by Leslie Gould
Two months later Lan came home to a locked store. Her husband was gone. She entered through the back room and gathered their things, pushing Chinh’s Bible to the bottom of her bag. Night fell as she walked to Mother’s. Clouds covered the full moon. Was Chinh crouched on the beach waiting for enough moonlight to run to a boat? Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by thunder. The rain fell in sheets, soaking her clothes. The wind wrestled the sleeping mats that she carried over her shoulder. She quickened her steps. Tears began to stream down her face. Happiness flew from her, through the dark sky, toward the sea. Notre Père, she prayed, you’ve taken my happiness. Please leave my peace. Please take care of my husband.
The next full moon was clear. The sky darkened, and the moon rose as Lan hurried home from selling fruit on the beach. She rushed into the yard and made it to the charcoal pit before she vomited. Mother came out of the shack and held Lan’s hair back from her face. Lan had eaten nothing since the little bit of rice porridge that she’d had for breakfast.
“Hello!” It was Mr. Vuong’s voice. Why wasn’t he in the city?
Lan quickly wiped her mouth on the tail of her shirt.
“Are you sick?” He looked at the vomit and then at Lan. “Perhaps a baby is on the way.”
“No, no,” Mother said. “She must have eaten something bad.” Loose strands of black hair fell around Mother’s face.
Mr. Vuong’s eyes narrowed. Lan moved by the door of the shack, away from him. What did he want?
“I came for the rest of my merchandise,” he said. “My brother-in-law has found me a job in the garment district and an apartment for my wife and me.” He turned to Lan. “If Chinh contacts you, tell him I am established in the city and then let me know. It may be a few months until he reaches America. I expect that he’ll contact his uncle’s house first, but he may try to reach you.” Lan nodded. The nausea swept through her again. Chinh is nothing like his father. He will send for me and Mother. Mr. Vuong turned to leave.
“That’s it?” Mother stared at him.
Mr. Vuong ran his hand through his hair.
“She’s your daughter-in-law. You can’t just walk away.” Mother squinted in the darkness at Mr. Vuong. Her thin body shook.
He stretched out his arms and held his palms upward. “I have nothing to give her. I already gave her my son.”
Mother raised her chin at him. “And then took him back.”
Mr. Vuong chuckled and sneered at Lan. “That was his choice.” He turned and walked into the darkness of the street.
Lan rose and vomited in the charcoal again. “There, there.” Mother patted her back.
“It is a baby.” Lan wiped her mouth again. She ached for her husband. She would work harder than she ever had to save money for the baby’s birth and the months after. She would take care of Chinh’s child, of her child.
“I know,” Mother said.
“Should I have told Mr. Vuong?”
Mother shook her head. “He doesn’t deserve to know. He wouldn’t help us anyway.”
Later that evening Mother sat on the sleeping mat and cried for the first time in thirteen years. Frightened, Lan sat down beside her.
“You’re all I have,” Mother said, her head in her hands. “All I have for my old age.” Lan took her mother’s hand and patted it. “Promise you’ll take care of me.”
“I will,” Lan said.
“Even if Chinh sends for you?”
“I promise.” Chinh will send for me. He will let me take Mother, too. She could never leave Mother behind.
Six months later Lan stood beside the boarded window of Mr. Vuong’s shop. The hat woman’s five-year-old daughter and a group of other little ones ran through the fruit stalls. They were the market kids, the poorest children in town, dressed in rags with dirty faces and protruding stomachs. They begged and stole what they could while their mothers sold their wares, snacks, and fruit. In the afternoons the younger children curled up close to where their mothers worked and slept. Lan shifted the weight of the pole over her shoulders. She’d only sold two bags of lychee nuts. Mother had stayed home, sick again.
The baby kicked inside her. She prayed that Chinh would send for her soon or her child would be of the market too. She had nothing more to offer him. Him. She could only hope. A son to take care of her in her old age, to take care of Chinh, too.
What if Older Brother hadn’t joined the Viet Cong? What if he were here to take care of them now? Her face reddened. Would he believe that she was married? That her baby was legitimate? She shook her head. If he hadn’t joined the Viet Cong, Older Brother would probably be dead now. Like Father.
Sometimes Mother would cry out Brother’s name in the night. “Quan, help us.”
Lan would reach and touch her mother. “Shh,” she’d say “It’s all right.” She both wanted Older Brother to come and feared his coming. He might hear Mother’s nighttime cries and search them out, only to judge. Or perhaps he’d hear her cries and come and save them.
“Be a boy,” Lan whispered to the baby inside her belly. Be a boy.
In the night Lan woke to her first pain. Exhausted, she fell back asleep after it ended. Later she woke to another pain and to Mother’s coughing. She rolled to her knees and waited until the pain stopped.
“Lan, what is it?” Mother sounded worried.
“I don’t know” Were these the pains of childbirth?
She waited until dawn to tell Mother to ask the neighbor for a ride to the hospital on his scooter. “No, no,” Mother said. “It’s too early to go to the hospital.”
Mother ran water into a pan and started the stove outside the hut. “I’m making tea and soup.” She pulled the plastic poncho over her head against the morning rain. The day became a blur of pain. Just after the sun had set, Lan heard the neighbor’s scooter return as she paced inside the shack. “Ask him to take me to the hospital.”
“No,” Mother said. “It will hurt just as badly in the hospital. And you never know how much they’ll charge.”
Did Mother think that they didn’t have the money to pay a hospital bill? “I saved enough money for the birth,” Lan said, her voice rising. She had worked hard to save the money stashed inside the tea tin behind the altar.
Mother folded her hands together.
“I owed money for medicine. The doctor wouldn’t see me again unless I paid,” she finally said. “Did you want me to die before I saw my first grandchild?”
Lan turned her back to Mother and buried her face in her hands. An hour later Mother hurried to the neighbor’s to borrow a big plastic bowl to use as a basin. Lan curled up on the floor on her sleeping mat and thought about Chinh. Had he died in the South China Sea? Or had he made it to America? Would he send for her soon? And his child? And Mother? Que ta volonté soit faite. Sur la terre comme au ciel. She thought of the nuns. Thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven. She thought of Older Sister when her baby girl was born. Lan had waited outside and listened to the screams.
“Notre Père,” she cried in desperation. “Please help me.”
The night hung heavy. Lan could see the full moon through the open boards of the shack until the clouds swallowed the heavenly body and the rain began to fall.
“It hurts!” Lan cried. Nothing felt right in the world.
“It’s supposed to hurt,” Mother said.
Too tired to move, Lan stayed on her side and pushed. She didn’t care anymore if the baby was a boy or a girl. She just wanted it out of her. She thought of Older Brother. There were no guarantees that a son would take care of her. If it were a girl, Lan would never let her quit school.
The urge to push overwhelmed her again. “You’re close,” Mother said. “The baby’s head is coming.”
Lan rose and squatted on the mat. “It’s midnight,” Mother said, squinting at the wind-up clock.
“Can you see the moon?” Lan gasped.
Mother stood and peered out the window. “Yes.”
The baby tore throug
h Lan. She grabbed the child and pulled her close. God was with her. She had never known such power, such holiness, such peace, all twisted into her longing for Chinh.
“A girl,” Mother said, not masking the disappointment in her voice. She lit more candles. Lan shivered violently as her daughter lay on her chest and peered at her with old, wise eyes. Mother covered them with two thin blankets, then spread trousers and shirts, and then the wedding ao dai over Lan and the baby.
“What will you name her?” Mother asked.
“Hang.”
“ ‘Angel in the full moon’? Too fancy.”
“No,” Lan answered. “That’s her name.”
Mother wrapped her skinny arms around Lan and the baby, and all three slept until morning.
Merci, Notre Père, Lan prayed as the dawn crept into the shack. Thank you, our Father, thank you for the baby. She smelled the little one’s head, ran her hand over her daughter’s body, and cried for her husband.
Chapter 11
Gen stood on the brick walk leading to the white farmhouse and held Jeff’s hand. She had met his parents and his little sister, Janet, briefly at the homecoming football game last fall, but this was the first time she had been to his house. Daffodils bloomed in the front flower beds, the porch circled three sides of the house, and two gables topped the second story.
They had come for Jeff’s birthday dinner. Afterward Jeff would drive Gen back to Portland and then return to work in the orchard all weekend. His dad had injured his knee and needed more help.
The screen door slammed. “There you are!” Sharon Taylor, a thin middle-aged woman with short blond hair, wiped her hands on her apron. “I heard your car but didn’t see you in the drive.” She wore gray slacks and a red cardigan sweater under the apron. Gen glanced down quickly at her own Levi’s and running shoes.
“Hi, Mom. I wanted to walk Genni up the front steps.” Jeff led her up to the porch.
Jeff’s mother took Gen’s hand, squeezing it quickly. “I’m so pleased to see you again. I’m happy you could come for Jeff’s birthday dinner.” She turned to Jeff and hugged him hard. “We’re happy to have you here too, stranger. It’s been so long since you’ve been home.”
They followed Sharon across the porch and into the living room. A stenciled border of birds stretched around the top of the room just under the crown molding. A plush blue couch, an oak coffee table, and a cranberry leather wing-backed chair created a sitting area in front of the brick fireplace. “I just need to check on the roast,” Sharon said. “Dad will be in soon.”
The glint of late afternoon light on the dining room window caught Gen’s eye. She turned. An oak table in front of the window filled the room. She stepped closer with a startled gasp. The orchard, the foothills sloping upward toward the mountain, and Mount Hood in the background were spectacular, even more enchanting than the house.
“What’s wrong?” Jeff came up to stand behind her, then he grinned, following her gaze.
“It caught me off guard.” She laughed, glancing up at him. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Let’s go up to the top of the knoll,” Jeff said. “You can see both Mount Hood and Mount Adams from there.”
Jeff held Gen’s hand as they walked down the road lined by cherry trees. His dad drove by in a new Chevy pickup; Jeff waved. His dad stared off to the side at the trees. “He’s like that.” Jeff chuckled. “Focused.”
He darted into the orchard. “Look at the buds.” He gently pressed a twig between his thumb and forefinger and held it out for her to see. Delicate leaves unfolded. “Want to come back next month when the trees are in bloom?”
“That would be great.” She felt another smile begin.
Jeff grabbed her hand and started to jog up the hill. Gen let go and passed him. He laughed and picked up his pace. They stopped at the top of the knoll; Mount Hood loomed ahead. Jeff placed his hands on Gen’s shoulders and turned her around to look at Mount Adams. The two majestic white caps stood like guardian angels. She scanned the orchard below them and spotted a small cottage among the trees. “What’s that?” she asked.
“The original house. It’s still in good shape.” He took her hand again and led her to a big oak tree. “My great-grandpa couldn’t bear to cut this tree down, so he left it. I used to climb it as a kid.” He paused. “Actually, I still do.” He laughed.
Gen assessed the height of the bare-branched tree and grinned at him. “Show me.”
Jeff grabbed the lowest branch and swung himself up. He deftly propelled his lean body from branch to branch. Perched on a thick limb, he wedged his back against the trunk and waved at her.
She laughed. “I’m coming up.” She jumped to grab the lowest branch. On the third try she caught it and climbed onto the limb. Jeff met her lower in the tree, and they sat, straddling a branch. Jeff swung his legs back and forth. Gen hung on with both hands. “This is the first time I’ve ever climbed a tree.” She looked out into the orchard instead of at the ground.
“You’re doing great,” Jeff said. He touched her hand. “I wanted to talk with you about something.”
Up here?
“I had lunch with your dad.” Jeff met her gaze, his expression intent. Gen’s stomach felt queasy She had never been afraid of heights … until now. She concentrated on Jeff’s eyes even as his hand moved toward the pocket of his jeans jacket.
He pulled out a small velvet box.
Her stomach lurched, and her balance wobbled. She glanced at the ground and started to slide. “I have to get down from here.”
Jeff slipped the box back into his pocket and swung to the ground first and then helped her down. “Are you okay?”
She leaned against the tree trunk, waiting for her knees to stop shaking. “Did Dad give his blessing?”
Jeff smiled. “He said he would be honored to have me for a son-in-law if you would be honored to have me as your husband.” He reached into his pocket again.
Her heart was pounding, and she bit her bottom lip. “Could I talk to Dad first? When you take me back tonight?” She leaned toward him.
Jeff stopped smiling and returned the box to his pocket. The disappointment in his eyes stabbed her heart.
“Have I ruined everything? Your birthday? Being here with your mom and dad?” She felt sick to her stomach. She leaned back against the tree. She’d known for months that she would marry Jeff someday. Why couldn’t she just say yes?
“No. It’s okay,” he said. “You should talk with your dad first.” He took her hand. “Let’s go see if dinner is done. Then I’ll take you back to Portland.”
Sharon shot Jeff a questioning glance during dinner. He lifted his eyebrows and smiled, tipping his head toward Gen. Jeff’s father, Don, caught the exchange and winked at Gen. He was tall and lean like Jeff but nearly bald.
Janet hurried in from track practice halfway through dinner. Jeff stood and hugged her. Sharon talked about Jeff’s brother, Jake, saying that he was studying Japanese and definitely planned to go on to law school.
Gen watched Jeff’s family laugh and joke and exchange winks and smiles. They enjoyed simply being together. It was the kind of family that Gen had always wanted, the kind she had dreamed of for years, the kind her mother had tried to create by adopting Nhat.
Family. That was what life was all about: following God and family. She swallowed the sting in her throat, wondering why it was so hard to say yes to Jeff’s proposal. Was she afraid to love? Afraid the love might disappear?
After cake, Jeff thanked his mother for the birthday dinner. “I’ll be back late,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
His dad handed him the keys to his new pickup. “We want Gen to be safe.” He patted Jeff on the back. “We want her to come back, as part of our family.”
They listened to Dire Straits during the ninety-minute drive. Jeff hummed along to “Money for Nothing.” When they reached her house, Gen asked Jeff to wait. “I just need to talk to Dad alone.”
Her father
wore his pajamas and navy robe and sat in the den watching the news. “Daddy, can we talk?” He patted the couch beside him. Gen, with her sweatshirt still on, sat down. “Jeff’s out in his dad’s pickup.”
He frowned. “Well, ask him in.”
“I want to talk with you first. He said that you two went out to lunch.”
Her dad smiled and reached for Gen’s left hand and then met her eyes with a puzzled expression.
“I haven’t given him my answer,” she said.
He stood and turned off the television. “I didn’t think you would hesitate.”
Gen sat crosswise, facing her father when he sat down again. “I wanted to talk with you first.” The mantel clock ticked in rhythm with her heart. “Do you think I should get married?” She studied his lined face. Ill health and worries about her had aged him in the last few years. A wave of affection swept over her. He had gone to the doctor the week before because his blood pressure was high. She hoped the new medication would bring it down.
“If you think he’s the right one, of course you should marry him.” He paused. “But there’s more to your question than just that, isn’t there? You’re not really asking my permission, are you?”
Gen reached out and touched her father’s shoulder. “Will you be okay if I get married?”
He peered into her eyes. “You’re worried about me?”
She let her gaze drift away from him. “Partly.” But that wasn’t all she was worried about. Had God really wanted her to go to Southeast Asia all those years ago? Is that what she should be preparing for now? She had said no because of her father. If she married Jeff, was she saying no to it forever?
“Genevieve,” he said, “I want more than anything for you to be happy. That’s what makes me happy If you love Jeff, marry him.” He gave her a gentle smile, reached for her hand, and patted it. “Stop worrying about me.”
