The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,4

some of them with multiple floors and windows scaling up the sides. Dolly wondered about the lives lived behind the closed curtains. She shifted in her seat to look down the hill. The city of San Francisco, still swathed in fog, had begun to take shape. With the lengthening rays of sun, the shadowed buildings warmed to yellows and golds. Smoke puffed from many chimneys, dispelling the cold morning, and beyond, the bay’s murky gray water sharpened to a deep blue.

Excitement replaced any misgivings or threads of melancholy that Dolly felt, and moments later, the driver slowed in front of a five-story, red brick building. Her gaze followed the lines of the sturdy structure, and she was impressed with its size.

The driver made quick work of unloading her trunk and carrying it to the front door. Then he paused before climbing back onto the buggy. “Are you sure this is your destination?”

The 920 address left no doubt. “Yes,” Dolly said.

His gaze darted past her. “Take care around this area, ma’am.”

Dolly thanked him, then walked toward the square, stalwart building, reading the sign: Occidental Board Presbyterian Mission Home. The brickwork curved gracefully over the entrance, giving Dolly both a sense of grace and a feeling of security. The main-level windows stretched along the street, reflecting the early morning light. But the lower bank of windows told another story. Covered by grates, these windows were dark and appeared nearly impenetrable. They were certainly not built for gazing out upon the street or letting in light.

She walked up the flight of stairs leading to the heavy double doors, which were polished a warm brown. The chill in the air had softened. Raising the knocker, she let it fall, and the sound reverberated through the wood. What Dolly hadn’t expected was the person who answered: a young Chinese girl. Her dark hair was parted straight down the middle, the ends woven into short braids. She wore a long white tunic over white pants, and her little golden feet were bare. The girl’s deep-brown eyes seemed to have no end to their depth.

“Hello,” Dolly said.

“Who?” the young girl asked, her small fingers wrapped tightly around the edge of the door. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. Why had such a young girl been given door duty?

“I’m Miss Donaldina Cameron, and what’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer, but she grasped Dolly’s skirt, giving it a tug as if inviting her inside. Did the girl not speak English?

Dolly smiled and shifted her trunk inside the doorway. After she had set it inside the entrance, the young girl shut and bolted the door. Then, before Dolly could ask another question, the girl dashed off, disappearing into the depths of the house.

Dolly looked about the entryway and the staircase beyond. The dark paneled wood on the walls gave the home a graceful atmosphere, and the scent of cleaning oil told her it was well cared for.

Her attention was caught by a noise on the landing at the top of the staircase. Another young Chinese girl was crouched in front of the banister, her dark eyes peering through the slats. The girl had a deep scar along her jaw and more scars mapping her thin arms. Dolly guessed her to be about nine or ten. “Hello? What’s your name?”

The girl gasped, and her eyes widened in what seemed to be fear. She scrambled to her feet and fled, her two pigtails bouncing against her narrow shoulders.

“Well,” Dolly murmured, “a fine welcome to me.”

Footsteps sounded on one of the upper floors, and the distant sounds of kitchen preparations from somewhere in the back of the house told Dolly that perhaps normal domesticity was a part of the mission home after all. Would either of the young Chinese girls alert a staff member she was here? As Dolly wondered if she should shed her hat and jacket quite yet, a door opened beyond the wide staircase.

“Dolly,” a voice exclaimed. Eleanor Olney strode toward her, arms outstretched.

Dolly had gone to school with Eleanor years ago; she was now one of the staff members that Mrs. Browne had mentioned volunteered here. The two women embraced. Eleanor drew back and said, “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. I’m so glad you agreed to come.”

“When Mrs. Browne told me about the work here, I was intrigued,” Dolly said.

Eleanor flashed a smile. She always did have pretty teeth. “Last I heard, you were getting married to George Sargent. Whatever happened?”

“It’s an old story

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