Though she tried to keep an open mind to all the possibilities, Lady Yee was not quite prepared for Macy’s undeniable attraction to the handsome young Russian who labored so hard to please. She could see the excited expression of romantic expectation in her daughter’s eyes, and she was reminded of the first time she had met and talked with Captain Hammond. But of course, Captain Hammond was taller and far more attractive than the Russian count, at least to her way of thinking, but that was to be expected. The captain had been a yard-larking Yankee seaman of the old school, who towered over most men by more than a foot. His great mane of bronze-colored hair made him look even larger, and certainly more imposing. But in the main, none of that really mattered, because even Lady Yee had to admit that the dashing Count Henri Pavel Volkofsky possessed the most beautifully clear aquamarine-blue eyes she had ever seen. The honesty of his expression compounded with the liquid innocence of his eyes had the hypnotic lure of moral transparency.
THE DAY AFTER THE BALL, Count Volkofsky sent Lady Yee and her daughter a handwritten invitation to take dinner that night aboard a visiting imperial Russian cruiser docked in San Francisco Bay. If they could kindly see their way to accept the invitation, the count promised to provide the most comfortable transport possible. They were to be the honored guests of Admiral Prince Vesili Chekovich.
Every other day the count sent baskets of flowers and exotic fruits, as well as invitations to one fashionable event or another. With a natural gate of chivalry that Lady Yee found sincere and endearing, the attentive young count hosted mother and daughter at numerous theater parties, opera dinners, elite horse races, and elaborately fashionable picnics laid out under colorful canvas kiosks and broad awnings set up in private garden parks overlooking the bay. Lady Yee could easily see where matters stood, and though the count had said nothing formally on the subject of courtship, he seemed to be accomplishing his ends very well.
Macy, on the other hand, needed no boyish professions of romantic intent, because she knew instinctually that she was at the reins of the whole business, or at least that’s what she believed at the time. Lady Yee knew better, however, and privately decided it was time to reel in some slack and see just how tenacious the count could be when snagged on a short line.
Without telling Macy beforehand, Lady Yee arranged to accept an invitation from Mr. Bishop to enjoy a steamboat excursion up the American River to the state capital, to attend a celebratory ball favoring the recent election of the new governor. They would be gone for ten days, and though she made no secret of their destination and intentions to the hotel management, she believed no purpose could be served by informing Count Volkofsky of their plans. He would have to discover those for himself, and then judge what to do with the information. It was just one of the hoops that Lady Yee had planned to test the dedication, endurance, and flexibility of her daughter’s suitor.
As matters progressed, Lady Yee discovered that she might just as well have saved all the effort, for on the night of the governor’s ball, Lady Yee and her daughter were greeted at the door by the Russian counsel general, Prince Magoyan, and the dashing young Count Volkofsky. Lady Yee was totally surprised to discover that the count was the person who had arranged for the Hammonds to be invited in the first place.
It appeared that Count Volkofsky had the will and the way to achieve his purposes, even to the extent of using his position to manipulate the offices of the governor of California. Romantically speaking, he was fearless, and even confessed to Lady Yee that no effort or expense of time or fortune was too extravagant if it helped convince Miss Hammond of the sincerity and enthusiasm of his sentiments. Miss Hammond, on the other hand, was in the throes of her own emotional gallop through the woods, ducking every contrary limb and circumventing every negative obstacle that appeared in her path. By the end of the evening, Lady Yee was securely aware that her daughter had fallen deeply in love with the handsome Count Volkofsky, and she had it on the viable authority of the aging and slightly inebriated Prince Magoyan that the young count was totally besotted by the beautiful Miss Hammond.
Upon hearing this, Lady Yee chose the better part of discretion over the fruitless gestures of maternal valor and sat back to watch love’s labors sail on as they might. Her father had not been able to effect the least influence on her own choice of a husband, her beloved Yankee captain. She thought it only proper that she allow her courageous daughter the same sweeping horizon that she had once expected for herself.
24
THREE MONTHS LATER, Macy Yee Hammond was married to Count Henri Pavel Volkofsky in an elaborate Russian Orthodox wedding ceremony that was in part sponsored by the Russian legation as a sign of Russian-American compatibility. Macy, whose own spiritual philosophy was decidedly but unobtrusively Chinese, was philosophically pragmatic in the extreme. She happily converted to the Russian Orthodox faith to accommodate her purpose, but did so only when the count swore she would never be forced to practice any ritual she found incompatible with her own philosophy. He confessed that he was hardly a paragon in religious matters, and only went to church for weddings and funerals. He said that he had traveled too far, and seen far too much of the world, to be remotely impressed by the functions of either politics or religion, which, as far as he was concerned, represented the same beast wearing different hides to beguile the gullible.
After the wedding, the bride and groom escorted Lady Yee back to Monterey, where for ten days Henri was treated to the very finest meals Ah Chu’s genius could create. The new family spent leisurely hours getting to know one another, and in the evenings Lady Yee held her new son-in-law enthralled with tales of her adventurous life at sea with her dashing Yankee husband, Captain Jeremiah Hammond. She took time to apprise Henri of the intricate family connections that still bound her daughter to very important people in southern China, clan associations with whom Hammond, Macy & Yee were presently doing very profitable business. She jokingly chided the young man by warning him that it was one thing to pass muster with her in America, but his biggest social hurdle would come when he was presented for inspection among the notables of Canton, where Macy had always been a particular favorite.
Before the couple departed, Lady Yee held a small reception for their Monterey friends and associates. It lasted quite informally for three days, and Ah Chu saw to it that the sideboards creaked under the weight of exotic and tasty things to eat and drink. The Neruda family and their professional associates from the infirmary were the first to pay their respects, and they all arrived bearing gifts. In all these simple gatherings, Lady Yee made a point of introducing her son-in-law as Henri Pavel Volkofsky. As an aside, she informed her darling Henri that most people living in California had migrated far to relieve themselves from the burdens of royal entitlements and prerogatives. Words like “baron,” “prince,” “count,” or even “marquis” made Americans either frightened or envious. Both extremes were distasteful since they inhibited social honesty. She suggested, with an inscrutable smile, it might be best to be known and admired first, and titled later. Volkofsky enthusiastically agreed, and Macy loved him all the more for it. Soon it was known all over town that Macy Hammond had married a devilishly handsome young Russian named Henri Pavel Volkofsky. And as luck would have it, the groom had money, which was every mother’s dream come true. Lady Yee’s Chinese friends were of course most especially pleased with that last all-important sign of joss.
Two days later, Henri and Macy departed by train for Oakland, where they would be reunited with their luggage and then taken aboard two luxuriously appointed railroad salon cars for a journey to New York, from where they would sail to Europe in the grandest accommodations afforded by the White Star Line, and then proceed upon the leisurely and extensive cultural tour that Henri had promised Macy as a wedding present. Henri even promised to take her back to Canton to visit her relatives if she so desired. The whole idea of facing a battalion of Yees so unnerved him that he requested a letter of personal recommendation from his mother-in-la
w. Lady Yee laughed and said that document had already been sent many weeks before, and so far she’d not heard one word of protest.
Lady Yee did not accompany her daughter and son-in-law to the departing train, and she showed no inappropriate emotion when they left. In fact, she immediately changed her clothes and accompanied Dr. Neruda on an inspection tour of the infirmary, which had grown somewhat since her departure to San Francisco. She spent hours each day confirming that her gardens and orchards were properly cared for, and her evenings were spent answering or initiating long-delayed correspondence. In short, life became rather quiet after Macy’s departure, but that hardly made it uneventful, since the captain had long since failed to have an influence on Lady Yee’s endeavors at certain improvements in the conduct of affairs, both personal and public. And she exchanged long, illuminating letters with her daughter as Macy traveled about the world with her husband.
Time passed quite agreeably for Lady Yee. She had no feelings of solitude or loneliness because she was always involving herself in any number of rewarding civic endeavors or working with Mr. Bishop to increase the flow of business. She wrote numerous letters to those she was pleased to refer to as her committee of correspondence, and in return received, through rather clandestine channels, private and pertinent news from everywhere one could imagine. It was Mr. Bishop’s contention that Lady Yee knew more about what was happening in California and most of Asia than anyone in the Americas.
FOR THOSE FEW PEOPLE whose business concerned such things, it was an uncontested truth that the venerable Lady Yee was one of the most interesting people in Monterey County. The reason this fact was generally unknown to most citizens was the result of a concerted effort on the part of Lady Yee herself. She worked diligently to make sure that her name was never remotely connected to any philanthropic or civic endeavor in which she took a financial interest.
Those fortunate people who could claim to know the regal Lady Yee moderately well always thought it truly remarkable that anything she wished to come to pass always did, and sometimes in the most mysterious or coincidental manner. Though none would dare to ask, Lady Yee never voiced even the slightest explanation as to how these marvels came to be. It was as though her abiding confidence was always enough to manifest the result she wished.
Lady Yee still lived in a lovely stone house in the foothills overlooking Monterey Bay. She and her late husband, Captain Hammond, had purchased the property and its fifteen pine-crested acres from the estate of a wealthy rancher and farmer named Liam O’Sheen, and she lived there in what some people in town called “exotic Asian splendor.” The large house was noted for its beautiful walled gardens, which contained numerous floral specimens from around the world. Others in town still spoke about the time when all twelve varieties of fruit trees in her orchards bloomed at once.
No one knew exactly how old Lady Yee really was, for she never appeared to age. Her hair showed no signs of graying, and the skin of her hands and face appeared free of any of those subtle discolorations that hinted at advancing age. There were few people still living who could remember when Lady Yee first came to Monterey as the young bride of the redoubtable Captain Hammond. No one really knew how Captain Hammond acquired his considerable wealth, but it was acknowledged that he’d been in the China trade for many years, most of the time in command of windjammers he owned and operated. And since anything having to do with Asia and trade implied great profits, most people just assumed he’d been highly successful in business and let it go at that.
When the good captain died suddenly of heart failure, it is said that Lady Yee inherited his entire estate. She then took her substantial wealth and went on to make many more sage investments that added considerably to her fortune. She owned a great deal more commercial property in Monterey County than anyone ever imagined.
All of her noteworthy accomplishments were not merely luck or happenstance; they were the creations of a remarkably creative and insightful intellect, and rather than weakening with age, Lady Yee’s powers of perception and intuition only increased. The famous San Francisco jurist and writer Judge Duncan Haines faced her in a court case involving her late husband’s maritime interests. After his clients lost the case, Judge Haines was overheard to say that Lady Yee made King Solomon look like a backcountry circuit judge. He declared she had a better legal mind than most of the political turnips warming the seats on the Supreme Court. He was so impressed that he later sought her out socially, and over the years they became good friends.
There were people in Monterey who were just as aware of Lady Yee’s extraordinary powers of intellect and memory. She never forgot a name, or a face, or the place of first introduction. Her precise recollection of dates and figures seemed almost eerie. She could recall what she paid for a pair of black lace gloves when she was only twenty-two, and she could fix complex mathematics in her head by visualizing and manipulating an imaginary abacus. She knew to the penny how much ready cash she had at her disposal at any given time, and how much property she controlled, and what the rents were worth for each. These skills engendered broad admiration and deep respect, primarily because she was so meticulously unassuming and reticent when it came to praise or acknowledgement of any kind.
The Silver Lotus professed to believe that all things in her life were in the hands of a merciful god. She would always smile demurely and say that she “simply rode the back of the buffalo and played her flute to ease the journey.”
No one quite understood what she meant exactly, but of course they weren’t seriously fooled either.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
MOST PEOPLE ARE NOT aware that a professionally published book is a complex team effort, and I don’t mean just the physical book itself, for the creative process doesn’t exist or bloom in a vacuum. Every artist, regardless of his or her medium of expression, stands in need of the support, creativity, and concern of others. My father once told me, and not in jest, that if I wanted steady and useful employment in a profession that was culturally necessary, and one that possibly offered the advantages of potential wealth, then I should avoid writing at all costs, and take up the study of drainage to become a plumber. He was right, of course. But like most children I didn’t know sound advice when I heard it, so here I am. I seriously doubt that I shall ever become as wealthy as a successful plumbing contractor, but I’ll wager that there are very few plumbers who get as much fun and enjoyment from their work as I do from mine. Even so, none of these blessings can be attributed to just one element or person. Indeed, it took the creative efforts, artistic sensitivity, openhanded generosity, and kindness of a goodly number of fellow travelers, family, artists, and good friends to bring this modest adventure to its present existence.
First in line to receive my sentiments of profound gratitude must be my wife, business partner, and the love of my life, Gail Knight Steinbeck. Her enlightened business acumen, industrious sense of detail, and most of all, plain hard work have been the driving force that has mastered the technical hurdles of getting my work into broad publication. Few authors are capable of dealing with the challenges presented by such tricky endeavors as contract analysis, payment schedules, and the subtle business manipulations that publishers have traditionally been so fond of employing with their authors.
Next in line for my sincere compliments and gratitude is my dear friend and editor Dan Smetanka. He has been creatively essential in the guidance of my work from the very beginning of my career as a published author. Only a writer of ineffable ignorance, made blissful by vanity and self-delusion, or an author of mind-boggling genius, who possesses an infinite brilliance of wit plus an unerringly objective sense of self-appraisal, should even try to go to print without the assistance and support of a really dedicated and experienced editor. In this regard I have been blessed with the detailed and precisely objective literary skills of Dan Smetanka. I can state without the least reservation that a great part of my success is predicated on one principle. I never argue with my editor. His ve
sted interests are the same as mine in the end, and his knowledge of the tastes and interests of the book-buying public is indispensable. Over the years that I have known and worked with him, I have learned a number of highly significant lessons. The first among these is “just because I think it’s good doesn’t necessarily make it so.” I have learned not to be precious about my work. In that regard writing is like sculpting in stone. With Dan’s help and practiced sense of literary perspective, I keep chipping away at the marble because we both have every confidence that there is a book in there somewhere.
Every literary exercise, great or small, requires the support, both spiritual and material, of other people, and in that particular I have also been extremely fortunate. The backing of family and close friends has made this work not only possible, but also far easier than circumstances seemed to allow at the time. To quote an old Irish friend of mine, “Sometimes we all need a kindly hand up, and sometimes we just need a good friend to bribe the wolf at the door to come back another day.” In that critical vein, family members have proved the truest guardians of my modest efforts. The fact that they are all, family and friends inclusive, very accomplished artists in their own right, might explain my survival and success as a writer. They all, without exception, organically understood and appreciated the challenges involved in bringing any creative endeavor to the public eye.
In particular I wish to acknowledge the kindness and generosity of my dear friend and niece (by marriage), Lindsay Hilton, an extremely talented graduate of the Berklee College of Music in Boston, and my darling nephew, the highly accomplished and internationally known composer and musician Johnny Irion. Both have been supremely supportive. The everyday world always appears more entertaining, and certainly more creative, when they come to nest for the holidays, or while on tour.
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