The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  Dolly didn’t know how she had been so blessed in her life to have so many who cared about her. She moved forward and embraced Tien. “It is so good to be back, and I can’t thank you enough for all your help.”

  “It’s easy to help people who are grateful,” Tien said.

  Over the next few weeks, Dolly slept in snatches as she spent hours catching up with all that she had missed, reacquainting herself with her daughters, and working hand in hand with the staff. Frances had been right. The mission home was often put on the defense, and Dolly spent a good deal of her time preparing for court cases, then testifying on behalf of the newer residents of 920. They also kept the doors and lower windows securely locked, and they stayed vigilant on who was allowed to enter the mission home.

  Following each rescue, the Chinatown squad would patrol the neighborhood for several nights and days.

  She continued to work with her lawyer, Henry Monroe, who aided her in many cases. The girls at the mission home called him “our Abraham Lincoln,” and it was fitting. Monroe aided Dolly in proposing an amendment to state law that would empower a judge to assign her temporary guardianship of a child until the hearing. When the bill reached the governor, he vetoed it.

  Dolly was devastated when Monroe called with the news.

  “What do you want to do, Miss Cameron?” he asked next.

  She gripped the receiver, trying to hold her emotions together. “I don’t know.”

  “We can make a few adjustments and resubmit.”

  Dolly found herself smiling. “What are you waiting for? My permission?”

  Monroe chuckled.

  A few weeks later, Monroe called with the astounding news. “My presentation with the legislature went quite well.”

  Again, Dolly gripped the receiver she held. “How well?”

  “Governor Pardee signed the bill this afternoon.”

  Dolly might have shouted into the phone, and by the time she hung up with the lawyer, he was still laughing. By all accounts, this was a major victory because now she could offer more protection and not worry about being arrested for being in contempt of court. Not only did the rescue of Chinese girls continue, but the highbinders had brought over Japanese girls as well as other nationalities, peddling their same old lies to desperate women and families.

  But when a typewritten note arrived one evening at the mission home, and Dolly saw the plea for help along with the address off Commercial Street, she prepared herself for the worst. It was the same location where Mei Lien had been taken after her arrival in San Francisco. The same brothel where the slave mistress Ah-Peen Oie lived. There was a good chance that Zhang Wei would be there.

  “Tien,” Dolly said, knocking on her bedroom door, then opening it.

  The young woman rarely locked her door anymore, and now she was sitting on her bed cross-legged, with English textbooks spread about her. When she saw the paper in Dolly’s hand, she immediately scrambled off the bed.

  “Where is it?”

  “Commercial Street,” Dolly said.

  “Oh no,” Tien said, knowing the significance of the location. “Should we tell Mei Lien?”

  “Not yet,” Dolly said. “But she might know whoever it is that is asking for a rescue. They probably both worked under Ah-Peen Oie.” Which also meant that the girl would be severely traumatized.

  “We will need several policemen,” Tien said, grabbing the oversized jacket that she wore on rescues. Often she transferred it to the shoulders of the starving, shivering slave girl.

  “I’ve already called and let Cook know of the location.”

  Officers Cook, Farrell, and Green met Dolly and Tien at the bottom of the hill on Sacramento Street less than an hour later. Walking along the roads of Chinatown late at night brought back myriad memories of all the years Dolly had gone on rescues. She was extra nervous tonight; it was the first rescue since her return from her sabbatical. And she worried that this could be a trap.

  “Welcome home, Miss Cameron,” Officer Cook said as they took a side road to avoid being seen by some of the main brothel owners.

  “Thank you,” Dolly said. The night air was cool, and she pulled her cloak closer to her body. “All has been well with you?”

  Cook tapped his sledgehammer against his leg. “As you’ve probably heard, the tong have people in place among the lawyers and even some on the police force. The only level I don’t think the corruption has reached is the judiciary members.”

  Dolly hoped that no judges would accept bribes. “What can be done?”

  “Keep fighting each battle as it comes,” Cook said. “After tonight, Chinatown will know that you’ve returned.”

  She swallowed. “For better or for worse.”

  “Definitely for better.” He slowed his step for a moment as he lit a cigarette.

  She noticed the slight limp as he walked. “Were you injured?”

  Cook drew in a puff of his cigarette, then glanced down at his leg. “Not every encounter has gone smoothly.” And he left it at that.

  They approached the house, which was unusually quiet and dark. Dolly didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She knew about the banquets that took place here, and the opium den in the basement. Cook pinched his cigarette out and dropped it in the road.

  Farrell knocked on the door, and Dolly found herself holding her breath. No one answered, as expected.

  Then, surprisingly, the door swung open. The slave owner Ah-Peen Oie herself stood there.

  Dolly’s pulse jumped. The officers immediately took a step back, and Tien grasped Dolly’s arm. Every slave girl in Chinatown knew who Ah-Peen Oie was, and everyone at the mission home knew what she had done to Mei Lien.

  The slave owner wore a beautiful teal-colored silk cheongsam, and even in the compromised light of evening streetlights, her hair shimmered down her back. Her eyes were large and luminous, and her features were painted with makeup for emphasis. Dolly wasn’t fooled by the woman’s seemingly vulnerable beauty, though.

  Cook stepped forward, resting the sledgehammer on his shoulder. “We received a note from this address,” he said. “Stand aside.”

  Dolly sensed he was bracing himself for an argument or a door slammed in his face. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  But instead of acting defiantly, Ah-Peen Oie nodded and stepped back as if she were allowing the police officer to enter.

  Were there tong members inside, in the dark, waiting to attack?

  Cook and Farrell entered, but Green hung back, keeping guard over Dolly and Tien in case there was a planned retaliation.

  “What do we do?” Tien asked.

  They could no longer see Ah-Peen Oie. A faint glimmer of light came from inside, probably from a single lamp.

  “Let’s go in.” Dolly nodded to Green, and the three of them walked into the room.

  Only Ah-Peen Oie was inside, and she sat on a chair. The place was like a ghost town of its former self. All the other furniture was gone, and only remnants of its previous glory remained. A few beads were scattered about the floor, beads that had once been part of the hanging décor. A crumpled fish-skin lantern lay in one corner, discarded and forgotten.

  “Where is everyone?” Cook asked, and Tien translated.

  Dolly definitely didn’t expect Ah-Peen Oie to answer, but the woman continued to sit calmly in the chair. It was strange, almost eerie. This house was notorious for banquets and opium dens . . . yet, the place seemed empty now.

  “No one is here,” Ah-Peen Oie said through Tien’s translation.

  Cook nodded at Farrell. “Go look upstairs. See if there are any girls up there.”

  While Green and Cook remained on the main floor, they listened as Farrell’s footsteps pounded on the steps, then moved across the floor above.

  Ah-Peen Oie remained in
her chair, her elegant hands folded upon her lap.

  Moments later Farrell returned. “Everyone’s gone. Furniture, beds, tables . . . all cleared out. Only the rats are still here.”

  Ah-Peen Oie spoke in a voice so quiet that Tien asked the slave owner to repeat herself.

  “I wrote the note,” Ah-Peen Oie said. “I want to take refuge at the mission home.”

  Dolly frowned at Tien after the translation. “Are you sure that’s what she said?”

  The translator’s nod confirmed Ah-Peen Oie’s claim. What an elaborate ploy. Frances had told Dolly of other antics by tong members to retrieve their slave girls. Now, Ah-Peen Oie was using her own cunning.

  Dolly folded her arms. “Tell her we’re leaving and to never contact us again.”

  When Tien translated, Ah-Peen Oie leapt to her feet, her hands clenched together. Oddly, they were trembling. It seemed as if the woman’s composure had cracked. “No, please. I need to leave here. I’ve sold everything I can. Still, they want more. My former owner, Hip Chang, wants to sell me to Wong Dick for three thousand dollars. Hip Chang thinks that he still owns me—that because I lost Mei Lien, and Zhang Wei lost her too, I have to pay for all the money she would have earned.”

  Tien was translating as fast as she could, but Dolly was becoming lost in the web of information. Ah-Peen Oie continued to explain how she owed money on an opium consignment, and this debt was in the thousands of dollars too.

  “I cannot pay them both,” Ah-Peen Oie finished. “I sold everything, but even then, I cannot pay enough.”

  Dolly took a step closer to the door. It sounded as if Ah-Peen Oie was on the blacklist of the most powerful Chinese tong in the city. Housing her would only bring more trouble to the mission home.

  Besides, this beautiful, composed woman had beaten Mei Lien, and countless other girls, and stripped them of their dignity. The mistress had inflicted terror and control on innocent people. Forced them into addictions so then they would be under her power.

  Her deeds went too deep and were too black.

  “We don’t help slave owners get out of debt.” Dolly cut her gaze to Tien. “Come. We have no rescue here.” She nodded at the officers. With a final scan of the room, they followed her to the doorway.

  Before Dolly could cross the threshold, Ah-Peen Oie cried out, “Please wait! Take me with you. I beg of you.”

  Her English was broken, but Dolly understood well enough. She turned, ready to deliver another, final set down. She would not let this woman coerce her, just as she must have so many others before.

  Then Ah-Peen Oie threw herself to the ground next to Dolly and grasped the hem of her skirt. The woman’s broken English was interspersed with tears as she pled. “You do not understand. You rescue girls in captivity, yes?”

  Dolly didn’t move, didn’t answer.

  “But where were the mission ladies when I was a girl?” She twisted Dolly’s skirt as if she were holding onto a life preserver. “I was kidnapped from my family and sold to the powerful tong.” Ah-Peen Oie’s tears turned her makeup to dark rivulets running down her cheeks. “Where were you when they forced opium onto me until I would do anything for another dose? Including working with them to find more girls?”

  The woman made a grievous argument, but how did Dolly know Ah-Peen Oie was speaking the truth? Had her greed and desperation for money brought her to another level of lying?

  Ah-Peen Oie’s voice dropped low, filled with anguish. “I was a rat in their cage. They poked me, and I did their bidding. They held out food and I grabbed it. They beat me and used me until I became a monster like them, inflicting the same pain upon once-innocent women like me.” Her eyes slid shut, and she released Dolly’s skirt.

  Dolly bit her bottom lip to stop the threatening compassion. She would not feel sorry for this woman.

  “I am nothing,” Ah-Peen Oie whispered. “Less than nothing. I don’t deserve anyone’s kindness, and if there was any way I could make recompense to all those I robbed and hurt, I would.” A sob broke, and she curled up on to the ground, covering her face as her shoulders shook.

  Dolly could only stare in shock at the crumpled, sobbing woman. It could all be an act, a ploy, but the empty and desolate room beyond was a testament that the slave owner was at least telling the partial truth. Something pricked the edges of Dolly’s heart, something she didn’t want to acknowledge or feel. She looked at Tien, hoping she would have the answers.

  But only confusion reflected in Tien’s eyes.

  Dolly released a sigh. There was no way she could take Ah-Peen Oie to 920. Not with Mei Lien there. Not with every girl in the house petrified of this woman. There was only one option she could think of. “We can offer you protection if you’re willing to go to the city prison until we can come up with a place for you to stay.” She didn’t know if Ah-Peen Oie would balk or not.

  The woman raised her tear-stained face. “Will I be safe?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “You will be safe there.” Dolly scanned her silk clothing, now damp with tears and wrinkled from the floor. “You’ll want to change your clothing, though.”

  Ah-Peen Oie nodded, then wiped at the ruined makeup on her face. With shaky legs, she rose to her feet. “I’ll go and change.”

  “Only last week Chow Ha was rescued and she is a truly pathetic object-lesson in what this appalling system of Oriental slavery can bring a young girl to in one or two years. Sorrow and physical suffering combined with the use of opium have made of Chow Ha a pitiful object. Such a sad, hopeless face I have seldom seen. But when she said to me with a glimmer of a smile lighting up her poor pale face, ‘This is the best day I have had for years [referring to the day she entered the mission] and soon I will grow strong and well,’ I knew there was hope for Chow Ha, and when the good Physician lays His healing hand upon her she will be healed of soul and body.”

  —Donaldina Cameron, mission home record

  1905

  Mei Lien spent the first waking moments each morning watching her little boy sleep. Most days, she convinced herself that he looked like Huan Sun. On her worst days, she thought she saw a flash of Zhang Wei in the boy. Today was a good day. Mei Lien was sure the tilt of her boy’s lips was identical to Huan Sun’s.

  Where he was, she could only guess. Over the past year, with so many things changing at the mission home—Miss Cameron’s absence, new girls coming in, many girls leaving to continue their lives in education, marriages, and even some returning to their homelands—had left Mei Lien with a sense of displacement.

  She would never see her mother again, that she knew. Even with the skills she was learning at the mission home, it would take years to save up enough for a ship’s passage. And she didn’t even know if her mother was still alive.

  Oh, how her mother would love to know her grandchild. And in another world or existence, there would be no disappointment in how the child was conceived. Now, in the gray light of the morning, just a short time before the birds would begin their song, Mei Lien took out the paper that Miss Cameron allowed her to keep in her bedroom.

  With a thick pencil, Mei Lien sketched out the characters she had learned over the past year at the mission home and wrote a note to Huan Sun. She told him about his son. She told him about how each day when the sun rose, she hoped that today was the day he would return. She wrote how she would be forever grateful for his kindness. The risk he took to save her. His sacrifice now. She told him that she missed him, that she prayed he was well and had found happiness in life.

  Then she folded the note and moved to the side of her bed. Kneeling, she withdrew a small paper-covered box and lifted the lid. Inside were at least a hundred other notes, all written to Huan Sun. In the early notes, her words were much simpler, her characters roughly sketched. Placing the newest note on top of the others, Mei Lien felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

  Writing
gave her a way to move time forward, to propel her life into action, to begin each day with renewed hope. Soon, she would be writing her notes in English. She was determined to learn all she could while at the mission home, since she didn’t know what life would bring her next. And she wanted to be prepared. Her son would eventually be too old to live in the mission home for girls, and she would need to find a place to live and a way to support him.

  The soft knock at her door startled her because she hadn’t heard footsteps in the corridor.

  “Mei Lien,” came the whispered call.

  She scrambled to her feet and unlocked the door. Then she cracked it open, tamping down the nervous beat of her heart.

  Tien stood there, the dim corridor making her look as if she were a dark figure. “Miss Cameron requests your presence in her office.”

  “So early? What is it?” Mei Lien said, both fear and hope colliding in her breast. Perhaps she would be forced to leave after all. Or perhaps . . . this had something to do with Huan Sun. Had he been found? Was he alive?

  “Miss Cameron will tell you.” Tien stepped back, giving Mei Lien room to exit.

  She glanced at her sleeping son, but Tien said, “He will be fine for a short time. We must go immediately.”

  Mei Lien hurried out of her room then, and Tien followed behind. Down the staircase they went, the creak of some of the steps louder in the silence of the dawn. It was strange walking about the house when most everyone was asleep.

  Miss Cameron’s office door was open, and Mei Lien found herself holding her breath as she entered.

  Miss Cameron turned from the window, and Mei Lien saw immediately that the woman had not likely slept all night. Miss Cameron’s usually neat hair was falling out of its pins, and her blouse was wrinkled. “Have a seat, Mei Lien.”

  Blindly, Mei Lien sat down, not wanting to take her eyes away from the mission home director. Miss Cameron didn’t sit. Instead, she rested her palms on the desk, as if to brace herself.

  The hollowness in Mei Lien’s stomach grew.