The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  Frances’s brows lifted, but she understood Dolly’s meaning. “I’ll speak to the others,” Frances said. “We’ll all rally around her.”

  It was all they could do, and Dolly knew it. But that didn’t make this any easier. Yuen Qui had received a death sentence, and Dolly hoped it wouldn’t be the same for Tien.

  Over the next three weeks, Dolly spent every spare moment by Yuen Qui’s bedside. Despite the doctor’s prediction of two weeks, she hung on for another week, painfully hovering between life and death as the symptoms of tuberculosis wracked her increasingly thinning and frail body.

  Dolly and Frances took turns treating her fevers, night sweats, chest pain, and coughing. Each morning, Dolly would find Tien curled up on Yuen Qui’s floor, asleep.

  When Dolly tried to speak to Tien, the girl would turn away or leave the room.

  One morning at the end of the third week, Dolly once again arrived at Yuen Qui’s bedroom. Frances had been on duty to check in on her throughout the night. But when Dolly opened the door, she found only Tien inside, standing next to the bed, gazing down upon her friend.

  Something was different about the room. The atmosphere was too quiet, too still. Dolly approached the bed and saw what she dreaded most.

  The lovely Yuen Qui had died.

  Despite having known for weeks that this day, this moment, would come, Dolly felt like the world had been stripped of color. Yuen Qui’s face was beautiful, ethereal, yet so very pale and still. Absent were her light and smile. And in their place, emptiness.

  Dolly’s heart felt like a vase that had shattered on a tiled floor, the broken shards too numerous to count. Her knees gave way, and she sank onto the bed beside her beloved interpreter. She had no control over the sobs that wracked her body and the pain that lanced hot through her limbs.

  Yuen Qui was too young to suffer as she had. She should have lived a good number of years more. She was desperately needed by the mission home, by the girls, by Tien. By Dolly.

  She and Yuen Qui had traveled the bowels of the underworld of San Francisco together, leading girls from the darkness into the light. And now . . . she was gone.

  “No, no, no,” Dolly repeated over and over. Her prayers had been in vain. Yuen Qui’s sacrifices had brought her only grief. How could a woman so good, so full of purpose, and with so much more to give, be taken from the earth?

  Someone patted Dolly’s shoulder, but she had no strength to rise.

  “Lo Mo,” Tien said.

  When Dolly didn’t, couldn’t, respond, Tien spoke again. “Lo Mo, I will help you. Don’t cry.”

  It was the first time Tien had called Dolly Lo Mo. In this torturous moment of dear Yuen Qui’s departing, she had left behind a miracle after all.

  “I will help you with the rescues, Lo Mo,” Tien said. “I won’t be afraid, and I will work harder than anyone.” The girl sniffled, and Dolly brushed at the tears on her own cheeks and turned to Tien.

  The young teenager fell into Dolly’s embrace and wrapped her sturdy arms about Dolly’s neck.

  Dolly squeezed her eyes shut as she held Tien. The Chinese girl trembled as if she stood barefoot in a winter storm. The two clung to each other in their shared grief and sorrow, while something that neither of them could define sprouted. A seed that had a future of its own. The light of Yuen Qui lived on.

  “A picture of their early homes may shock your sensibilities, yet I want you to realize the life from which our innocents come. Ah Yoke’s home in Chinatown was a house of vice on Spofford Alley. Her mistress, Foon Ying, one of the cruelest, most depraved women of the underworld, vented her anger on this helpless child every time her evil nature asserted itself.”

  —Donaldina Cameron, plea to the board to start

  a home for the younger girls

  1904

  One night, Huan Sun had told her. But a full month had passed now, and Mei Lien had yet to go outside. Someone could be waiting; someone could be watching. The fear of the ever-present unknown had carved a hollow into her stomach. This morning, the shop had yet to open. The rain outside made it seem earlier in the morning than it actually was. And Mei Lien felt every bit of the gloomy mist as if it had seeped inside her very soul.

  She couldn’t complain, though. Huan Sun had put her to work sewing and repairing clothing that came into his shop. He had also insisted that she sleep on the only cot in the back room. Where Huan Sun slept, she wasn’t sure. He was awake long after she went to sleep and before she arose in the morning.

  Mei Lien was grateful for every moment that she spent in this place, but every moment also seemed another moment closer to . . . what? She didn’t know, and her mind conjured up all sorts of images. At least for now, there was no Ah-Peen Oie to beat her, no Zhang Wei to beckon her, no days without water or food. No temptation of opium, although the sweet smell wafted in from the shop window now and again.

  Mei Lien had gone through withdrawals the first week at the shop, but they were a small price to pay for her escape. Now, she only felt nauseous. Huan Sun’s meals were sparse, but regular, so it wasn’t because she was hungry. And although she slept a full night each night, she always craved more rest.

  Mei Lien knew the cause of these symptoms, but she wouldn’t let herself think about it for fear her thoughts would make her situation into reality.

  And she was determined to earn her keep for as long as Huan Sun tolerated her presence.

  Now, Huan Sun walked into the main part of the shop where she worked. “Someone’s coming,”

  He didn’t need to say anything more. Mei Lien turned and scurried past him to the back room. She moved into the narrow closet to her usual hiding place. When patrons entered the shop, it was her job to disappear. At the back of the closet, Huan Sun had constructed a false door, and she drew it open, then squeezed into the small space.

  She closed her eyes as she steadied her breathing. Closing her eyes helped calm her. Huan Sun sometimes sensed things before they happened. The fact that he had discovered her in the middle of the night had been remarkable. And now, he knew someone was coming to the shop before the doorknob was even turned.

  Voices sounded inside the main shop, and Mei Lien held her breath to listen. Men. At least two of them, their voices higher pitched than Huan Sun’s lower, more mellow tone. When she heard her name spoken, all the warmth drained from her body.

  “She very pretty,” one of the men said. “You knew her at Ah-Peen Oie’s.”

  “I visited many women there,” Huan Sun said, his tone remarkably even and calm.

  “Ah-Peen Oie says you have not returned since visiting Mei Lien,” the man continued.

  “My shop was robbed, and I had no money.” Huan Sun’s explanation was the truth, but the men in the shop weren’t satisfied.

  “Every Chinese man is poor,” the man said. “Yet, every Chinese man visits the brothels.”

  Huan Sun’s reply was muffled.

  Then something banged. Mei Lien’s breath hitched.

  “Don’t move,” one of the men growled. The order must have been directed at Huan Sun.

  Mei Lien hardly dared to breathe, and she feared that her thudding heartbeat would be loud enough to give her away. Sounds of banging and clanking told her they were searching the place . . . for her.

  Footsteps entered the back room, and even through the false door, Mei Lien knew the man was heading straight for the closet. The door clicked open, and he banged on the walls. Mei Lien nearly yelped, but she bit down hard on her lip, stifling a scream.

  The next bang on the closet was right above her head. Panic lurched through her body. Her stomach roiled, and bile burned her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry out.

  Someone called to the man in the closet, and he suddenly left. Mei Lien didn’t know what was happening, but new voices came from the front of the shop. A patron
must have come in.

  She could only wait and pray that Huan Sun would be all right, and that the tong would leave. The wait was agonizing, and Mei Lien had no idea how much time had passed. But when Huan Sun finally opened the false door, she ran past him to the latrine bucket. Falling to the floor, she vomited.

  When her body had completely spent itself, she curled up on the floor next to the bucket.

  Huan Sun crouched next to her and touched her forehead.

  Mei Lien peered at the man through bleary eyes. He had a growing bruise below his eye, and his bottom lip had been split. “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

  “It could be worse.” There was no censure, no anger in his expression.

  His injuries both incensed her and made her want to cry. “Why are you protecting me?”

  Huan Sun didn’t answer. Instead, he gently took her arm and helped her stand. Then he led her to the cot.

  “Rest.”

  “But I should help you clean up the damage,” she said, even as she sank onto the cot. “How much did they—”

  “Hush,” Huan Sun said. “They could have done much worse. I will clean up. You rest.”

  “I shouldn’t be resting.” She knew her voice was hysterical, but she couldn’t help it. “You’re the one who got beaten.”

  “You’re pale,” he cut in. “And you have been sick.”

  Mei Lien looked away then. She’d been sick, yes, but it wasn’t just because of the tong’s visit.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice gentler.

  She couldn’t pretend anymore. Huan Sun would notice soon enough. She looked down at her body, then placed her hands on the new tightness of her belly. “I am pregnant.”

  Huan Sun didn’t move, didn’t speak for a moment. Then he sat on the cot next to her with a sigh. There had been no relations between them since she had arrived, but he had not been the only man she’d been with.

  “Zhang Wei?” The name cut a path into her soul.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “He was only one night. And you . . .” Her words faded into the bleak room.

  Huan Sun nodded.

  He wasn’t looking at her, and she didn’t blame him. She was in a shameful state. Being a courtesan had not been the low point of her life, she realized now. Having a fatherless baby was unforgivable. Without a husband and without money to feed the child, she was helpless.

  “You cannot stay here,” he said.

  She knew that, but hearing him say so widened the crack in her heart. “I don’t want to get rid of my baby. No matter who the father is, this child is mine.”

  “It is not because of the baby,” Huan Sun said. “The tong will be back. After following whatever other leads they might have, they’ll circle back because I am the last one who had a contract with you.”

  Mei Lien’s breath hitched at this. “Where will I go?”

  He exhaled. “I hoped to find a better place, but we are now out of time. There is a laundry business down the street, and the owner said she would take you in. You would have to work for free, and . . . I’d have to pay her as well.”

  “But you’re still recovering from your own losses—”

  Huan Sun grasped her hand, which silenced her immediately. “I can’t let you fend for yourself on the streets. Especially now that there’s a baby on the way—a child who might be mine.”

  She bit her lip as her eyes welled with tears. “I have put you through enough.”

  But Huan Sun didn’t let her go; he didn’t turn her away. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

  “I care about you, Mei Lien,” he said in a quiet voice. “I know that our relationship has been unconventional, but despite everything, I’m fond of you.”

  Mei Lien couldn’t have been more surprised. Her imaginations about Huan Sun had always been in her mind only. His arm around her now, and his sincere words, told her that perhaps her future could be different.

  She wished she and Huan Sun could move far away from San Francisco and the tong.

  Resting her head against his shoulder, she wrapped her arms about his waist. He was warm and solid, and when he kissed the top of her head, she closed her eyes. And held on. She would have to leave him in order to keep him from getting assaulted by the tong again.

  “Mei Lien,” he murmured against her hair. “You need to leave tonight. We cannot wait a single day.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “All right. I will be ready.”

  He drew away and gazed at her. She scanned the bruising in his face, the dried blood upon his lip. Gently, she placed a hand on the uninjured side of his face. “I am sorry, Huan Sun, very sorry. I did not mean to bring all of this upon you.”

  He placed a hand over hers. “You are a beautiful young woman, Mei Lien. It is not your fault that you’ve drawn the attention of the powerful tong. They are responsible for their own actions, and I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

  Mei Lien could not stop the tears that fell. Oh, how she wished she did not have to leave this man. He was a pearl among the filth of her life.

  “You should not say such things to me unless you want me to fall in love with you,” she whispered.

  The edges of his mouth lifted, and then he leaned forward and kissed her. Gently. The kiss was over before anything could deepen. “Fate has brought us together for a reason, and it will be my honor to get you to safety. Although it means we will have to say good-bye.”

  Mei Lien choked back a sob. He was right. They had already tempted fate too much. “I don’t want to say good-bye.”

  His smile was sad. “If circumstances were different, then perhaps we could have found our own happiness. But you are a wanted fugitive, and I am at the mercy of my debts.” He drew away slowly and released her. Then he rose to his feet. “I need to put the shop in order. You stay in this room and don’t make a sound. We can’t take any chances. The tong might be paying someone to spy on me. When dark falls, we will leave.”

  Mei Lien wanted to step into his arms again, feel his physical comfort. But he was right. There was no future for them, and there was no way she could remain in his shop for even one day longer.

  The day passed agonizingly slowly. Every sound, every patron, made her heart stutter with fear. She tried to concentrate on her sewing, but the sound of the shop door opening sent her into the closet more times than not as patrons came in to deliver or pick up orders.

  When the setting sun cast the back room into a gold light, Mei Lien felt anxious for a different reason. Soon, she would be at the mercy of another person. Again. She had no worries about working for her keep, but where would she sleep? On the floor? And would she be able to go outside anytime soon?

  Shadows crept into the room, and Mei Lien finished her current sewing task so that by the time Huan Sun closed the shop, she had a finished cushion to present to him.

  “You are talented,” Huan Sun said, taking the embroidered cushion cover and examining the neat and close stitches. “This is beautiful. Everything you’ve made has sold within a day in my shop.”

  The compliment warmed her through. If only she could stay.

  Then Huan Sun set down the embroidery, and his gaze connected with hers. Without him speaking a word, she knew it was time.

  She reached for the bundle she had created with the few clothing items Huan Sun had given her. She wore his mother’s pearl bracelet high up on her arm, concealed beneath her clothing. It was the only thing she owned.

  Huan Sun reached for her hand, and she slipped it into his warm fingers. She would miss this man, his touch, his presence. Perhaps if she were a good worker for the laundry woman, and perhaps if Huan Sun could get out of debt, they might cross paths again—long after the tong gave up on finding her.

  She stepped outside with Huan Sun. He released her hand, but she stayed close t
o him as they hurried along the street through the cool night air. The foul scent of the soiled streets assailed Mei Lien, which only propelled her faster. They rushed past dark alleys, and even darker doorways, spoiled with the stench of opium and urine.

  “Almost there,” Huan Sun whispered.

  A strong hand snaked around Mei Lien’s upper arm, and she might have thought it was Huan Sun, but he was on her left side. Then the hand tugged her back so hard that she lost her balance. Before she could scream, someone clamped a hand over her mouth.

  She twisted with every bit of strength she had, but there were now two people holding onto her. She bit the hand over her mouth and yelled, “Huan Sun!”

  Someone slapped her. Hard. The hot sting traveled the length of her body.

  Then she heard him. Huan Sun was arguing with someone; then his yelling turned to cries of pain.

  “No!” Mei Lien gasped. “Leave him alone!” But her words were again cut off as she was hauled over a man’s shoulder and carried into a nearby alley. She hit the man’s back until he stopped and set her on the ground. Instead of releasing her, he wrapped his strong hand around her neck.

  She stared at the man looming over her. Zhang Wei.

  “Quiet.” His bulging eyes locked her in place. “If you want Huan Sun to live, you will do as I say.”

  “Little Yute Ho Ji . . . made her debut into public life a few weeks ago when she appeared before the Grand Jury of this city to bear witness to the fact that even tiny children are brought into this country as slaves. She made such an impression upon that august body that several members soon visited the Mission to see for themselves what was being done in the way of rescue work.”

  —Donaldina Cameron, mission home report

  1901

  “You must come for a visit,” Jessie told Dolly over the telephone. “If only for a day or two. A weekend. You can see Reverend Ben Bazatas. Remember, I wrote to you about him.”

  Dolly laughed at her sister’s antics, even though the last thing she felt like doing was laughing. The death of Yuen Qui still tore at her soul, and although Dolly had tried to put on a happy face around the residents of the mission home, in truth, she ached every day. Deeply.