The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  She used the hidden stash of opium to calm her headaches and shaking for a few hours. But the reprieve was much too short, and she huddled on the floor, unable to stand.

  By the third morning, Mei Lien decided that it was better this way. Curled up on the floor, her stomach clenched tight, her headache screaming, she decided that death would be a better option than this . . . than any of this. She supposed she was lucky that Ah-Peen Oie hadn’t kicked her out of the house onto the streets. Or perhaps that would have been merciful.

  Mei Lien could only hope that her mother was doing well. It was all that Mei Lien could wish for right now. She knew she could never earn back her contract. Ah-Peen Oie would make certain of that. Mei Lien shouldn’t have been surprised when Ah-Peen Oie entered her room and told her, “You will be sold to another owner. You have a quarter of an hour to make yourself presentable.”

  Someone else had entered the room behind the mistress—one of the kitchen girls—and set some water and rice on the bureau.

  “No,” Mei Lien croaked out, but Ah-Peen Oie had already left.

  The door shut, and Mei Lien was left alone again. She could smell the rice, and her throat begged for water. Crawling, she reached the bureau, then pulled herself up on unsteady legs. She probably ate too fast, but she couldn’t get enough. After drinking all the water, she was still hungry and thirsty, but she wasn’t shaking as badly.

  She couldn’t be sold. She couldn’t stay here, either. Time was running out. Would the owner come into her room? Or would she be forced into the banquet room?

  Mei Lien sank onto the unkempt bed. What did it matter where she lived? Or worked? Huan Sun wasn’t coming back. And she would never be able to put off a member of the tong such as Zhang Wei. Someone rapped on her door, and Mei Lien flinched.

  “They are coming up,” a soft voice said. The kitchen girl.

  Was it time already?

  Mei Lien rushed to change her clothing. A glance in the tiny mirror told her that she still had deep bruises showing from the switch. She combed through her hair, then twisted it back. Next, she put on a silk dress; then she straightened the coverlet on her bed. She wanted nothing from the bedroom except for the pearl bracelet. Everything else would be too hard to conceal.

  She was ready when Ah-Peen Oie entered the room with another man. The Chinese man was thin, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. Would he find her bruising and thinness repulsive?

  Moments after looking at her, he turned to Ah-Peen Oie. “I don’t want a troublemaker.”

  “She has learned her lesson,” Ah-Peen Oie said.

  The Chinese man walked over to Mei Lien. She tried not to draw away. Getting out of this house was a must. And she didn’t want to give this man any reason to leave without her. When he walked around her, Mei Lien didn’t move.

  Finally, he negotiated a price for Mei Lien, and moments later, she was walking out of the house with him. The morning sun was bright, and Mei Lien had to squint against the light as her new owner led her to a buggy. The smells and sounds of the busy street assailed her senses. It had been months since she had been outside, and she didn’t know what to look at first.

  The man ushered her into the buggy, and almost immediately it set off down the street.

  Mei Lien peered out the window at the shops, the people, a dog running alongside a boy, the food stalls . . . all that she had been missing. And where would this new owner take her? Into another house? Or worse?

  The buggy slowed at a corner, then passed a tailoring shop. The Chinese lettering was yellow, bold, and seemed to be shouting at her. She knew it wasn’t Huan Sun’s shop, but it reminded her of him. How was he doing? Had he recovered his money? Of course not. Zhang Wei would have made sure of that. He didn’t want the competition. For her.

  Another corner, another shop, more people, more sounds and smells . . . and life.

  Mei Lien had no life. She was a slave of the worst kind. Her life was no longer her own to live, and if she never saw her mother again, what did anything else matter? She was now away from the clutches and control of Ah-Peen Oie, only to be thrust at a new owner.

  Glancing over at the Chinese man, Mei Lien moved as close as she could to the door of the buggy. Only a single latch separated her from the streets. From freedom. She might die on the streets if she escaped, but perhaps that would be a better fate anyway. Or she could try to find Huan Sun’s place. Beg him for mercy to hide her. Would he be able to get her back on a steamship to Hong Kong?

  The buggy slowed to go around another corner, and Mei Lien’s hand found its way to the door latch. She didn’t think, didn’t plan, she only acted. Pushing down the latch, she opened the door and jumped.

  She landed hard on the cobblestones, and after rolling a couple of times with the momentum of the impact, she scrambled to her feet. Sure enough, the buggy had drawn to a halt, and she heard yelling from her new owner.

  Mei Lien looked left, then right. She had no time to decide where to run. Nothing was familiar to her. She picked an alley across the street and headed for that.

  “Stop her!” the man yelled after her.

  Mei Lien didn’t slow; she didn’t look for any other options. She only ran toward the alley. Once between the buildings, she continued pounding along the street until she found herself in a courtyard filled with plants and statues. She saw a ladder leading up to the rooftop.

  Her hands trembled against the rungs as she climbed the ladder, and she missed a step and almost fell. But finally she reached the top. Turning, she wrenched the ladder away from the wall and pushed it over. The owner came into the courtyard, saw her, and screamed, “You will pay twice for this.”

  Mei Lien ran across the rooftop. She jumped to another roof and kept running. Tears streaked her face, and her heart beat faster than a rabbit’s, making her wonder if it would give out, but she didn’t care. She had never felt this free in her life. If these were the last moments of her life, she would spend them running, leaping, and hoping.

  When Mei Lien tripped, she tumbled against the rooftop. For a breathless moment, she didn’t move. Everything throbbed, and her knees and hands stung. But there were no sounds of pursuit, no footsteps chasing, and no one screaming at her to stop. Only the sounds of the city below.

  She pushed herself into a sitting position and looked about. The wind and the sun were her only companions. She was alone at last.

  Remaining on the roof, she pulled her knees to her chest. With the sun upon her head, she closed her eyes and focused on catching her breath. The air was cool and moist and clean, and for a moment, she imagined herself back in her Hong Kong home. With her mother. Taking a break from their labors.

  Perhaps she was having tea with her mother, and they were sharing stories of their day. They would laugh at something, they would reminisce about the past with smiles, they would know only happiness.

  The clouds came hours later, and Mei Lien remained on the roof although she was so hungry, she could have eaten dirt. When the drops of rain started, slow at first, then increasing in tempo, she looked about for shelter. Nothing on the rooftop.

  Curling tighter into herself, she tried to return her mind to the pleasant things of home. But the cold rain pinged against her neck, her cheeks, and her hair fell damp and lank about her shoulders. The shivering returned, both from the increasing cold and hunger, and from her having no supply of opium. At least the last three days of taking very small doses had helped the withdrawal symptoms.

  When dark cloaked the city, Mei Lien moved to her feet. Her joints and limbs were stiff and aching, and she crept to the edge of the rooftop. Below, the number of people in the street had lessened, and some of the shops looked like they had closed. There was no sign of the slave owner’s buggy. She watched a mangy dog trot along the street looking for scraps of food.

  The hunger in the dog’s eyes mirrored the hollow in Mei Lien’s st
omach. She felt completely empty. But she had no money and nothing to trade. Unless she wanted to go back into prostitution, she would have to find someone to take pity and hire her.

  The rain continued, and Mei Lien found a place to climb off the roof. Huddling in an alley wasn’t much warmer, but at least she wasn’t getting rained on anymore. The cold only deepened. And then she had a thought. What if she sold one of the pearls from her bracelet?

  With trembling fingers, she lifted her sleeve and slid the bracelet off. She was too exhausted to count the number of pearls, but one missing wouldn’t make the piece any less beautiful.

  She unclasped the bracelet, then worked the strand loose until she had disassembled the pearls. After slipping the rest of the pearls into her inner pocket of her damaged dress, she clutched a single pearl in her hand.

  Walking out of the alley, she nearly bumped into a young boy.

  He looked her up and down, then sneered a curse: “Mui tsai!”

  Mei Lien felt singed to the core. The first time she had been called that on the wharf of Hong Kong, she’d been disgusted. This time, it was true.

  “Where is the nearest boardinghouse?” she asked the boy.

  He stared at her as if he hadn’t understood her Chinese. Surely, he spoke some. When she asked again, he shook his head and took off running along the street. Trying to get away from her.

  Mei Lien didn’t dare call after him. Inky black had enveloped the street now. She would just have to follow any scents of cooking food. Putting one foot in front of the other, she walked along the edge of the street, keeping her eyes out for the slave owner, or even for Ah-Peen Oie.

  Freedom so far was not what she had expected it to be. Freedom was full of fear. Freedom was riddled with hunger.

  But Mei Lien had walked only a block when a hand grasped her and roughly pulled her inside a building.

  “The girls of the Presbyterian Mission have organized a Red Cross Society. . . . We try to help the soldiers all we can by sewing for them. And we always remember them in our prayers, because we think that they are right and we know that God will help the right. We are very glad that the American soldiers are not fighting for land or money, but to make men free.”

  —Kum Yin, secretary of the Junior Red Cross Society, referring to the Boxer Rebellion in China and the Spanish-American War

  1900

  The fog was little deterrent to Dolly as she and a few of the Chinese girls boarded a streetcar on the morning of Ah Cheng’s wedding. Dolly wanted fresh flowers, and she was determined to get them at the wholesale market. Mrs. Field had called it a waste, since the flowers would only die soon, but Dolly said she would use her own salary to pay for them. Her relationship with Mrs. Field was strained anyway, so at any complaint from the director, Dolly would immediately find an alternate solution that Mrs. Field couldn’t object to.

  Now, Leung and Jiao walked with her through the flower market, and Dolly was gratified to see the smiles on their faces. With Jiao losing her mother, Hong Leen, and saying good-bye to her brother, Kang, when he went to a boys’ school, then Leung losing her sister so recently, this outing was good for all of them. Soon, Dolly and her girls had armloads of white blooms, including roses, chrysanthemums, and dahlias.

  After spending the rest of the morning decorating the chapel, their newly expanded meeting room, Dolly checked in the kitchen.

  The wedding cake was cooling. Lonnie and the kitchen girls proudly showed off the Chinese pastries they had baked. Lonnie had been braver in the kitchen lately, and she had taken it upon herself to help Leung and Jiao learn how to bake. All was in place, and everything was turning out perfectly. So why did Dolly feel a sense of emptiness? Yes, she would miss Ah Cheng deeply, but Dolly was happy for her friend and fellow staff member.

  Other rescued women had been married in the mission home, and the occasions had always brought Dolly joy and pride. But today . . . at over thirty years of age, she supposed that in most people’s eyes she was too old to marry. She hadn’t had much opportunity to meet men in social capacities, but she was truly fine with it. Mostly. She thought little of her first fiancé, and she didn’t regret for a moment having come to San Francisco.

  Yet . . . Dolly walked through the chapel alone while the others in the house were dressing or attending to preparations. She stopped by the vines and branches that arched into a bower where the bride and groom would soon stand and take their vows. The fragrant white flowers tucked into the greenery created a cocoon of lovely scents.

  Dolly closed her eyes and breathed in the heavenly blooms. Alone for a few precious moments, she waited to feel the sorrow, the emptiness, and the loneliness grow bigger than her heart. After her first failed engagement, she had felt the solitude more acutely, especially when she saw young married couples. Their shared smiles and affection made her want to find a way to cut away her single status as if it were an inconvenient burr in her hair.

  But now . . . she didn’t feel the same way. There was no pressing weight on her chest. No burning ache of regret. What was different? Was it because she had so little time and energy to devote to her own contemplation? Or had she changed? Most nights she fell into bed too exhausted to think, let alone to dream, or to dwell on how she might never share a life with a husband. And on the nights that her sleep was interrupted with a call to another rescue, her hours were counted down until the next evening when she could catch up on sleep.

  Yet, despite the unpredictability of her life and the many challenges she faced on a daily basis, her soul had been filled. The Lord had blessed her with happiness, and contentedness, peace, and love surrounded her at all turns. It brought her joy to see the Chinese girls and women blossom in the security and routine of the mission home. Even her relationship with Tien was moving forward to a greater light.

  Laughter and the merriment of happy voices drifted down from the upper floors. The mission home was by no means a perfect place, but love existed between the walls, and peace was something within reach for all.

  If the Lord wanted Dolly married, well, then, the man would have to come to her.

  She was too busy to involve herself in situations that would take her long from the mission home. Of course, her sisters’ letters continued to encourage her to keep looking, but they couldn’t understand that Dolly was busy.

  “A note for you,” Lonnie said in her sweet voice, appearing at the doorway. She had already dressed in a new white outfit she had made herself. “From your sister Jessie.”

  Lonnie’s proud expression told Dolly that she was happy to have been able to read the return address.

  Dolly held out her hand, and Lonnie rushed forward, all eager smiles.

  The letter was short and to the point, which only made Dolly laugh at the irony. Jessie had invited her to her home in Alhambra, near Pasadena, for a weekend visit. Her other sisters, Annie, Katherine, and Helen, frequently invited her to their homes, too. But in this letter, Jessie had made no secret that she thought the minister of their town congregation would be a great match for Dolly. Reverend Ben Bazatas was passionate about saving lives and souls—something Dolly could relate to. She had met the reverend on prior visits to Jessie’s church, of course, but Jessie had never been so adamant before.

  Dolly sighed and squeezed Lonnie’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me the letter. I should go and check on Ah Cheng.”

  “Can I see the bride?” Lonnie asked in a hopeful tone. “Please, Mama?”

  “If you are very well behaved,” Dolly said.

  Lonnie nodded her head so hard that her teeth snapped together.

  “Come.” Dolly led the way out of the room and up the stairs, wondering if Reverend Bazatas was even interested in her, or if the Lord just had a good sense of humor.

  Whatever the case, Dolly’s melancholy lifted by the time she reached Ah Cheng’s room. The bride was beautiful in her white wedding gow
n.

  “Look at you,” Dolly said. “Jun Ling will be blushing before you reach him at the end of the aisle.”

  Ah Cheng’s own face flushed at the comment. “Do you think I will please him?” Ever the modest Chinese woman, Ah Cheng still displayed some insecurities.

  “He loves you,” Dolly said. “You love him. Nothing else matters.”

  Ah Cheng nodded. Then her gaze dropped, and her mouth turned down.

  “What is it?” Dolly asked in a quiet voice to prevent Lonnie from overhearing.

  “Should I be wearing white?” Ah Cheng murmured.

  Dolly’s eyes burned. She knew Ah Cheng’s question wasn’t referring to the traditional red that Chinese women wore on their wedding days. The mission home provided white wedding gowns to its women in order to symbolize their purity. Whatever Chinese women had experienced during their captivity, their escape cleansed the old darkness and provided new life and new light.

  “You, of all people, are the purest soul I know.” Dolly pulled Ah Cheng close. “Jun Ling knows this, and I know this. You deserve to wear white as much as any other woman.”

  When Ah Cheng drew away, tears rimmed in her dark eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Now, a hundred guests are about to arrive,” Dolly said with a watery smile. “And you will soon have an anxious groom downstairs who can’t wait to see you. Where is your bouquet?”

  Ah Cheng exhaled. “I think someone took it downstairs already. I left my bedroom for a few moments, and when I returned, it was gone.”

  Dolly frowned, looking about the room. “No one should have taken it. How long were you gone for?”

  “Only a few minutes, but it’s all right,” Ah Cheng said. “If . . . if someone took it, I will go without.”

  Ah Cheng was an angel beyond anyone Dolly had ever known. She didn’t want to think one of the girls had stolen the bride’s bouquet, but a wedding day wasn’t something that every woman and girl would celebrate. Some of them had deep wells of pain associated with their own weddings and the betrayal surrounding them. Or jealousy could also be a factor.