The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,84

how greatly he cared for his wife’s well-being and comfort.

Everyone in the household had been awakened, and now the girls, women, and even the babies were assembled in the chapel to welcome the president. He led his wife to a comfortable chair, and she encouraged some of the younger girls to sit by her. Her hair had been tightly curled about her head, and her dark clothing was formal, but her eyes were soft and warm.

The president took time to shake everyone’s hands. He was an austere-looking man, with a square jaw and a commanding presence, though his smile was genuine and his manner friendly. Finally, he turned to Dolly. “I have heard of the remarkable work you’ve done for the people of San Francisco, Miss Cameron.”

Dolly couldn’t imagine where he’d heard that from, but she tried to smile demurely. “Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an honor to have you in our home.” They hadn’t had much time to ready the house or the girls, but thankfully, they had kept up on chores, since sponsors frequented the house, asking for tours. Of course, if Dolly had had more notice, she might have bought out all the flowers from the market. And Frances would have had the girls baking sweets all day.

As it was, the girls performed songs in their sweet voices and offered recitations of poetry and scriptures. Dolly smiled at the girls she loved so much—Lonnie, Leung, Jiao, and Dong Ho. Tien stood in the very back, as if she didn’t want to be noticed, but her curious peeks at the president and his wife gave away her interest.

Mrs. McKinley clapped in appreciation, her gaze wistful at the same time, and soon her husband joined in the clapping.

“How do you like living in the mission home?” Mrs. McKinley asked the girls.

“I love it,” Lonnie said, throwing her hands in the air.

The president’s wife laughed; then she turned to Dolly and asked, “They are in school, here, yes?”

“That’s right,” Dolly said. “We also teach them sewing skills, including darning socks and piecing quilts. The girls earn money as well by making buttonhole strips. We make clothing, comforters, and bed linens. With thirty-five to fifty girls in the house at any given time, we’re making about one hundred and forty garments every four or five months.”

“Goodness,” Mrs. McKinley said. “There is a lot going on here. Do you make time for anything fun?”

Dolly smiled. “Of course. We take field trips to places like the Golden Gate Park. We love smelling the flowers and feeding the ducks.”

Mrs. McKinley settled back in her chair, seeming pleased at Dolly’s answer. President McKinley asked for another song.

When the McKinleys had left, and the children were all finally tucked into bed, Dolly realized that Yuen Qui hadn’t stayed for the meeting. The interpreter had been coughing for a couple of days, but Dolly felt bad that Yuen Qui had left right after introductions had been made. Dolly headed toward the woman’s bedroom. Sure enough, she heard Yuen Qui coughing.

Dolly knocked softly on the door, then turned the knob. “Can I come in?”

Yuen Qui only gave a quiet moan, alarming Dolly. She stepped into the bedroom to find Yuen Qui sitting on her bed, her shoulders hunched, as she held a handkerchief to her mouth. Dolly turned on a lamp and found the woman looking dreadfully pale. Dolly rested a hand on Yuen Qui’s forehead—her skin was too warm, hot, even. Then Dolly saw the dark red stain on the handkerchief Yuen Qui held to her mouth.

“I’ll call a doctor.” Dolly tried to tamp down her worry, even though she knew something was terribly wrong.

But Yuen Qui shook her head, her eyes widening with fear. “Don’t call the doctor,” she rasped.

Dolly knew that many Chinese did not trust American doctors, preferring their old medicine and superstitions to modern methods. Often a Chinese apothecary would simply examine the patient’s tongue and take her pulse, then make a diagnosis and create a prescription for a medicinal tea.

“I only need more tea,” Yuen Qui insisted. She began coughing again, and her body tensed with the obvious pain. Dolly winced, feeling helpless as she watched her friend suffer. More blood had appeared on the handkerchief.

“I’ll be right back with your tea,” Dolly said when Yuen Qui relaxed again. “Lie down. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

When Dolly stepped out of the bedroom, her heart was racing, and her own hands felt clammy with apprehension. She slowed when she saw