The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  The man cursed, and she heard his labored breathing. He was coming for her. This was not how her life would end, she promised herself that. She ran into the dark, rainy night. She nearly slipped on the wet cobblestones, but she kept her balance and moved as quickly as she could. She didn’t stop until she saw a café window with light spilling from it.

  Hurrying inside, ignoring the stares of the handful of diners, she headed for the kitchen in the back. She approached the oldest person in the kitchen—a woman—and held out a single pearl. The older woman’s eyes widened.

  Mei Lien knew she looked like a drowned rat, but she didn’t let her appearance dissuade her. “I will give you this in exchange for directions to Huan Sun’s tailoring shop.”

  The woman reached quickly for the pearl. But Mei Lien was quicker. She snapped her fingers into a fist and withdrew her hand. “Do you know Huan Sun?”

  “No,” the woman said. “But I can find anything and anyone.”

  “This is true,” a young man said as he stirred something in a sizzling skillet.

  The woman harrumphed. Mei Lien was out of options. “All right.” She opened her hand and placed the pearl in the woman’s hand. Within seconds, the woman had hidden the pearl someplace within her clothing.

  “Sit there.” The woman pointed to a greasy stool in the corner of the kitchen. Then she disappeared.

  Mei Lien kept her eyes lowered even though she knew the young man kept watching her. It seemed like hours before the older woman returned, but it couldn’t have been more than a half hour.

  “Three streets over,” the woman said. “Next to the butcher shop.”

  “I can take you once we close,” the young man said.

  “No,” Mei Lien was quick to say. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust any man other than Huan Sun. Their relationship might be over, but she believed him to be an honest and fair man. In her heart, she knew he would aid her if he could, or at least give her guidance about how to stay safe. “Draw me a map. I will find it.”

  A few minutes later, Mei Lien found herself outside in the dark again. The rain had ebbed, but the cold bit through her thin clothing. She hurried along the street, keeping her eyes and ears tuned to any danger in the silent alleys. Hoping that the woman and her son had given her the right information, she slowed when she reached the final turn.

  And there it was. Sun Tailoring. Mei Lien’s body slumped in relief. But she wasn’t in the clear yet. All was dark inside, which made her wonder if he still owned the place. Since she didn’t want to attract attention by knocking, she headed into the alley on the side of the shop and found a narrow door. She tried the knob but found it locked.

  Tears came fast. What if Huan Sun was gone? For good? She sank onto the ground and huddled against the door. She was exhausted, hungry, wet, cold. She had come so far, yet she still felt lost.

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She would wait until the morning and hope that Huan Sun would come and find her. If he wasn’t here, then there was nowhere else for her to go. Ah-Peen Oie wouldn’t take her back. Earning money for a passage back to Hong Kong would be futile because she didn’t have any papers with her or money to buy false papers.

  The rain stopped, but the dripping in the alley continued. The sound made her feel like it was her life that was dripping away. Bit by bit. Drip by drip.

  “Oh, Mother,” she whispered. “I hope you will never learn of my fate. I hope you have happiness all the remainder of your days.”

  “Mei Lien?” someone said.

  It was a dream, only a dream. A nice dream. One in which Huan Sun had found her and brought her into his shop.

  Then she realized she was truly being carried into a building. She could no longer hear the dripping rain, and the deep cold had eased somewhat.

  His voice came again. “How did you get here?”

  Now, that was a strange question. She had walked, of course. But that wasn’t what he was asking.

  Mei Lien dragged her eyes open. She was sitting on a cot inside some sort of storage room, if the stacked crates were any indication. Personal effects were scattered about. A cracked lamp on a small table. A chipped teacup. A closet door partway open. Was this his bedroom, too? And . . . Huan Sun was looking down at her. He looked both the same and different. His boyish face was achingly familiar, and those laugh lines were still about his eyes. Yet he had violet circles beneath his eyes, making him look tired. She felt a pressure on her hand, a warm pressure, and she realized that he was rubbing her hand.

  Then he lifted her other hand and rubbed that one, too.

  Pricks of warmth penetrated her cold hands, then moved slowly up her arms.

  “You . . . you found me.” Her words sounded strangely thick and slow.

  Lines pulled between Huan Sun’s brows. “I found you outside my shop.”

  It was then she noticed that he was wearing a simple garment—something he had slept in? Was he working around the clock? Searching for the thief?

  “Zhang Wei,” she said. “He stole your money.”

  Huan Sun stilled, pressing his lips together as if he were in deep thought. “Did he tell you this?”

  “Yes.”

  By the knowledge that flashed in Huan Sun’s eyes, she knew that her announcement told him many other things as well.

  Huan Sun drew away. “You should change into this dry clothing. I will get you tea. Then you can tell me what happened.”

  Mei Lien rose from the cot to change into the robe Huan Sun had left. Her fingers trembled as she peeled off her wet clothing. She wondered if she would ever be truly warm again. She had settled beneath the blanket again when Huan Sun returned, carrying a cup of steaming tea.

  “Drink this.” He handed it to her, then moved away again. Sitting on the other side of the room, Huan Sun warily watched her.

  Mei Lien sipped at the tea. She had never tasted anything so heavenly, and the warmth traveled throughout her, slowly warming her body. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And I am sorry to cause you trouble.”

  Huan Sun’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, but his brows remained furrowed in worry. “What happened to you? Why are you here?”

  “I was sold . . .” Mei Lien whispered. “Zhang Wei visited my room, and after he left, Ah-Peen Oie beat me.”

  Huan Sun pressed his lips together as his gaze flitted over her covered form. “Did you displease Zhang Wei?”

  “No,” Mei Lien said. “Ah-Peen Oie was angry that he requested me. She did nothing about it until he left, then she locked me in my room for three days. When she finally returned, it was to bring a new owner.”

  Huan Sun said nothing as Mei Lien continued with her story. At last she said, “I could not continue living that way. I decided that if I couldn’t find a way out, then I would rather die in the streets.”

  Huan Sun’s mouth opened, then shut. He stood and paced the small room. “You should not be here. I have nothing to give you, no way to provide. My own shop has been robbed by Zhang Wei. Imagine what will happen if your owner finds out where you fled to.”

  Mei Lien buried her face in her hands. It was all too much, and now she had brought Huan Sun into the middle of her mess. He was in danger now too.

  She took a shaky breath and moved into a sitting position. The night was still deep, and the pattering of rain had started up again, but she had to be long gone by morning. Pushing aside the blanket, she rose to her feet.

  “What are you doing?” Huan Sun paused in his pacing.

  “I should have never come.” Her voice cracked. “I-I do not want to bring harm to you. I should not be your burden.”

  Huan Sun gazed at her, and it was like a battle was being fought in the depths of his brown eyes.

  “Stay tonight,” he said. “Perhaps no one saw you, and no one knows you’re here, right?”

  Mei
Lien thought of the woman and her son at the café. They knew where she was going, as did whomever the woman had asked for directions. “There are some people I asked how to find your shop.”

  Huan Sun stilled. “Do they know your name?”

  Mei Lien shook her head.

  “Then we will rely on fortune and hope that your trail grows cold,” he said. “Tomorrow I will try to find a place for you.”

  She couldn’t have described the relief that coursed through her. One night. At least she had that.

  “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”

  —Donaldina Cameron, quoting the Apostle Paul, Philippians 4:13

  1900

  Dolly had a hard time believing she wasn’t dreaming as President William McKinley and his wife walked into the mission home. Mrs. McKinley had lost two children and suffered from a nervous condition. Evidently, she had recovered from a rough afternoon and was able to make the late-night visit. If there was one thing to impress Dolly about the president, it was how greatly he cared for his wife’s well-being and comfort.

  Everyone in the household had been awakened, and now the girls, women, and even the babies were assembled in the chapel to welcome the president. He led his wife to a comfortable chair, and she encouraged some of the younger girls to sit by her. Her hair had been tightly curled about her head, and her dark clothing was formal, but her eyes were soft and warm.

  The president took time to shake everyone’s hands. He was an austere-looking man, with a square jaw and a commanding presence, though his smile was genuine and his manner friendly. Finally, he turned to Dolly. “I have heard of the remarkable work you’ve done for the people of San Francisco, Miss Cameron.”

  Dolly couldn’t imagine where he’d heard that from, but she tried to smile demurely. “Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an honor to have you in our home.” They hadn’t had much time to ready the house or the girls, but thankfully, they had kept up on chores, since sponsors frequented the house, asking for tours. Of course, if Dolly had had more notice, she might have bought out all the flowers from the market. And Frances would have had the girls baking sweets all day.

  As it was, the girls performed songs in their sweet voices and offered recitations of poetry and scriptures. Dolly smiled at the girls she loved so much—Lonnie, Leung, Jiao, and Dong Ho. Tien stood in the very back, as if she didn’t want to be noticed, but her curious peeks at the president and his wife gave away her interest.

  Mrs. McKinley clapped in appreciation, her gaze wistful at the same time, and soon her husband joined in the clapping.

  “How do you like living in the mission home?” Mrs. McKinley asked the girls.

  “I love it,” Lonnie said, throwing her hands in the air.

  The president’s wife laughed; then she turned to Dolly and asked, “They are in school, here, yes?”

  “That’s right,” Dolly said. “We also teach them sewing skills, including darning socks and piecing quilts. The girls earn money as well by making buttonhole strips. We make clothing, comforters, and bed linens. With thirty-five to fifty girls in the house at any given time, we’re making about one hundred and forty garments every four or five months.”

  “Goodness,” Mrs. McKinley said. “There is a lot going on here. Do you make time for anything fun?”

  Dolly smiled. “Of course. We take field trips to places like the Golden Gate Park. We love smelling the flowers and feeding the ducks.”

  Mrs. McKinley settled back in her chair, seeming pleased at Dolly’s answer. President McKinley asked for another song.

  When the McKinleys had left, and the children were all finally tucked into bed, Dolly realized that Yuen Qui hadn’t stayed for the meeting. The interpreter had been coughing for a couple of days, but Dolly felt bad that Yuen Qui had left right after introductions had been made. Dolly headed toward the woman’s bedroom. Sure enough, she heard Yuen Qui coughing.

  Dolly knocked softly on the door, then turned the knob. “Can I come in?”

  Yuen Qui only gave a quiet moan, alarming Dolly. She stepped into the bedroom to find Yuen Qui sitting on her bed, her shoulders hunched, as she held a handkerchief to her mouth. Dolly turned on a lamp and found the woman looking dreadfully pale. Dolly rested a hand on Yuen Qui’s forehead—her skin was too warm, hot, even. Then Dolly saw the dark red stain on the handkerchief Yuen Qui held to her mouth.

  “I’ll call a doctor.” Dolly tried to tamp down her worry, even though she knew something was terribly wrong.

  But Yuen Qui shook her head, her eyes widening with fear. “Don’t call the doctor,” she rasped.

  Dolly knew that many Chinese did not trust American doctors, preferring their old medicine and superstitions to modern methods. Often a Chinese apothecary would simply examine the patient’s tongue and take her pulse, then make a diagnosis and create a prescription for a medicinal tea.

  “I only need more tea,” Yuen Qui insisted. She began coughing again, and her body tensed with the obvious pain. Dolly winced, feeling helpless as she watched her friend suffer. More blood had appeared on the handkerchief.

  “I’ll be right back with your tea,” Dolly said when Yuen Qui relaxed again. “Lie down. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

  When Dolly stepped out of the bedroom, her heart was racing, and her own hands felt clammy with apprehension. She slowed when she saw Tien down the hallway, hovering. The worry lines on the girl’s face only mirrored Dolly’s heart.

  Before Dolly could say a word or offer any comfort to the girl who idolized Yuen Qui, Tien disappeared down the hallway toward her bedroom.

  Dolly exhaled and walked down the stairs to the kitchen, where she made tea in the quiet stillness of the night. Through the walls, she heard Yuen Qui struggle with another coughing fit. Soon, Dolly returned to Yuen Qui’s bedroom, and thankfully, the tea seemed to soothe her enough that she fell asleep.

  Dolly sat in Yuen Qui’s room for another hour, until she could hardly keep her own eyes open. She finally made her way to her own bedroom, where she sank into a dreamless rest. But the hours somehow passed while she slept. And the moment dawn pierced the sky, Dolly awakened to a feeling of urgency. She needed to check on Yuen Qui.

  When Dolly cracked open the woman’s door, she was pleased to see that Yuen Qui still slept peacefully. A shape on the floor caught Dolly’s attention, and she found Tien curled up on the rug, also sleeping.

  Quietly, Dolly crossed to the bed. Upon closer inspection, she found another handkerchief spotted with blood. She couldn’t delay any longer, and she left the bedroom to telephone the doctor to come immediately.

  Two hours passed before the doctor could arrive and make his diagnosis. By that time, the rest of the household had risen, finished morning chores, eaten breakfast, attended devotional, and were now involved in their various classes and activities.

  Tien hovered at the bedroom doorway of Yuen Qui while Dolly sat on the single chair, waiting for the doctor’s exam to be finished. Dolly hadn’t the heart to send Tien away, although the girl should have been in class.

  So Tien heard every word the doctor said.

  “Tuberculosis,” the doctor said in a grave tone. “An advanced case, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you sure?” Dolly had to ask because she didn’t want to believe her friend could be so sick.

  “I’m sure, Miss Cameron.” He slowly packed up his medical bag, then turned to look her square in the eyes. “And I am very sorry.”

  Dolly nodded, her eyes burning with tears. Yuen Qui had fallen into a restless sleep again, worn out by the examination. “How long?” Dolly whispered.

  The doctor glanced at the doorway. Tien had disappeared.

  “A couple of weeks at the most,” the doctor said.

  The diagnosis rocked through Dolly. Losing Yuen Qui would be painful, and it would devastate Tien.
“Is there nothing to be done?”

  The doctor shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow, but Dolly took no comfort in commiserating.

  The doctor rested his hand briefly on Dolly’s shoulder. “I will inform Miss Thompson, then show myself out.”

  She nodded, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes were trained on the sleeping form in the bed. Had Yuen Qui comprehended what the doctor said? The minutes passed, and Dolly wasn’t sure how long she sat in the chair across the room, trying to absorb the doctor’s news. As the sounds of the house hummed about her while the residents went about their day, all that Dolly could focus on was the stilted breathing of Yuen Qui.

  It seemed that loss surrounded her at every turn. First, Miss Culbertson had died. Ah Cheng had married and moved. Mrs. Field had quit. Mrs. Browne had retired. Now sweet and lovely Yuen Qui was on her deathbed.

  “Please, Lord,” Dolly whispered, “give me strength.” She rose to her feet and crossed to Yuen Qui’s bedside, where she knelt and clasped the sleeping woman’s hand.

  Yuen Qui stirred but didn’t open her eyes.

  There was nothing left to do but pray.

  That, and find the grieving Tien. She would suffer deeply. Another, more acute fear had taken root inside Dolly. In the Chinese culture, grieving wives would often take their own lives after a husband died. Although there was no marriage here, Tien loved Yuen Qui like a mother.

  But when Dolly went in search of her, Tien had barricaded herself in her room, and no cajoling would bring her out. Defeat stole through Dolly’s whole being, and she slid to the floor outside the bedroom and leaned against the wall, hoping and praying that Tien would eventually let her in.

  “What is it?” Frances Thompson asked, joining Dolly in the hallway.

  “Tien refuses to open her door,” Dolly said.

  Frances looked from the closed door to Dolly. “Perhaps she needs to work out her grief on her own.”

  Dolly exhaled. “But I’m afraid she’ll see no way out of her grief except following Yuen Qui into the afterlife.”