The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,72
this little girl. “What can be done? Will she need surgery?”
The doctor hesitated. “It’s too far advanced, I’m afraid.”
Dolly stepped away from the examination table and sank into a nearby chair. “No,” she whispered.
“I’m very sorry.” The doctor’s voice held compassion and regret.
His kind words could not prevent the pain for the little girl waiting at the mission home for news of her sister. “What . . . can I do?” Dolly asked.
The doctor rubbed at his face, then sighed. “We’ll move her to one of the other rooms with a more comfortable bed. I’m afraid she won’t last more than a day or two. Perhaps bring her sister to say good-bye to her?”
“Yes,” Dolly murmured, numbness spreading through her. “I will bring Leung.”
The doctor nodded, then picked up the little girl and carried her to another room, where he laid her on a clean bed.
Dolly followed and helped to adjust the covers. “I’m very sorry,” she whispered, resting a hand gently on the little girl’s forehead. “I’ll bring your sister so you can be together.”
The child didn’t respond.
“The ambulance can take you back,” the doctor offered.
Dolly nodded and rose to her feet. Facing Leung with this news was going to break both of their hearts.
The ride back to the mission home in the dark felt oppressive, as the night seemed to not only surround her but press its way into her heart. When she knocked softly on the front door, she waited for Ah Cheng to unlock all the bolts.
Leung stood just inside.
One look at the girl’s tear-stained face only made Dolly’s task seem more monumental. “Did the doctor see her?” Leung asked through Ah Cheng’s translation.
“Yes,” Dolly said, clasping the girl’s hand. “Let’s go sit down.”
Ah Cheng followed them into the parlor, and Dolly sat on the sofa with Leung, still holding her hand.
The nine-year-old’s dark eyes were so trusting, it made the news even harder to deliver. “Your sister is very, very sick,” Dolly said, and Ah Cheng translated.
“Will she die?” Leung asked, her chin trembling.
“Yes,” Dolly whispered.
Tears filled the girl’s eyes.
The lump in Dolly’s throat turned painful. “But you still have time to tell her good-bye.”
“I don’t want to say good-bye.”
“I know.” Dolly pulled the little girl close, and Leung moved onto her lap. Dolly rested her chin atop her newly shampooed hair, which was still damp. “When I was a young girl of five years old, my mother got very sick too with the same disease as your sister.”
Leung lifted her face, her eyes wide. “Did she die too?”
“She did,” Dolly said, her throat hitching. “But she is in a very lovely place now called heaven. She will never be sick again, and she’s always happy.”
“Oh.” Leung blinked slowly. “That sounds nice. My sister will like that. Are there flowers there? My sister loves flowers.”
Tears burned in Dolly’s own eyes. “Yes, I believe there are flowers in heaven. Your sister will be very happy, and she will miss you too. But you won’t have to worry about her being sick anymore.”
Leung tightened her hold on Dolly.
Dolly ran her hand over the little girl’s back, hoping to soothe her as much as possible.
Leung’s next words were mature beyond her years. “I will tell my sister where she’s going. I will tell her how beautiful heaven is.”
Dolly had to smile, although fresh tears had started. “Do you want me to come with you to say good-bye to your sister?”
Leung nodded emphatically.
“Then I will come,” Dolly said.
Ah Cheng reached for Leung’s hand. “I will come too.”
“I was kidnapped in China and brought over here. The man who kidnapped me sold me for four hundred dollars to a San Francisco slave-dealer; and he sold me here for seventeen hundred dollars. I have been a brothel slave ever since. I saw the money paid down and am telling the truth. I was deceived by the promise I was going to marry a rich and good husband, or I should have never come here.”
—Testimony of Paper Daughter, 1892
1903
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The night was not yet over, but the tong leader Zhang Wei had already left Mei Lien’s room. The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed in her mind. Had others in the house heard him leave? Had Ah-Peen Oie?
Mei Lien didn’t know if she had pleased him. It had been different with Zhang Wei. There had been no caring, no gentleness, no tender words. In fact, he’d spoken very little. And when he left, tears slid down her cheeks. She was no