The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,142

the women were descending, his expression held stark relief. He did a quick scan of the girl, who seemed to be walking fine; then he nodded.

“Let’s go,” he ordered the other officers. “Riordan, you take the rear. There’s a crowd outside.”

Dolly kept hold of one of Sai Mui’s arms as they stepped outside. Sure enough, a crowd had gathered. Would they be yelled at? Would Sai Mui be forced from their grasp?

One look at Officer Cook’s tense shoulders and tight grip on his sledgehammer told her this could turn into a terrible brawl, should the crowd turn aggressive.

“Cross the street,” Cook commanded, guiding their group to the other side so they avoided walking past the original building where the tong had been in their meeting.

Four of the tong men stood in front of the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Above, leaning out the second-floor window, were the other tong men, watching every movement.

Dolly’s mouth felt as dry as a desert, and her heart was nearly pounding out of her chest. She expected a fight to break out at any moment. There were simply too many people to maneuver around. But the crowd of Chinese onlookers didn’t try to recapture Sai Mui. Instead, they parted, making way for their group.

Then, a woman shouted, “Save our girls!”

“Let them through!” a man called out.

More joined in until everyone in the street was calling out encouragement. Chanting began as the people cheered for the rescue.

Dolly was stunned. The clapping, cheering, and support took her breath away and made her feel like she was walking a foot above the earth.

Here she was, walking through the newly built Chinatown, which held the same secrets, the same depravity, the same lost souls . . . yet light had crept in and taken hold. The Chinese people were taking a stand against the corruption that had plagued their corner of the world.

It was then that Dolly knew slavery would come to an end.

Not that day, or that year.

But the tong were outnumbered. The slave girls no longer feared Fahn Quai.

Dolly’s group pushed forward, walking through neighborhood after neighborhood, leading a sort of impromptu procession. As they traveled, more Chinese came out of their homes and their businesses, curious. When they saw what was happening, they joined in the cheering. The celebration. Mei Lien beamed, tears streaking her face, and Dolly knew this moment was a triumph for them all.

She had been thanked countless times and shown gratitude in many ways, but not until today had she understood the impact of her work upon future generations. There was no separating Donaldina Cameron from her calling to help rescue and serve her Chinese daughters. And no matter what might face her, or what might come, she planned to embrace the future.

With her whole heart.

By the time the policemen had finished escorting Dolly, Mei Lien, and Sai Mui to the mission home, humble tears streamed down Dolly’s cheeks.

“We are here,” Dolly told Sai Mui as they stepped up to the double doors of the mission home.

“Will I be safe here?” Sai Mui whispered in her native tongue, keeping a tight hold on Dolly’s hand.

Dolly understood the simple question and replied in kind. “Yes. You are home, dear Sai Mui. You are home.”

Donaldina Cameron continued as the director of the mission home until her retirement in 1934, after thirty-nine years with the mission. In 1942, the mission home was renamed the Cameron House. When the numbers of girls being rescued decreased throughout the late 1930s, and the Chinese Exclusion Act was repealed in 1943, the needs of the Chinatown community shifted. The Cameron House began to focus on expanding its offerings to social services for women and faith-based programs for youth (CameronHouse.org).

In the early 1900s, Nathaniel Tooker attended one of the general assemblies at the mission home with his two sisters, Mary and Gertrude (Martin, Chinatown’s Angry Angel, 74). Over the years, Nathaniel was an advocate of the rescue work, crossing paths with Donaldina many times. They attended fundraising functions together, and soon Nathaniel proposed. Donaldina accepted (Martin, Chinatown’s Angry Angel, 143–47). But she received hard news in July 1911, informing her by telegram that Nathaniel had died (Martin, Chinatown’s Angry Angel, 152). Another setback for Donaldina, to be sure.

Donaldina dreamed of a home for the Chinese boys, and another home for the younger Chinese girls, primarily so that they wouldn’t be influenced by the difficulties and sometimes harsh habits of the women who had come from brothels and abusive situations. Donaldina