and the intermittent whispers that drifted up from down below: Grace had listened all day, and although no one had told her what was taking place around her in the Martins' household, she sensed it. Earlier in the afternoon, she had left her bed briefly to glance over the banister. She had seen planks of wood being carried in by Chinese carpenters. And now Mai Lin was here and brushing her hair as the last streaks of day crossed the pink desert and sliced her in two. Grace's image in the mirror showed her half in deathly shadow, half in radiant light. She knew that both sides were accurate reflections.
Mai Lin had not returned from the Watson home across the courtyard with the black dress that Grace had requested. Instead, in the Chinese custom, she had brought Grace's white wedding dress and now had put her into it and tied the bow at the back. The simple lace dress that fell to her ankles belonged on a girl, Grace could see now, a carefree ingenue. But within it now stooped the body of a woman, her chest ravaged by consumption— another thing she had had to figure out for herself— and a belly that would never again carry a child. Her body had made that latter point clear, although Doc Hemingway was too much of a coward to share with her the diagnosis.
Mai Lin would have kept fighting on her behalf forever, keeping her alive and as strong as she could, but Grace hated to think how the effort had aged her dear amah. When Grace had first married and moved into the finest house in the compound, Mai Lin had stood by the front door to welcome her, her chin high, her arms crossed over her chest, her sturdy back divided in two by thick braids over each shoulder. Now she was shriveled to an impossibly small size. Her face had lost its broad strength and was hatched by a thousand lines. Grace worried that she alone had inflicted great trials upon her maid. In the mirror, she looked into her own gray eyes and then at Mai Lin's ancient face and felt ashamed of the false optimism the old one attempted on her behalf.
"Mistress is ready?" Mai Lin asked.
Grace rose from the dressing table and went to the door of the room without help, although Mai Lin hobbled along beside her, nervously touching her elbow. "I believe I am stronger today," Grace said. "Please don't worry about me so."
Mai Lin bowed a little and stepped aside. As Grace proceeded cautiously down the stairs, she was aware of the ladies gathered below: Mrs. Jenkins, Mrs. Parker, Mrs. Carson, and even some of the unmarried women— Lucy, Gertrude, and Priscilla— with whom Grace had enjoyed sweet and simple good times. They were all in black, of course. Grace should have worn her black dress as well, but she hadn't wished to offend Mai Lin, who believed white was the proper color of mourning. In any case, Grace knew that the precious child wouldn't mind either way. What was in one's heart was all that mattered.
She dared not look at the ladies too closely, for she needed to concentrate on each careful step until she reached the first floor. And then, when she could have gone to them, she did not. She had nothing to say, and they must have sensed it, for they didn't step forward to greet her, either. It had been a long time, she realized, since she had enjoyed convivial company. Her Wesley boy had been stolen almost a full year before, and ever since, she had been on such a strange journey. In the past many months, she had become lost in a netherworld as she sought her children. She now fully inhabited a place of waiting, a purgatory, a desert all her own that suited her more than the society of these good people. She knew that they meant her well, but she suspected that the sight of her ghostly pallor frightened them and made them wary.
She allowed Mai Lin to steady her as she stepped into the parlor. There before the empty hearth stood the men. Reverend Charles Martin's fine bald head was bowed, and the others, in respect, stood in a circle with him, their faces long and expressionless. Their black suits created severe silhouettes, and Grace admired their stern, handsome profiles. She remembered when the Reverend had looked as upright and sure