The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,9
of the girls. “I grew up in a large family,” she said. “And having lost my mother when I was five, I guess I can relate to these motherless girls.”
Miss Culbertson looked thoughtful as she scanned Dolly’s face. “The girls are growing fond of you as well, although I understand Tien continues to give you trouble.”
“She’s young yet, and I gather she hasn’t been here long.”
“A year,” Miss Culbertson said. “Long enough, but some girls have faced things that we may never know.”
Dolly’s chest felt heavy. Was Tien one of those girls?
“Since I’ll be gone for a few weeks,” Miss Culbertson continued, “I want to make sure that someone is trained in my stead.” She raised a hand. “Not as director, since all the administration details can wait, but the rescue work cannot wait. In my absence, the work must go on. Which means I need your help tonight so that you can begin your training.”
Dolly’s brows pulled together. “Training for what?”
“We’re going on a raid to rescue a girl kept prisoner in Spafford Alley,” Miss Culbertson said. She set the paper on her desk. “This note details the name and location of the girl who is begging for rescue.” Next she held up the red cloth. “This torn cloth belongs to the girl, and she will have the other half.”
“So we can identify her?”
“Correct,” Miss Culbertson said. “We need to get in and out of the place as quickly as possible. We’ll leave at midnight. Ah Cheng will translate for us. Yuen Qui is helping with something else tonight.”
Dolly opened her mouth, then closed it. She had many questions, but she also needed time to let this request sink in. There was no doubt she would accept, yet she felt as if she were running toward a cliff in the dark with no idea where the drop-off began. Would the rescued slave be sweet like Lonnie, or full of bitterness like Tien? “What should I wear?”
“Dark colors, and shoes you can run in.” Miss Culbertson’s gaze traveled the length of Dolly. “You must be very sure about this, Miss Cameron. You may be seen by members of the tong, and they will begin to associate you with the work at the mission home. From this point on, you will no longer be an anonymous Christian woman in San Francisco.”
Air left Dolly’s chest. Anna had told Dolly stories of the criminal tong—slave owners who would do almost anything to hide and protect their human property, including planting dynamite at the mission home. These criminal tong also had a history of trying to bribe, threaten, or intimidate those who helped Miss Culbertson. By agreeing to help in a rescue, Dolly would indeed become known to the tong. Fear pulsed through her at the thought of being anyone’s target. But these men were cruel and abusive to young girls, ripping them from their homes and forcing them into slavery. If Dolly didn’t stand up for the helpless, who would? The other volunteers were part-time workers. Here she stood across from a woman who had dedicated her very life to this cause. How could Dolly say no? She lifted her chin. “I will be ready.”
By the time Dolly returned to her bedroom, the initial shock of the director’s request had dissipated. She shut the door behind her and drew in a shaky breath. Going on a rescue was a far cry from teaching a sewing class inside the safe walls of the mission home. The staff members had spoken of rescues in hushed tones, raids in which police officers broke down doors and Miss Culbertson searched basements for pitiful slaves.
Dolly closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what sort of conditions Tien had been discovered in. Surely she’d been too small to send a note on her own.
And now Dolly was being trusted with a rescue. She knew no Chinese, and although Miss Culbertson took an interpreter with her, could Dolly do what Miss Culbertson did? Go into cribs and opium dens and find slave girls clutching scraps of red cloth?
Dolly gazed about her neat and sparse bedroom. The white roses Anna had given her soon after her arrival sat in a vase on the table. Their blooms had peaked over the past two days, and now their sweet scent had become stifling instead of comforting.
Although Dolly had gone to the shops of San Francisco a handful of times now, she’d never felt she was in danger. She’d never been a target. Perhaps