, Donaldina Cameron, take over the directorship of the mission home. Dolly had been teaching for only a little over two years, and yes, she had gladly helped with plenty of rescues. But balancing the needs of the residents and teaching classes, along with overseeing the donations, handling the legal matters, hosting visiting sponsors, and preparing reports for the board all seemed way beyond her scope of capabilities.
“I will go,” Dolly assured Miss Culbertson, because what else could she say to a dying woman who had devoted her life to rescuing hundreds of enslaved women and children? Dolly knew she wasn’t ready to take on the full responsibility of running the mission home, but she hoped to continue as a teacher.
When her first year of teaching had ended, the board had asked Dolly to stay for another year. For some reason, the decision had weighed on her more heavily than she would have imagined. Yes was the short answer, but she also knew what the commitment entailed: long days, sleepless nights, participating in raids that were dangerous even with the presence of police, taking care of the physical needs of the younger girls and the emotional needs of the older ones, helping to facilitate weddings between the Chinese women and eligible and approved Chinese Christian men.
Dolly’s heart had broken more than once when she had watched young women who had pleaded for rescue change their minds and reject a warm, clean home. Dolly had learned some Chinese, as well as some Japanese, in order to communicate better with the rescued women. But Ah Cheng and Yuen Qui were needed for interpreting.
Dolly had asked to take two weeks off while she made her decision whether to commit to another year of teaching. She had traveled back to the San Gabriel Valley with her brother-in-law Charlie Bailey, husband of her sister Jessie. In La Puente, she’d spent two glorious weeks enjoying her family, the scent of orange groves, the sun on her face, the sweet-smelling breeze, and the lazy days filled with love and laughter. Yet even during her moments of absolute happiness with her family, her heart ached for the plight of the women she had left behind. When she closed her eyes, she could see Dong Ho’s dimple on her honey-colored cheek, Jiao’s shy smile, Lonnie’s sturdy legs as she ran down the stairs whenever someone knocked on the door, and even Tien’s dark gaze flashing with annoyance.
Before the first night at Jessie’s home had passed, Dolly had known she would accept the board’s invitation and stay on for another year. Even though it meant her salary would be only twenty-five dollars a month, and she would still have to pay for her room and board. . . .
“Miss Cameron,” Miss Culbertson said, using her formal address to cut into Dolly’s scattered thoughts. “You have been well prepared, and you have a gift with the women and children. They rely on you. They respect and love you.” She brought her handkerchief to her mouth and coughed. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was faint, raspy. “You are needed. Desperately.”
Dolly blinked back the tears threatening to give away the depths of her heart. She nodded because her throat was too tight and she knew any words she tried to utter would only be choked off.
Less than an hour later, she took her seat in front of the members of the board as they were all seated in the chapel. All eyes were upon Dolly, as she’d expected. She had worn her best outfit, one she’d brought with her when she’d first traveled to San Francisco two years before: a full voile skirt in black over an orange-brown petticoat, along with a purple shirtwaist with leg-o-mutton sleeves. Dolly had pinned her hair into her usual pompadour. She’d noticed more gray strands than usual threading through its deep auburn.
The president of the board, Mrs. Mary Ann Browne, greeted Dolly warmly, then called the meeting to order. Dolly looked about the room at the other board members, which included Mrs. E. V. Robbins, who was one of the original founders. Mrs. Robbins had faced plenty of persecution and hatred when she first rented quarters for the Chinese girls in 1874. She’d even been spat upon by the landlady. Other board members included Mrs. Sara B. Cooper and Mrs. Phoebe Apperson Hearst.
When Mrs. Browne turned to Dolly and began to address her, she knew what was coming.
“Miss Culbertson can no longer continue in her role,” Mrs. Browne said. “She has devoted many years to this work, but now it is time to assign a new director. And by all accounts and purposes, the board would like to invite you to take the position.”
The warmth of everyone’s eyes upon her should have given Dolly more confidence. She felt too hot, and her neck prickled beneath her high collar. She wanted to say yes, but she knew she could not. Her throat suddenly parched, she said, “I am twenty-seven, and even though I have been mentored by Miss Culbertson for two years, I don’t have the capacity or training to take on such a role. I belong at the ground level. Teaching the girls. Caring for their needs. Protecting them.”
Her job had become much more than that, and Dolly was sure that everyone in the room knew this, but if she agreed to assume the directorship, her life would forevermore be at the mission home. Her future would never leave 920 Sacramento Street. As much as she loved the girls and didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world at this moment, she wasn’t ready to commit more than was possible.
Mrs. Browne’s mouth straightened into a tight line, and the other women nodded their un
derstanding. Yet Dolly witnessed the disappointment on their faces.
“Very well,” Mrs. Browne said in a decisive voice. “We have prepared for this possibility and have researched a second candidate.” She looked at the other women in the room. “I propose we offer Mrs. Mary H. Field the position of superintendent. You should have all been apprised of her credentials.”
Dolly sat in silence as the board voted unanimously to hire Mrs. Field.
Dolly should have been elated, but she only felt more burdened. She didn’t know Mrs. Field, and there would be a new routine to learn with the departure of Miss Culbertson. As stern and businesslike as Miss Culbertson had been in the beginning, Dolly had grown to love the woman like a family member.
When Dolly returned to Miss Culbertson’s room later that evening, the older woman had already heard the news. Instead of any sort of reprimand or expression of disappointment, Miss Culbertson lifted a hand and motioned for Dolly to sit near her bedside.
“Mrs. Field will be a fine superintendent,” Miss Culbertson said in a gentle tone. “And you may continue in what you are already good at.”
Dolly released a soft sigh. “I’m sorry.”
Miss Culbertson’s mouth lifted into a faint smile. “There is nothing to apologize for. You are young, and you have your entire life before you.”
Dolly nodded, but still her heart was heavy—not with regret, but with the feeling that she’d disappointed Miss Culbertson all the same.
The two women didn’t speak for a few moments as the sounds of nightly preparations from the women and girls echoed through the hallways outside the bedroom door.
“I heard Dong Ho call you mama,” Miss Culbertson said after a while.
Unable to hold back her smile, Dolly said, “Yes. A few of the younger girls do. Even Jiao, although she still misses her mother, Hong Leen, so much.”
Miss Culbertson reached over and patted Dolly’s knee. “For many of them, you are the only mother they’ll know. Even Tien.”
The Paper Daughters of Chinatown Page 8