The Paper Daughters of Chinatown Page 3

  Miss Culbertson’s brown eyes glimmered with surprise, but she gave a small, determined nod. “Of course.”

  Dolly muffled the rest of her questions. There would be time for them later. “Then I will stay too.”

  “Although as a race the Chinese are characterized for their love of domestic life, few family circles have been formed among them in San Francisco. Woman, the important link in the sacred chain, is not here; or if she is here she has been forced to engage in that infamous pursuit that is the destroyer of homes. Of the whole number of Chinese women in San Francisco, there are, perhaps less than a hundred who are lawful wives, or keepers of the home.”

  —B. E. Lloyd, Lights and Shades in San Francisco, 1876

  1895

  “Miss Cameron,” seven-year-old Yoke Lon Lee cried. “Kicking!”

  The young girl whom everyone called Lonnie was prone to hysterics. She was deathly afraid of fire and couldn’t work in the kitchens. The burn marks on her arms were a testament to the reason behind her fear.

  There was no fire in the sewing room, but Dolly couldn’t brush off Lonnie’s panicked voice.

  Dolly had heard the sound of the kick.

  “Kicking. Stop her!” Lonnie cried again.

  “I saw her,” Dong Ho confirmed, another scrap of a girl who had two moods: sweet or feisty.

  Dolly knew it was only seconds before an all-out fight began. That was something she had witnessed more than once now.

  Dolly turned to face another Chinese girl of about ten years old with horrifying scars along her jaw and arms: Tien Fu Wu. The young girl who’d been frightened of her on that first day at the mission home and who, since then, had shown nothing but defiance. Tien had made no secret of disliking Dolly, although she seemed to tolerate Miss Culbertson.

  “Tien,” Dolly said in a soft tone, “we must keep our hands and feet to ourselves.”

  Tien didn’t make eye contact, but Dolly knew she’d heard because the honey color of her face had flushed.

  “I’m not kicking,” Tien said in surprisingly good English.

  Dolly exhaled. Should she argue with the girl or just ask her to behave from here on out?

  One week had passed since Dolly’s arrival at the mission home. The Chinese girls didn’t run from her anymore, and she’d learned everyone’s names. The younger ones were more apt to display unimpeded affection, and Dolly often received hugs from a few of them. Their sweet affection melted her heart more with each passing day.

  Anna, Miss Culbertson’s niece, had whispered tidbits of the girls’ stories until Dolly could hardly bear to hear any more. The younger girls were more prone to tantrums and arguing, whereas the older girls struggled with seeing the light through all the darkness they’d been through. Some of them didn’t even emerge from their rooms for days at a time.

  With Tien, the label precocious was too mild. Dolly could see the girl’s mind working through her lovely dark eyes. She was intelligent and a quick learner. Despite her pretty features of rosy cheeks and pale gold complexion, the scar on Tien’s jaw told a darker history. Yet she knew exactly what she was doing and the effect it would have. She didn’t seem to care about consequences, though; in fact, she welcomed them.

  Still, Dolly treaded carefully with Tien. Dolly had read the girl’s record in the ledger and discovered that Tien had been sold by her father to settle gambling debts. Her new owner had unbound Tien’s bound feet, then soaked them in saltwater over a period of several days so that she’d have the stability to work harder. But she was sold again to a cruel mistress and forced to work day and night or suffer abuse for laziness.

  Dolly approached the ten-year-old girl now, telling herself that with some girls, gaining their confidence would take longer. Months, perhaps. All Dolly could do was extend compassion by speaking in soft tones to her students, smiling often, and pretending not to be ruffled or shocked by outbursts or scuffles. But Tien could not be allowed to get away with cruelty.

  Dolly spoke quietly so the other girls wouldn’t overhear. “Do you know what lying is, Tien?”

  The girl didn’t answer for a moment. Then her eyes flicked to Dolly’s briefly. In a barely audible voice, Tien said, “Not telling the truth.”

  “Correct,” Dolly said. “When we lie, we lose the trust of another person. Do you know what trust is?”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” Tien said, her tone hard.

  It hurt Dolly to hear this young girl make such a pronouncement. “What about Miss Culbertson? Do you trust her?”

  When Tien didn’t answer, Dolly continued, “When you don’t lie, other people will trust you. Don’t you want your teachers to trust you?”

  The girl still didn’t answer, but Dolly knew she had heard and understood. Tien returned to the quilt squares she was piecing together in a neat line. But while Dolly watched, Tien’s stitches became uneven and sloppy, and Dolly knew the girl was doing it on purpose.

  “Your sewing is beautiful, Tien,” Dolly said. “The first rows of stitches are very nice.”

  The girl didn’t react, and Dolly gazed down at her dark hair, parted neatly in the middle and braided. The only break in her composure was the slightest tremble of her slim fingers. Dolly crouched beside her. “If you keep progressing, and keep telling the truth, someday, you could teach this class.”

  Tien’s dark gaze lifted, and Dolly felt physically slapped by the disdain she saw in the girl’s eyes.

  “I don’t want to live here,” Tien said in a sharp tone. “No.” She ripped out a row of stitches.

  Dolly had pushed too far. Not every girl in the home considered this place a sanctuary, and Tien’s actions were a testimony of that.

  Anna appeared in the doorway then, and her gaze took in the whole of the situation in an instant. Her brown eyes were the same color as her aunt’s, but Anna’s contained the liveliness of youth and expectation. It was refreshing to have such an ally, especially since Miss Culbertson had been feeling poorly for a couple of days.

  Relief sang through Dolly, and she straightened and crossed to Anna.

  “Miss Culbertson is asking for you,” Anna said in a quiet voice, avoiding further attention from the girls who had their heads bent over their sewing.

  “Is she feeling better?” Dolly asked.

  “Not much, but she’s working in her office,” Anna said. “I’ll oversee your class while you go speak to her.”

  Dolly nodded. “Just a warning, Tien is not happy with me.” Perhaps it would be good for Dolly to leave the classroom for a bit. Tien could go back to her pretty stitching.

  “All right,” Anna said. “I’ll keep a special eye on her.”

  “Thank you.” Dolly strode to the office where she’d first been challenged about her loyalty to this position. Before knocking, she adjusted a pin to affix a piece of hair that had come loose. When she knocked lightly on the closed door, a voice called her inside.

  Dolly stepped into the office to find that Miss Culbertson stood by the window, a small scrap of paper and a red cloth in hand. No lamps were turned on, and the early evening had left the office in shadow. The director turned, her expression graver than usual.

  Without any preamble, the director said, “In two weeks, I leave for New Orleans to take one of the Chinese women to begin her married life. Some of these girls find love after their horrific experiences, but only after the potential groom is vetted by me. We also require that the men are Christians and hold to Christian values.”

  Dolly nodded. Some of the other staff members had said as much.

  “I’ve been paying attention to you this past week, Miss Cameron,” Miss Culbertson said. “I’ve watched your interaction with the girls, and I’m sensing a genuine affinity.”

  The director wasn’t wrong. In only a short time, Dolly had grown fond of many 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 it had been naive of her to think so.

  But now, after she had accompanied Miss Culbertson on a raid, that would change. The dinner hour was only a short time away, but Dolly wouldn’t be able to eat. Not with the way her stomach felt as tight as a drum with the fear growing inside her. She paced her small bedroom, and her gaze landed on the letter she’d begun to write her sister Helen that morning. She’d received letters from all her siblings in the past week, and each one of her sisters—Annie, Jessie, Katherine, and Helen—had brought up how she might jeopardize her marriage prospects being so far away in a city like San Francisco.

  The irony of it was that her broken engagement had been over five years ago, and in that time, she hadn’t found anyone else. So what did it matter where she lived? Was she to put any potential accomplishment on hold in her life, hoping to cross paths with a suitable partner?

  In the letter to Helen, Dolly had ignored her sister’s worries about finding a beau. Instead, Dolly related the unique details of Chinatown just a few streets from 920 Sacramento Street, such as her first walk through the area with its bustling crowds of people and its street stalls where melons, Chinese cabbage, fresh and dried fish, sugared ginger, and incense were sold. She’d described the beautiful satin cheongsam gowns, the intricate porcelain vases and dishes, and the highly polished teakwood furniture almost too dainty to use. Dolly had loved the decorative lanterns that glowed in the evening, and the colorful red and gold signs that drew the eye toward the pagoda rooftops.

  But now, Dolly would see the underbelly of Chinatown. She would witness firsthand where the darkness originated, where these girls at the mission home had lived and worked. By agreeing to help Miss Culbertson in this rescue, Dolly knew she was agreeing to much more than simply teaching sewing classes. The invitation alone told her that the director trusted her, for whatever reason. Dolly closed her eyes and released her breath in a slow exhale. She’d led a privileged life compared to so many out there. Yes, she’d had her sorrows and losses and disappointments. But she’d never been sold, her body had never been abused, she’d never been mistreated.

  What if tonight she helped rescue a girl from a horrible life? What if because of Dolly’s actions, a life was made free?

  She opened her eyes. Nothing in her bedroom had changed, but inside, desire had sprouted. Teaching sewing skills was commendable, yet bringing another girl or woman to the point where she could support herself with sewing skills was a different matter altogether.

  There was no use delaying. Dolly crossed to her closet and pulled out a navy print blouse. In the dark, it would appear black. She unfastened her underskirt and slipped it off, leaving only the main skirt. Next, she picked up the boots that she wore around the ranch back home. Why she had even brought them, she hadn’t known at the time. Now it seemed providential that she had.

  Dressed hours before midnight, Dolly picked up her pacing again, not even bothering to turn on the lamp. As darkness completely engulfed her bedroom, she grew more and more anxious. She wanted to leave now, no matter the outcome.

  When a light tap sounded at her door, Dolly was more than ready. She opened it to see Miss Culbertson dressed in dark colors as well. The director made a quick scan of Dolly, then nodded with approval.

  Without a word, Miss Culbertson turned, and Dolly followed her. They joined Ah Cheng, one of the Chinese interpreters, at the bottom of the stairs. They left by the front door, and Anna, grim-faced, locked it after them. The night was cool, and the breeze made Dolly grateful she’d brought her shawl.

  Dolly followed the two women down the hill to Stockton Street at a brisk pace. She was glad that she’d been told to wear sturdy shoes. Her breath had been stolen by the time they reached the corner where three police officers waited. Miss Culbertson made quick introductions to the officers: Jesse Cook,
John Green, and George Riordan. Their mustaches, bowler hats, and dark suits made it hard to tell the men apart in the dark. Dolly tried not to stare, especially since two of them carried sledgehammers, and one an axe. Where were they going that required such tools?

  The police officers took Dolly’s presence in stride, as if they already had confidence in her. The officers set off at a brisk pace. Her long legs had no trouble keeping up, though her pulse raced as if she had run for miles. They turned one corner and then another, walking through Chinatown. The other women traveled with two of the officers up ahead, and Officer Jesse Cook, the one with a cigarette, stayed a step or two behind Dolly as if he were keeping a lookout.

  “Where are you from, Miss Cameron?” he asked, his voice low.

  “San Gabriel Valley,” she said.

  A raspy chuckle came from the officer. “A mite different from Chinatown. What about your accent?”

  “My family is from Scotland, although we lived in New Zealand for many years,” Dolly answered. “And you?”

  She was only being polite, but she realized she was quite curious about the life of a policeman, especially one who broke into places to rescue girls.

  “I barely remember my previous life, miss,” Cook said, taking another pull on his cigarette. “Sometimes it’s better to forget and move forward.”

  His answer felt like it had more layers than the earth. “Is that why you go on these rescues?”

  Cook didn’t answer for a moment as the group up ahead hurried around the next corner. He took a look behind him, then motioned Dolly to follow as well. “The helpless have no chance for justice in this city. I couldn’t sleep at night if I didn’t do what I could.”

  His words settled deep into Dolly’s heart.

  “There’s Bartlett Alley, up ahead,” Cook continued. “If I could burn it down, I would.” As if to demonstrate, he tossed his half-smoked cigarette into the gutter.