The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,48

bottle and made her way to Huan Sun, where he was still speaking to two men.

“More drink?” she asked when there was a break in the conversation.

The men all turned and smiled at her. Mei Lien ended up refilling all their glasses. She warmed under Huan Sun’s kind gaze. He was different from the other men, and she wondered who he would be if she had met him in another place, another time. When she returned the wine bottle, Zhang Wei was no longer in his chair smoking. She didn’t dare look about the room for him because she was sure Ah-Peen Oie was watching her every movement.

The next hour passed slowly, and another courtesan left. Now only four remained. Soon, the evening came to an end, and Mei Lien knew that one of the lingering men would speak for her. There had been too many glances her way, too many pretty compliments handed over.

What she didn’t expect was Ah-Peen Oie’s clawed grip on her upper arm, and the fiercely whispered words, “Zhang Wei has requested you for the night. But Huan Sun has bought a three-month exclusive. Return to your bedroom now and wait for his arrival.”

Mei Lien couldn’t help but stare at her mistress. Zhang Wei was her client. He was off-limits. A whoosh of panic expanded in Mei Lien’s chest, rising in her throat. What would her punishment be tomorrow? For Ah-Peen Oie’s expression was one of controlled fury.

“All right,” Mei Lien whispered.

Ah-Peen Oie dropped her grip and turned back to the banquet with her benign smile, and Mei Lien slipped from the room.

She passed the corridor that led to the front of the hotel. What if she continued down that corridor and simply walked out into the street? Took her chances?

Would they track down her mother? Make her pay?

Mei Lien’s breathing was shaky, and her hands trembled. It would do no good to greet Huan Sun in her current state. She had to gain control of her hysterics, and fast. Mei Lien detoured to Ah-Peen Oie’s bedroom. The place had always been forbidden, but surely the woman had opium stashed somewhere.

Mei Lien cracked open the door. Even in the dimness, she could see the opulence of the fine furnishings, the plush rugs, the glowing Chinese lanterns, and embroidered silk wall hangings. She moved quickly, and, as quietly as possible, she opened drawers until she located pouches of opium. Mei Lien took three small ones, hoping they wouldn’t be missed.

By the time she slipped out of her mistress’s bedroom and made it undetected to her own, Mei Lien had wasted valuable time. She lit several candles, as instructed in her training; then she waited for her first client.

Tonight, she would begin to earn back the money paid upon her contract. Tonight, she would take another step in securing her mother’s safety and future. Tonight, the former Mei Lien would cease to exist.

“We do remember her as we first saw her, sitting by the fireside awaiting our return from church. As we drew near and spoke to her, she shrank away frightened, while tears and sobs were her only response. An hour later we saw her quietly sleeping on her pillow, her hand tightly clasping a bit of candy, that sweet comforter of childhood’s sorrows. As she grew up to womanhood, she learned English and became our interpreter.”

—Margaret Culbertson, writing about six-year-old Chun Fah, 1878

March 1900

Evening’s shadows stretched across the office space as Dolly flipped through the record book in which Miss Culbertson had carefully recorded the comings and goings of the Chinese girls, how they were rescued, and when they left the mission home.

Mrs. Field had pleaded a headache and was spending the rest of the day in her bedroom, which she seemed to do earlier and earlier of late, and that gave Dolly precious hours in the office by herself. Her hand paused on the more recent pages—pages that detailed the rescues she’d been a part of—details she had recorded herself. Each entry brought memories into sharp focus.

The names were growing in number, and the success stories were frequent, although every so often a rescue was botched for one reason or another. The tong relocated the girl, or the girl refused to come, or the tong’s lawyers served a warrant for her arrest from the mission home.

A knock sounded at the front door; judging by the lateness of the hour, it could very well be a message about another rescue. Dolly rose from the desk, bustled