The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  A knock sounded at the front door; judging by the lateness of the hour, it could very well be a message about another rescue. Dolly rose from the desk, bustled to the door, and called out, “Who is it?”

  When a male voice answered that he had come to serve a warrant, Dolly rang the brass gong by the door. Sounding the gong in the daylight hours would have been the girls’ first alert to stop lessons, drop their sewing projects, and put away brooms. Then the papered girls could gather in the chapel while the unpapered ones would go down the back stairs to hide in the basement. Would the signal work at night?

  She stalled as long as she could by turning the multiple deadbolts one by one, as slowly as she could, giving the girls more time to prepare or hide. Then she opened the door a crack. Three men stood on the porch.

  A tall man with slicked-back hair, wearing a double-breasted suit, said, “We have a search warrant for Chan Juan.”

  She knew the man in the suit, a lawyer by the name of Abe Ruef. He used to work with Miss Culbertson, but recently he had sold out to the tong, and now he did their dirty work.

  Dolly glanced at the Chinese man behind the lawyer. His cold gaze could have frozen an entire Chinese banquet. Ruef shoved the warrant toward Dolly, and she took it, but not before glancing at Officer Cook. His expression was closed, his eyes shuttered. Dolly knew he hated this as much as she did, yet he’d been called upon to see this warrant served and executed.

  Panic stung her throat. Applying for guardianship had become a crucial part of every rescue, but sometimes the paperwork was slow to process. And the name on the warrant was Chan Juan, a girl who’d only been with them for three days. She had just begun interacting with the other girls, and color had slowly returned to her cheeks.

  After stalling as long as she could by reading every word of the warrant, Dolly drew open the door to let the men in, hoping beyond hope that she’d given the unpapered girls enough time to make it to the basement and hide under the rice bags by the gas meter. “You’re welcome to look for Chan Juan,” Dolly said. “I don’t think she is here, though. These girls come and go.”

  Tension vibrated from Cook as he entered and moved past her. She could very well guess his thoughts. They had both been witnesses to girls being returned to their owners. Better-case scenarios were when the judges placed them with Chinese families or allowed them to stay in the mission home, where Dolly adopted them as wards. Not-so-favorable judgments included the deportation of Chinese girls back to China, or the girls being released as wives to the Chinese husbands who claimed there had been a legal marriage. Which usually meant the girl was returned to a life of slavery or prostitution.

  “Please take care to respect our property while you look.” Dolly lifted a brow at Abe Ruef. “Translate for your client, please.”

  Ruef translated, but the Chinese owner didn’t seem fazed, and he barreled into the kitchen, banging through cupboards. Dolly followed. The owner was thorough, checking each cupboard and shifting through the rice bags in the pantry. Finding no one, he moved to the dining room and checked behind the folding doors.

  Next, he headed upstairs, and Dolly accompanied him as he looked into the bedrooms, scouted under beds, and opened closets.

  Mrs. Field came out of her bedroom and stood like a sentinel at the top of the landing, watching the men go in and out of the other rooms.

  Chan Juan was not among any of the faces. Dolly could not relax, though—not until these men were gone. She hoped that Chan Juan was smart enough to stay in the basement and not try to escape through the underground tunnel. Her owner might have a guard watching outside.

  Dolly accompanied the owner down the stairs, followed by Mrs. Field, who was quite pale.

  The owner paused at the front double doors. His face red with frustration, he cursed Dolly in Chinese. She didn’t need an interpreter to recognize when he called her the Fahn Quai. If that was what the tong chose to call her, then so be it. Dolly would wear the title with pride.

  The Chinese owner and his lawyer left the house, promising to return the next day, and possibly the next. When Cook paused on the threshold before leaving, he turned to Dolly and said in a quiet voice, “Secure those guardianship papers as soon as possible, Miss Cameron. Mr. Wang Foo is a top member of the tong. He will not let this rest. My hands are tied on this one.”

  “I understand,” Dolly said.

  Cook leaned closer. “You need to understand he paid five thousand for her.”

  A chill raced through her. Dolly knew the sums of money paid for the paper daughters could be extravagant, but five thousand was the highest she’d ever heard of. In 1870, the highest amount paid for a Chinese girl once she arrived in San Francisco was one thousand. Now, that number had inflated.

  “I’ll speak to my attorney tomorrow,” Dolly said. Her attorney, Henry E. Monroe, had replaced Abe Ruef when he had switched to aiding the Chinese tong. Monroe had helped the mission home secure the legal guardianship papers needed to protect the girls.

  “Good.” Cook left with a shake of his head, and Dolly shut the door. The scent of Cook’s cigarette smoke lingered in the entryway, both a comfort and a warning somehow.

  “We can’t have this kind of trouble brought upon the mission home,” Mrs. Field said from behind Dolly. “We need to draw the line at harboring criminals. They might bring harm to the other girls.”

  Dolly spun toward the woman, trying to hold back words she might regret. She swallowed her anger and said as calmly as possible, “Each girl is valuable here. And we will do whatever it takes to protect them.”

  Without waiting for the director to reply, Dolly turned to the door and slid each lock into place. When the last bolt clicked with finality, she discovered that Mrs. Field had gone back up the stairs, and the other women and girls had collected on the landing.

  Dolly scanned their faces. “Where is Chan Juan?”

  Lonnie pointed downward, a solemn expression on her face.

  “I showed her where to hide in the basement,” Tien said. “And I told her not to be afraid.”

  “Very good,” Dolly said. She was proud of Chan Juan for her bravery and pleased that Tien had helped the frightened girl. The Chinese owner hadn’t even dared go down there. It was a rare Chinese person who would venture into a dark sub-basement; most harbored a fear of lurking evil spirits. But Tien had an odd fascination with the dark place.

  Dolly strode to the basement door, Ah Cheng following. Dolly called for Chan Juan as soon as she stepped into the darkness. “They are gone,” she said in a soft voice. “Come out, dear, you are safe.”

  Ah Cheng walked with Dolly, translating into Chinese. Finally, Dolly heard a scuffling sound from the far corner, and the young woman appeared, clothed in her nightgown.

  She trembled like a dead leaf in the wind. Dolly reached Chan Juan and wrapped an arm about her thin shoulders. “Come,” she said. “We’ll get you some hot tea.”

  Chan Juan nodded, then wiped at the tears on her cheeks. She had refused to share her story with anyone at the mission home. Perhaps someday she would, but for now, Dolly would show her the compassion and love that every girl deserved.

  When Dolly brought Chan Juan out of the basement, the girls surrounded them, hugging Chan Juan. Some even wept with her. Dolly’s heart swelled at the compassion the girls showed each other. That alone would make their rocky journey a bit smoother.

  By the time Dolly returned to the office, her heart had been wrung dry.

  She sat in the chair and lowered her head into her hands. What if Chan Juan’s owner returned before they could get the guardianship papers? She hoped that Monroe would be able to work a miracle tomorrow.

  “Miss Cameron?” Ah Cheng said from the open doorway.

  Dolly lifted her head. The line drawn between Ah Cheng’s brows didn’t bode well. “This just came.” She held up a rumpled piece of paper.


  “Can it wait until morning?” Dolly asked.

  Ah Cheng shook her head, apology shining in her eyes.

  With strength Dolly didn’t know she had left, she rose to her feet and crossed to Ah Cheng. After taking the paper and reading the few short words, Dolly knew her interpreter was right. “I’ll be ready in a few moments.”

  The evening hour was late, but still early enough that Chinatown would be lively with night life. Going now would ensure Dolly and her rescue team an audience, and possible barriers, but that couldn’t be helped. A slave girl on Baker Alley needed rescue. And the young man who’d brought the note was waiting at the bottom of the hill.

  Dolly couldn’t call Officer Cook because he was still likely with the men who had come to search the mission home. So the moment Dolly and Ah Cheng were ready, they headed outside. At the bottom of the hill, they found the young Chinese man waiting. He nodded and took off at a brisk walk. Dolly was curious about this man who was leading their rescue, but asking questions would only delay them. He led them along several streets, then cut into a narrow alley. The darkness permeated the alley like a living thing, although there were plenty of people on the sidewalks, most of them loitering. Both sides of the alley rose up two or three levels. Someone was crying in a second-level room. Two men were arguing with each other somewhere above. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel their vehemence. Dolly’s stomach felt like a lead weight.

  Although the scent of sweet, burnt opium was well familiar to Dolly by now, it singed her throat. And memories returned of finding girls in deplorable conditions, desperation in their eyes like vast pools with no end. The young man wove in and out of the groups of Chinese on the sidewalk, and Dolly and Ah Cheng hurried to stay close to him.

  When he stepped inside a building that was a known gambling den, Dolly hesitated, but then he turned and motioned for her to follow. When Ah Cheng stepped forward too, the man waved her off.

  “You must go without me,” Ah Cheng whispered. “I will not be welcome.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Dolly protested.

  “Then hurry.”

  Dolly had no choice. She lifted her chin and walked in behind their informer. Her chest burned with the pungent smoke. Gambling tables were situated about the room, and in the smoky dimness, Dolly spotted several young women dressed in fine silk clothing, their painted faces garish in the yellow lamplight.

  “Fahn Quai,” someone hissed. Another laughed. A couple of men started to tap their gambling table with their fists in an eerie rhythm. The Chinese girls watched her as well, some of them turning away after looking; others gaped, then whispered fiercely to their companions.

  Dolly kept her gaze focused on the informer, although she had recognized members of the tong, with their American clothing of stylish suits and hats giving away their identities. And now she was in the thick of them with no police escort. The informer was a brazen man to walk right into this gambling den, leading Dolly. He approached a girl near a back table. She was a very pretty girl, no more than seventeen. The informer leaned down and spoke into her ear.

  The girl’s beautifully decorated eyes connected with Dolly.

  In a flash, Dolly saw the depth of pain this young woman must be experiencing. Dolly knew enough stories to know that whoever this girl was, her life was of more value than the amount of money a tong member had paid for her.

  A few more steps and Dolly reached her side. “Do you know who I am?” she asked in her memorized Chinese.

  The girl nodded.

  “What is your name?”

  “Kum Quai.”

  “Kum Quai,” Dolly repeated. “I will take you to safety if you allow me.”

  The girl grasped Dolly’s hand. Could it be this simple? The noise in the room had quieted as all eyes turned on them. Dolly knew they had only moments before someone tried to stop them. Whoever this girl’s owner was, he was not here. Surely someone would be quick to alert him, though.

  “Come.” Dolly led the girl out, moving around the tables, past the heckling man. A few of them grabbed for Kum Quai, and she squealed. The other courtesans laughed as if it were a game. This would be no game once Kum Quai’s owner discovered his missing slave.

  Outside, Ah Cheng joined their little group. The young man who had first brought them had disappeared, and apparently the women were on their own. Ah Cheng grasped Kum Quai’s other arm. Ah Cheng asked a few questions in Chinese, but the conversation was too rapid to understand. Besides, a crowd had gathered on the street, alerted by the appearance of Fahn Quai.

  Dolly ignored them all, but her heart was racing faster than a train. Thankfully, Kum Quai was a willing traveler and moved quickly with them.

  Once they had the Chinese girl inside the mission home, with the doors locked, Ah Cheng reported to Dolly that the gossipers on the street had said that Kum Quai’s owner was in San Jose.

  After they had helped Kum Quai bathe, the girl started to pull at her hair so hard that several strands came loose. Tears came to her eyes as she yanked. Dolly grasped Kum Quai’s hands, but the girl only grabbed at her hair again.

  “What is she doing?” Dolly asked Ah Cheng.

  Ah Cheng questioned Kum Quai in Chinese, and the girl gave a tearful answer.

  “She says she doesn’t want to be beautiful anymore,” Ah Cheng said. “If she pulls out her hair, maybe the tong won’t want her back.”

  “But she’s hurting herself.” Dolly again grabbed the girl’s hands. “Tell her we can cut it short if she’d like.”

  So, moments later, they had Kum Quai sitting on a chair while Dolly cut the girl’s hair. When they finally got her settled in bed, with Ah Cheng watching over her, Dolly made her way to the office.

  She wrote down the events of the night in the record book. Seeing Kum Quai’s desperation to pull out her hair only testified of how afraid she was of her owner. How long of a reprieve would they have? Word would travel fast, and Dolly likely had only two or three days to secure guardianship of Kum Quai.

  Finally, when Dolly went up the stairs to her bedroom, she saw Tien sitting at the top of the stairs. The girl didn’t move as Dolly approached. Was this progress? Tien not running from her?

  But when Dolly grew near, she found that Tien had fallen asleep. Had she been waiting up for their return? Had she been worried about more tong members coming to the mission home?

  Dolly crouched and lifted the sleeping girl into her arms. She carried the girl to her bedroom, then carefully tucked her beneath a blanket. For several moments, Dolly gazed down at Tien. Her expression was so smooth and peaceful. What she’d seen in her young life might take a lifetime to erase, and Dolly could only pray that she would be able to help. Quietly she left the room, hoping that the residents of the mission home could all find their own peace.

  The following week, the dreaded knock on the door came soon after the breakfast hour. When Dolly saw a Chinese man and a constable she didn’t recognize on the front step, she immediately rang the warning gong. Since it was daytime, everyone would be alerted to stop lessons and assemble in the chapel room. There was no one to hide in the basement at this time.

  Dolly knew very well that these men could be here for either Chan Juan or Kum Quai, both of whom Dolly had been able to secure guardianship papers for.

  Still, her heart stuttered when the constable said, “We have a warrant issued by the San Jose court of law for Kum Quai’s arrest.”

  Dolly took the official-looking paper and read through the warrant. Kum Quai was being charged with grand larceny by Chung Bow.

  Dolly felt like the air around her had whooshed out of the house. Even if Dolly contacted their lawyer right now, Kum Quai would have to appear before a San Jose judge. Not even guardianship papers could protect the girl from a court date. Still, Dolly had to try. “There has been a mistake. This girl is not here.”


  The constable pushed the door open. “We are coming in. Chung Bow will identify the thief.”

  Dolly stood aside, helpless as the constable and Chung Bow followed the sounds of the gathered girls, ushered there by Mrs. Field, who was determined not to allow the men to search through the house again.

  Dolly watched from the entryway as the constable and Chung Bow surveyed the gathered girls and women in the chapel. Kum Quai was among the group as well, her shorn hair not enough of a change to hide her identity. And no one had told her to flee to the basement because the guardianship papers should have made her safe.

  Dolly’s fingers curled into fists as Chung Bow shoved the warrant at Kum Quai and barked short words at her in Chinese.

  Then the constable grasped Kum Quai’s arm and led her out of the room. The other girls and women watched in horror, and many of them started to cry.

  Helplessness and panic collided in Dolly’s stomach like two boats ramming into each other. She couldn’t bear watching Kum Quai’s terror-stricken expression.

  Dolly hurried after the trio, and just before the door shut, she grasped the edge. “I’m going with her,” she called back to Ah Cheng. “Tell Mrs. Field, and send a message to Attorney Monroe. Tell him I’m going to need help in San Jose.”

  “No,” Ah Cheng protested. “You will be—”

  But Dolly was already out the door, and before the three had climbed into the buggy, she reached the constable. “I’m coming too,” she said in a single breath. “I am the girl’s guardian.”

  He frowned, but before he could reply, Dolly climbed into the buggy and settled herself right next to Kum Quai. Dolly grasped her hand, and the girl buried her face against Dolly’s shoulder. As a courtesan, Kum Quai had been bold and striking, her clothing exquisite, her makeup perfection. As a mission home resident, her hair was short, her face free of makeup, her clothing simple, but her true light had begun to shine through.