The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,44

Two buildings over, three dark forms crouched and were moving toward a third building. Still grasping her skirt to give her feet and legs more freedom, Dolly leapt the few feet from one rooftop to another. Farrell made the leap as well, but Ah Cheng stayed rooted in place on the roof of the first building.

Dolly moved as fast as she could, the moon throwing hopeful light across the rooftops as she determined to reach the fleeing party.

A piercing scream split the night, and Dolly stumbled to a stop. Two of the people up ahead were forcing the third person off the roof.

“Stop!” Dolly yelled, running straight at them. Perhaps it was because they hadn’t expected her to keep running, or because the girl they had between them somehow wrenched herself away from her captors, but Dolly was able to grasp onto the girl and pull her free.

By then, Farrell had caught up, and he produced the warrant as Dolly held onto the trembling, crying girl. The girl opened her closed fist and revealed the other half of the handkerchief. She said something in Chinese that Dolly didn’t understand, but she didn’t need any more clarification that she had found the right girl.

Her captors had been two women, and they backed away, their gazes furious. One of the women spat toward the girl and cursed her. “You are dead to all Chinese if you go with Fahn Quai.”

Dolly didn’t need Ah Cheng to translate the meaning of Fahn Quai—white devil. If these slave owners considered her a devil for demanding freedom, then so be it. Dolly tightened her grip around the girl’s thin shoulders and led her away from the cursing women.

By the time they found their way back to street level and rejoined Ah Cheng and Officer Cook, Dolly realized this young woman was Jean Ying, the fifteen-year-old she’d spoken with at the immigration office a few weeks before. Another paper daughter, then. Dolly could only hope that the warrant wouldn’t be contested.

At the mission home, Dolly and Ah Cheng helped Jean Ying bathe and dress as she trembled uncontrollably. Dolly knew she should have been used to witnessing abuse marks on those she rescued, but it added another crack to her heart each time. She was gratified when Jean Ying ate everything they placed before her at the kitchen table. The young Chinese woman might be exhausted, but she also needed nourishment.

“I am sorry I lied to you,” Jean Ying told Dolly in a faint voice.

Jean Ying’s entire story came out through Ah Cheng’s interpreting. Her father was a wealthy manufacturer in Canton, and she was kidnapped one day when walking to meet some friends. She was taken to Hong Kong and sold to an agent who paid 175 Hong Kong dollars. On the steamship across the Pacific, she was forced to memorize details of a false identity.

Dolly held Jean Ying’s hands as she listened to the tearful tale. When she finished, Dolly said, “We will write to your family and let them know of your safety.”

Jean Ying’s shoulders shook with sobs, and several moments passed before Dolly could get her to calm down. When the girl looked again at Dolly, she said, “What if they don’t want me back? I am a soiled dove now.”

Dolly blinked back her own tears. “You have done nothing wrong, dear Jean Ying. Your family will be overjoyed to know that you are still alive. That is all that matters.”

“Quite a number of Chinese prostitutes have been brought to this country by unprincipled Chinamen, but these, at first, were brought from China at the instigation and for the gratification of white men. And even at the present time, it is commonly reported that part of the proceeds of this villainous traffic goes to enrich a certain class of men belonging to this Honorable nation.”

Letter to President Ulysses S. Grant, from the Six Companies, 1876

1903

The weeks slipped by, day blending with night. The only indication that the sun had risen was the thin frame of light surrounding the dark drapes in Mei Lien’s bedroom. She had always been slender, but now her ribs could be counted by merely a glance. Water had to be earned. And food was a privilege.

But it didn’t matter to Mei Lien. She would rather die than attend any of Ah-Peen Oie’s banquets where the men flirted with courtesans. It was only a precursor to what happened next, when the highest bidders were invited into the courtesans’ bedrooms for