the door and slipped into the room. Mildred Martin sat in a straight-backed chair beside her daughter's bed, her head of prematurely silver hair bowed. Normally, Mildred wore it up in a tight bun, but now it cascaded down her back in a shimmering river. She wept softly into a handkerchief.
Grace went to Mildred and put a hand ever so lightly on her shoulder. The seated woman didn't flinch or in any way acknowledge in words that another body had entered the room. She merely reached up her own pale hand and placed it over Grace's. They both kept their eyes on the now sleeping child. Grace didn't see anything wrong with dear Daisy, who normally filled the house with her rather demanding voice and busy antics. She was a handful— robust and not sickly, so Grace wasn't sure why her mother sat and seemed to worry over her now.
Then Mildred, as if guessing Grace's thoughts, reached forward and lifted Daisy's sleeping wrist into the air. The child's arm, thinner than Grace had remembered it, sagged like a catenary. It swung slightly as if a breeze had caused it to sway. The bowed bones appeared made of rubber. They curved unnaturally, and Grace felt a pain rise up in her chest. Her ears filled suddenly with the sound of her own throbbing blood, as if she might drown in it.
"Dear God," she whispered.
"Rickets," Mildred said as she delicately set her daughter's arm back on the covers. "The poor child isn't getting enough milk or green vegetables or meat. Her body is leaching away calcium and vitamin D until the bones can no longer remain solid. She is starving, Grace."
Mildred turned suddenly in her seat and flung her arms around Grace's waist. She pressed her head against her friend's loose stomach, and quickly her tears soaked through the thin material of her nightgown. "I can't stand it any longer," Mildred said. "We must get out of here."
Grace's fingers gently stroked Mildred's long hair from the top all the way down her waist. Then her hand softly settled upon her back.
"It may already be too late," Mildred added, her shoulders shaking with tears. "The trip back home could kill her."
"Don't think that way. But you're right. You must go."
Mildred pulled away from Grace and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. She studied her friend with deep fondness and curiosity. "But what about you? I didn't think you'd make it, dear Grace, but you are stronger than anyone I know. How have you managed with such loss and with a husband who is forever gone from your side?"
Grace pulled herself free from her friend. "Don't think about me now. It's Daisy and you that we must consider."
Mildred leaned forward and asked, "But what about your precious girl, your baby?"
Grace stepped close again and placed a palm on Mildred's cheek. "My baby," she echoed.
Her friend flinched at Grace's touch. "My heavens, your hands are icy cold. We must get you back into bed. That Mai Lin should watch over you better. You're not well."
Grace realized she was trembling all over, her teeth chattering silently. It was true, she wasn't well. She let Mildred take her arm.
"You must leave for America with us," Mildred whispered. "You and the baby can't possibly stay here a moment longer. My Reverend is trying to book us passage on a boat out of Shanghai. We'll get you a berth, and you will join us." She turned Grace toward her and spoke sternly. "Even if that husband of yours refuses to go, you must not stay. For the baby's sake, please, Grace, say you'll consider it?"
Grace nodded, but now she needed to concentrate on every step. The whooshing of blood in her veins was growing unbearably loud again, and she feared she might collapse. It was time for Mai Lin to administer to her. She longed to drift into sleep again and imagined the relief of her soft bed. Another chill passed through her body, and she shook violently. She shut her eyes and willed herself to be transported to rest. But with her body so cold, she understood she would have to cross a vast and snowy tundra to find peace again. Grace allowed herself to be carried back to the fields at home on a wintry morning. She tried to remember the fun she'd had as a girl in newly fallen snow.
Twenty-two
T he steady bang of a hammer, the wail of a saw on wood,