The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  “It won’t escape the fire,” the guard warned.

  “I know,” Dolly said, although she hoped it wouldn’t be the case, “and that is why I need to go now, tonight. Tomorrow will be too late.”

  Perhaps it was because Dolly had made her case, or maybe the guard was just as exhausted as everyone else in the city, but he waved her through. “Go ahead, then, ma’am. Be quick about it. I won’t have your death upon my conscience.”

  She didn’t give him a chance to reconsider. Dolly hurried along the street, running now while keeping an eye out for obstacles that might trip her. She ignored the crumpled form of a body in the middle of the street, and, as she passed by, the rats scattered.

  Dolly’s heart lifted when she reached Powell Street and could see the dome of 920. The building still stood, tall and proud and as yet unburned. She continued along the final half block, then started up the steps, when someone behind her shouted, “Halt!”

  She stilled, then turned.

  Another guard approached. “This street is closed.” He motioned for her to move back down the stairs. “No one goes into these buildings.”

  Dolly said a silent prayer, then explained who she was and what she needed. “If I don’t get those papers, dozens of Chinese girls will be in danger. Officer Jesse Cook can vouch for me.”

  “I don’t care who you know, lady. I have an order to shoot anyone who tries to enter these houses.”

  She weighed her options. She had come this far, and she refused to turn back empty-handed. Her life’s work was tied to the legality of protecting her daughters. “You’ll have to shoot me, then.” She turned away from the guard’s harsh gaze and hurried up the steps.

  He hadn’t tried to shoot her yet, so she pushed open the doors and entered the dark foyer, lit only by the orange glow coming in through the windows.

  Dolly heard the footsteps of the guard coming up the stairs. Would he forcibly make her leave? But he didn’t grab her as he entered the foyer. He only said, “Hurry, you have seconds, then you need to get out—”

  The ground shuddered beneath her, and the building felt like it had cracked in two. Another earthquake? Dolly sank to her knees and covered her head as plaster fell about her. The guard gripped her arm and hauled her to her feet.

  “Hurry! They’re dynamiting the next block,” he said. “By creating a fire break, they hope to protect the upper homes and neighborhoods.”

  “Chinatown,” Dolly whispered. “They’re destroying Chinatown.”

  “Get those papers and get out.”

  She moved quickly, yet it seemed she was barely moving at all. Her ears rang from the explosion, and her mouth and throat burned with dust and smoke. She hurried into the office where she had spent hours and years running the mission home, praying for her daughters, and planning rescues.

  She grabbed the ledger and the document folders that held the paperwork of her daughters’ lives. Clutching them to her chest, she followed the guard out of the building. There was no time for a final look at the rooms. There was no time for farewells to the memories within.

  For the last time, she left 920, and, after thanking the guard, she began the steep trek up Sacramento Street. If possible, the smoke had thickened and the fires seemed even closer. Another boom from the direction of Chinatown ricocheted through Dolly’s entire body. Her legs trembled and her breathing skipped, but she pushed forward.

  She didn’t know how much more her heart could stand when she finally arrived at the First Presbyterian Church. She entered the side entrance again. Once inside, she took deep, cleansing breaths of the sweeter air. She had done it. She’d saved the guardianship papers and the years of written records of the events at 920.

  When Dolly lay on her pallet again, she finally slept. Tomorrow, she would be facing another mountain to climb, but she’d at least successfully climbed one tonight.

  “It was a thankful though a completely exhausted company that sank down amid bundles and babies on the lower deck of the steamer, too weary to walk to the saloon. But tired and homeless, knowing not where that night we were to lay our heads, our only feeling was one of gratitude for deliverance as we looked over the group of more than sixty young faces and realized how God had cared for His children.”

  —Donaldina Cameron, report of events

  following the 1906 earthquake

  1906

  What should have been a beautiful, clear spring day in San Francisco was in fact obscured by thick clouds of smoke, smoldering buildings, and thousands of homeless people. Dolly surveyed her group of women and girls and babies as they walked together, two days after the earthquake, skirting low-burning fires and ash-filled neighborhoods. A messenger had brought word that the women from 920 had been offered accommodations in Marin County.

  The challenge was to make it there with a group as large as theirs. Preparations had been hectic. Several of the girls bemoaned the items they’d left at the mission home, but mostly the girls and women were in good spirits and willing to help where needed. One young woman, Yuen Kum, who was engaged to be married, had carried a large box of letters from her suitor to the church. And she was still carrying it now.

  Dolly marveled at the determination of these girls and women who had already been through so much and now had to endure once again. Tien had taken it upon herself to issue orders about who would carry what. Lonnie, Dong Ho, and Leung were all given assignments to watch over the younger girls. Jiao walked with little Hung Mui, who had insisted on carrying something as they trekked toward the ferry building.

  It was gratifying to see Kum Quai moving among the women, helping and encouraging where she could. She offered to carry one of the young babies.

  Dolly motioned Tien over. “Stay in the middle of the group with Kum Quai. We don’t know who might be watching or following us, but Officer Cook says that the tong have not evacuated the city yet.”

  “I will watch over Kum Quai,” Tien said.

  “You are in danger as well,” Dolly added. “Do not risk anything.”

  Tien simply nodded, a determined look in her eyes, then joined the traveling pack.

  By the time the troupe reached Embarcadero Street, they had become footsore, but everyone was still determined. They needed to cross the bay into Marin County, and there, Dolly hoped they could begin to stitch together their fractured lives. Other women joined their procession—women displaced by the tragedy and seeking shelter. By the time Dolly spied the Ferry Building, she worried they wouldn’t be able to travel across the waters together as a single group.

  She entered the Ferry Building to inquire about the availability. The employee there was nonplussed and simply said, “The incoming ferry is empty. You’ve just missed the main crowd.” He cast his blue-eyed gaze over the women and children carrying a mishmash of luggage, items, and bundles. “There is room for you all, ma’am.”

  Dolly’s knees felt weak with relief. They were getting out of San Francisco. They would be safe. After boarding the boat, she moved to the rail and gripped the top as they pulled away from the shore. The view of San Francisco was hard to fathom. Smoke filled the sky like a dense quilt, and buildings were ghosts of their former selves. Everything she saw broke her heart for her beloved city.

  She sank onto a nearby bundle, needing to rest her legs. Dolly didn’t know where they would end up sleeping tonight, but at least they were away from the choking smoke, the crumbling memories, and the searching eyes of the tong.

  In Sausalito, the group was met by friends of the board and taken to San Anselmo. The barn they were led to was lacking in comfort, but considering their situation and the size of their group, this was the only option for now. They would make do. When ladies from the Relief Committee brought in food, it was likely a bit of a shock for them to see so many Chinese women together under Dolly’s leadership.

  When she explained how the mission home
operated, one of the relief women pulled Dolly aside and said, “We’ve seen other Chinese coming through our town because of the earthquake. Where are they all going?”

  “To whoever will take them in,” Dolly said, her mind reeling. Which Chinese? Families? Tong members? She blew out a breath. “Most are fleeing destroyed and burned homes. It will take years to rebuild what was lost.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. Dolly supposed some might find the sudden influx of Chinese from Chinatown bothersome. She could only hope that the slave owners would not recover anytime soon and that they would either scatter or stay far away.

  But Dolly’s hope was in vain. Only a handful of days later, while she and Miss Ferree were coming out of the nearby Presbyterian orphanage where they’d been given clothing to share with the girls, Dolly saw a man she recognized as a tong member, the one who had spat at Tien’s feet. And with him was a woman Dolly had encountered at a previous rescue. This woman had refused to let Dolly enter her house.

  When she and Miss Ferree returned to the drafty barn, Dolly immediately found Tien. “I need to speak to you in private.”

  They went outside behind the barn where they only had the trees and buzzing insects for company. “The tong are here,” Dolly said. “The man who spat at you, and another woman who despises me. They might be the ones behind the death threats.”

  Tien folded her hands in front of her. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. “You’ve had plenty of death threats too, yet you continue to work.”

  “That’s different,” Dolly said.

  “How?”

  “I’m not Chinese, and I’m not young like you.”

  Tien shook her head, lines appearing between her brows. “You think you’re replaceable, Miss Cameron?”

  Dolly sighed. “Be careful, my friend. Be vigilant. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

  “If the tong are here, then I am not the only one in danger,” Tien said. “And I can’t hide for the rest of my life.”

  “I know.”

  “We must call a meeting and tell everyone,” Tien said. “San Francisco isn’t the only place there is danger. As long as the tong exist, the war continues.”

  “You’re right,” Dolly said.

  With all the older girls and women gathered, Dolly explained about the sighting with the help of Tien translating. Dolly hated to bring more fear into the hearts of these women who had been through so much, but she would never overlook the presence of slave owners, who were now more desperate than ever.

  She surveyed the ragtag group of girls and women, their rumpled clothing, their scant bedding, with only a few saucepans and tin plates between them, and now Dolly had to deliver that bad news. “Miss Ferree and I were in town today, and we have brought back a warning.” She watched the worry take over the expressions on her dear ones’ faces, but she had to inform them. After explaining about whom they had seen, she added, “No one can be outside alone. We must always be in groups, and you must have a staff member with you. Do not leave without permission.”

  “Did they follow us from San Francisco?” Jiao asked in her little voice.

  Dolly hesitated. She had no true confirmation, but the irony was that out of all the towns to flee to, they had chosen this one. “Yes,” she said. “I believe they’ve followed us.” She raised a hand before any commotion could arise. “We must have faith, like we always do, and be diligent. We’ve been blessed and protected this far.”

  As it was, Dolly used every influence and effort she could until they were granted a house for rent in San Rafael. The day they walked to their new sanctuary was one that Dolly would never forget. The house was a bit run-down, but it was serviceable, and more important, it was warm and offered greater protection. The late spring had produced blooming roses and acacia that edged the driveway leading up to the house, and even the towering trees had budded, creating a divine scent full of promise and warmth.

  More than ever, Dolly was on alert. Gone were the San Francisco police squad and lawyers and judges. In San Rafael, the women were on their own, watching out for each other.

  And then word began to arrive about the influx of Chinese into Oakland, about two hours’ travel time from Dolly. The Chinese tong were making inroads into new areas by transferring their slave trade to Oakland, starting up their brothels and dens.

  One morning, Tien hurried into the room that served as both office and bedroom to Dolly. Tien’s face was flushed, and her lips were pressed tight. She said nothing, but handed over a sweat-stained note.

  “What’s this?” Dolly’s heart thumped as she unfolded the note once, then once again. The words in the note sent a rush of anxiety through her. They might be miles from San Francisco, but her location had been found out.

  “Excuse me,” Dolly said, unable to have Tien’s observant gaze upon her at this moment.

  Dolly walked out of the large house and stood on the porch. She read the words of the note again as the scent of blooming flowers floated around her.

  The words were written in childlike English, but they were clear enough. Help me. Husband cruel. I cannot live here. Come to Oakland. My name is Li Na. Help me please.

  Below the words, a small map had been drawn of a row of houses, with one of the houses circled.

  Here, while Dolly stood in this beautiful Garden of Eden, women were out there, desperate and in pain. Dolly might have once thought her work rested primarily in San Francisco, but now she realized it would continue no matter where she lived. And as long as there were women and children in need, she would do what she could.

  Dolly released a sigh. Legally married or not, paper daughter or true daughter, no human deserved the abuse of another. She pocketed the note and walked inside the house. She rejoined Tien in the office.

  The young woman stood straight, hands folded, dark eyes resolute, as she waited for Dolly to tell her about the note.

  “Li Na lives in Oakland,” Dolly said. “She’s the wife of a cruel husband and wants to escape his abuse.”

  “I will come,” Tien said.

  With Tien exposed to the streets, she might be in danger yet again, but Dolly knew the young woman wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  An hour later, they were heading to Oakland. With the influx of the tong into the nooks and crevasses of surrounding cities, Dolly suspected that in the months ahead, more pleas for rescue would come.

  When they reached Oakland, they made quick work of locating the address.

  “Is this the right house?” Tien asked in a doubtful voice as they approached a stately house set back from the road. The grass and foliage were well kept, and all seemed peaceful and beautiful.

  “Perhaps she’s a maid or cook?” Dolly suggested.

  Tien frowned. “And her husband takes care of the horses?”

  Dolly adjusted her hat. “I guess we’ll go find out.” They walked to the wrought-iron gate and, finding it unlocked, swung it open.

  As they headed up the short drive, no one tried to stop them, but Dolly sensed they were being watched—whether from the windows of the second floor or from the house across the street, she did not know.

  Dolly knocked on the front door, fully expecting a maid to answer. Instead, the woman who opened the door was dressed in a beautiful long skirt, a Western-style blouse pleated with ruffles, and a prim waistcoat. She was also Chinese.

  Her eyes rounded, and she stepped out onto the porch and raised a finger to her lips. “Do not speak yet,” she whispered in Chinese.

  Just then, the door opened wider right behind her, and a tall man stepped out. Tall Chinese men were rare, and this one towered over Dolly. Although she guessed him to be in his forties, there was nothing aging about him.

  “Are you going to invite your guests in?” the man said in perfect English.

  “They are here from the sewing club,” the woman told the man in much les
s perfect English.

  “We can’t stay long,” Dolly said in a sugary voice, giving the man a matter-of-fact smile.

  He looked from Dolly to Tien. “Well, I must be on my way. I’ll see you later, wife.”

  She nodded and gave him a brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  The three women watched the Chinese man make his way down the driveway, then turn onto the sidewalk. When he disappeared from view, Tien asked, “Are you Li Na?”

  “Yes.” The woman grasped both Dolly and Tien’s hands and pulled them into her house. The place was polished from floor to ceiling, and it smelled of flowers and lemon.

  With another finger to her lips, she motioned them to follow her into a parlor, where she shut the double doors. Then she turned to them and began to unbutton her blouse.

  Dolly held up her hand. “You don’t need to show us anything.”

  Li Na stopped her progress, and it was then that Dolly noticed the woman’s trembling fingers. Li Na closed her eyes, and a single tear dripped onto her cheek.

  Dolly took the woman’s hands in hers. “If you come with us, you might have to testify in court against your husband, should he come after you.”

  Tien softly translated.

  Li Na nodded. “I will come with you, and if I have to testify, then so be it.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  Tears again formed in Li Na’s eyes. “I had a son, but he died. My husband told me I was a disgrace.”

  Dolly knew there was more to the story behind the woman’s sad words. But if they were to leave with this woman, wasn’t the sooner they left the better?

  “Have you packed some things to take with you?” Dolly asked.

  “Yes, my trunk is hidden beneath my bed. Wait here while I dismiss the servants. I’ll give them the rest of the day off.”

  Dolly and Tien waited in the pretty parlor room, filled with elegant Chinese decorations.

  When Li Na returned, she reported that her servants had all left. “But we can’t let my neighbors or anyone see.”