The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,53
him I’m going to need help in San Jose.”
“No,” Ah Cheng protested. “You will be—”
But Dolly was already out the door, and before the three had climbed into the buggy, she reached the constable. “I’m coming too,” she said in a single breath. “I am the girl’s guardian.”
He frowned, but before he could reply, Dolly climbed into the buggy and settled herself right next to Kum Quai. Dolly grasped her hand, and the girl buried her face against Dolly’s shoulder. As a courtesan, Kum Quai had been bold and striking, her clothing exquisite, her makeup perfection. As a mission home resident, her hair was short, her face free of makeup, her clothing simple, but her true light had begun to shine through.
The buggy started forward, and Dolly’s heart drummed a staccato of fear. They were in for a long ride that would take the rest of the day and most of the night if they didn’t stop to rest. There were fifty miles between San Francisco and San Jose. Dolly had no shawl, coat, or hat. Kum Quai wore only her lightweight clothing provided by the mission home.
The buggy stopped in Palo Alto to change horses when night had fallen. Despite the hope that Dolly had for a fair trial in San Jose, that hope was soon dashed when the constable announced that a judge in Palo Alto had agreed to hear the case.
They entered the courthouse after hours with the constable and Chung Bow. The smell of stale air and dust tickled Dolly’s senses, but perhaps they could get this over with quickly and return to San Francisco. Both she and Kum Quai were tired from the journey and emotionally wrung out from the unknown.
The judge strode out of his office, looking none too happy to be bothered. He all but ignored Dolly as he spoke with the constable. When Dolly overheard him saying that they needed time to assemble a jury and witnesses, she protested.
“I am witness enough.” She stepped forward, boldly interrupting the conversation. “We can hold a trial right now. There’s no reason for all of us to be dragged to San Jose, since this girl’s home is with me in San Francisco.”
Annoyance crossed the judge’s face. “My first decision stands. Kum Quai will spend the night in jail, and if tomorrow we have everything in place, we’ll hold the trial.”
Kum Quai couldn’t understand the words of the judge, and Dolly couldn’t leave the poor, frightened girl.
“I will stay with her, then,” Dolly said.
The judge raised a single brow. “As you wish.”
Dolly was on her way to jail.
“It took only four years to set the negroes free throughout the whole of the South; for twenty-five years a few women have been wrestling with the Chinese slavery problem and it seems no nearer a solution now, than it did more than a quarter of a century ago when the rescue work was first organized.”
—Donaldina Cameron, address to the mission home board, April 1902
1903
Click. The door opened.
Click. The door shut.
Mei Lien heard his footsteps brush the rug, then stop.
She needed to open her eyes; she had to open her eyes. This was only business, and she was a businesswoman now, determined to satisfy the demands of her contract, and then she would leave.
She would return to Hong Kong, and she’d find her mother.
Mei Lien would never think of San Francisco or California again. She would become the village girl again and let this new Mei Lien die.
“Mei Lien?” His voice made her flinch.
She hadn’t taken the opium; instead she had stashed it in a hole on the other side of her mattress, knowing that there might come a time when she was desperate again.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. In the candlelight, Huan Sun smiled.
She tried to smile back, she really tried, but instead a tear spilled onto her cheek.
Huan Sun’s dark eyes filled with questions. “Are you ill? Should I fetch Ah-Peen Oie?”
How could she be so careless? “No, I am overwhelmed by your generosity.” She hoped he would believe her. If word got back to Ah-Peen Oie that she’d displeased one of the clients . . .
Huan Sun nodded, then moved closer and took her hand.
His touch wasn’t too bad, she told herself. Huan Sun’s hand was warm and gentle. His eyes were kind, and . . . another tear escaped. She brushed it away quickly.
Huan Sun released her hand and stepped back, concern replacing the interest in his eyes.