“Of course.” She gave me the number.
“Thank you,” I said. “Now, Mei, I must ask you something else. Cai has recently become engaged. How do you feel about this?”
“I’m delighted, of course.”
“You like his young woman? Even though she isn’t Chinese?”
“Oh, Yong-Yun, such old-fashioned thinking. I do admit I have difficulty making conversation with her. My English is poor, as is my husband’s. My mother-in-law speaks no English at all. We are therefore perhaps a bit uncomfortable in Anna’s presence. But as long as she makes my son happy, I’m happy. Also, she cooks well.”
“This is your true feeling? Your husband also?”
“Yes. My mother-in-law feels the same. Although I’m not sure either of my sons believe this. But it is, truly, how we all feel.”
“I see. Thank you, Mei.”
“It was nice talking to you after all this time, Yong-Yun. We must get together. I would enjoy having tea with you.”
“Yes,” I said. “That is a fine idea.”
After a few moments’ rest, I called the number Chu Mei had given me. I reached only voice mail. I identified myself, leaving a message to say it was urgent that my call be returned. Soon it was.
“Come to my apartment in an hour,” I said. “Press two short times on the bell downstairs so I know it’s you.”
“Auntie Chin—”
“This is extremely important.”
I have found the only way to insure people will not continue to argue is if you are no longer on the phone, so I hung up.
An hour later I heard two short buzzes from downstairs. I buzzed back. At a knock on the door I peered through the peephole, then unlocked the locks. Into the apartment stepped Chu Li.
“Auntie, I don’t know—”
“Of course you don’t. I haven’t told you yet. You may leave your shoes on that shelf.” Li handed me a bag of tangelos, for which I thanked him. Putting them in the bowl with his brother’s oranges, I showed Li to the sofa.
Of course I’d made tea. It’s polite to serve tea to a guest no matter who the guest is.
“I’ve recently spoken with your brother, Cai,” I said. “He’s gotten engaged. Congratulations.”
Li just nodded.
“Ah,” I said. “You don’t like his fiancée?”
“I’m not—”
“Or perhaps, you find her acceptable, but you’re worried about how your parents feel. Because Cai’s young woman is not Chinese. That would be admirably filial of you. It would also be foolish.”
“I don’t—”
“Did you discuss this question with your parents, Li? Or with your grandmother?”
“I haven’t—”
“I thought not. Well, I did. Your mother chided me—chided me—when I inquired on this subject. She called such thinking ‘old-fashioned.’”
“You asked—”
“You see,” I said, “if you’d just spoken with your parents, all this unpleasantness could have been avoided. You wouldn’t have had to steal your brother’s jewelry or his teacup. Your brother wouldn’t have been upset, or suspicious of his fiancée. I wouldn’t have had to work out how to make the situation come out well. Luckily, that part was not hard.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t know what I’m talking about? Chu Li, I don’t like to hear lies. I’ve been to see Cheng Yue. For a man of his type, it appears he is dependable. He said, first, that he had acquired the tie tack in an estate sale. Then when I pressed him he confessed to my charge—that a blonde young woman had brought it to him. I showed him this photo. He agreed immediately that it was this woman.”
I turned my phone toward Chu Li, who looked, then frowned. “Who’s this?”
“I have no idea. I took her picture on the street because I thought my daughter might be interested in her hairstyle. This was the photo I first showed to Cheng, after which I showed him some others, including one of your brother’s fiancée I took in a restaurant. Cheng was emphatic that the woman who’d brought the tie tack was the one in the first picture.”
I took a sip of tea, but quickly, as I didn’t want to give Li time to organize a response. I went on, “Cheng followed your instructions faithfully. You told him to display the tie tack prominently, then wait for someone to demand to know where he got it. No doubt he was surprised it was I, not your brother, who was questioning him, but he did as you said—first pretend to lie, then pretend to admit the truth. The real truth, Li, is that none of this would have had to happen if you had asked your parents how they felt instead of trying to protect them based on your own false assumption.”
“I was—”
“Now, here is what we’ll do next. You’ll go get the jewelry from Golden Journeys so you can return it to your brother’s home. I suggest you find a place near the box where he keeps these things, to make it look as though he just absentmindedly didn’t finish putting them away. Also, you’ll replace the stolen teacup, in the upper cabinet you took it from, but on a different shelf. Or, if you like, on the same shelf, but in a different cabinet. Cai, again, will think the mistake was his. You’ll do all this soon. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s been a pleasure talking to such a filial, if foolish, son, Chu Li. Now you may go, as I have much to do.”
Again, in truth, I did not have much to do. But I had much to think about. After Li left, I drank more tea. I sewed. I made my dinner. During all this, I thought.
The next morning, Chu Cai called, as I had told him to do. “You are lucky, Cai. I’ve been to see Cheng Yue. He assured me that the tie tack in his window came from an estate sale.” You know I do not like to lie, husband, but in order to save a couple’s happiness I will stretch the truth. “I compared it to the one in your photo. I believe yours is probably just misplaced in your home. Perhaps you could ask your brother, Li, to help you search for it. Another set of eyes is often useful. Please let me know how things turn out.”
Cai sounded relieved, if not completely convinced. I was not worried about him any longer. He would call the next day with the good news that he had found all his items, I was sure.
But I had another call to make. This number was one I have put in my phone. I pressed the button for An-Zhang.
“Ma! Everything all right?”
“Yes, everything is fine. I would like to speak to you. Is it possible for you to come here?”
“You sure everything’s all right?”
“Yes. This is not about bad news.”
“Well, in that case, I’m a lucky guy. Can I come for dinner? Tony’s out of town. I’m living on sandwiches.”
I went about my day, including shopping for the ingredients in An-Zhang’s favorite dish. When he arrived in the early evening the air was aromatic with Chinese sausage. He handed me a box of lovely clementines. I’m quite rich in citrus fruit now.
“Smells great in here! Where’s Ling Wan-ju?”
“I asked your sister to give us time alone.”
“Ma? You said everything was okay.”
“It is. Please sit.”
“In Ba’s chair? You never let us sit there.”
“You are a grown man now, An-Zhang. Please, take your father’s chair. Here is tea. An-Zhang, I saw Chu Cai recently.”
“Cai! How is he?”
“He’s very well. He’s getting married.”
“That’s great.”
“Yes, it is, though a problem came up that I was required to help him with. His fiancée is not Chinese. Because of this difference, his brother made the error of thinking his parents were not pleased with the young lady. This led to a series of mistakes that threatened the match. Luckily the situation is now resolved.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes, it is. It als
o started me thinking. If a young man is worried about what his parents think about something, but he hasn’t spoken to his parents about it, perhaps his parents ought to speak to him.”
“Ma?”
“Cai almost lost his chance for a happy marriage through a misunderstanding brought about by his brother’s worry about their parents’ feelings. I don’t want the same to happen to you. Since your father is gone, I will speak for both your parents.” I sipped some tea. “You’ve been sharing a home with Tony for a number of years. I’ve been touched by the effort all five of my children have put into hiding from me the fact that you are more than roommates to each other. Because you’ve been so careful to shield me so I would not be upset, I’ve said nothing. But I don’t want you to lose your chance at happiness through worry about my feelings. So I’ll tell you, speaking also for your father, that I like Tony very much. I find him quite dear. Also, he cooks well. Any further affirmation of your friendship is something I would welcome. In fact, I would appreciate having only two, not three, unmarried children to worry about.”
An-Zhang sat in his chair with his mouth open. His eyes glowed. He jumped up to hug me. Husband, I tell you, he almost broke my bones.
So this is the good news I’ve come to tell you. Our son An-Zhang will be married in the fall. I told you weddings are not the same in America, husband. Though they are not entirely different, either. We’ll hold a large banquet. There will be singing, wine, red envelopes. Organizing the details of such an event is exhausting. The children say I don’t need to worry so much, but the wedding is the responsibility of the groom’s family. That this wedding involves two grooms only makes things more complicated.
Luckily, I have Chu Mei to confide in. Her son Cai will be marrying his Anna, also. When we met for tea we exchanged congratulations, then sympathy on the difficulties of wedding planning. Enjoying each other’s company, we continue to meet.
So there you have it, husband. Two weddings. A renewed friendship. Our son in good hands. Our children no longer feeling they have to hide something from me.
I know you are as happy as I am with all this news. Now, as I have tired myself—likely tired you also!—by telling this long tale, I will sit quietly with you here on your hillside, drinking tea, enjoying the breeze, on the anniversary of our wedding day so long ago.
* * *
AMAZING GRACE
BY MAX ALLAN COLLINS
Grace Rushmore, at eighty, seemed aptly named to those who knew her well. She surely did move with an easy grace—years ago, when she and husband Lem were courting, her dancing particularly suited her name, her movements as fluid as a gentle stream, as lovely as she wasn’t.
But those who only knew Grace in her later years, which had begun really around age forty, saw a skinny, sunken-cheeked old woman right out of Grant Wood’s American Gothic, her countenance severe, her words rare. Perhaps the most graceful things about her, to those who knew her from a distance, were how uncomplainingly hard she worked, how well she had raised the four children who survived (of the ten she’d carried), and how nobly she’d tolerated Lem and his reprobate ways.
In 1909, when Lem had come calling, she already looked like the old maid she seemed destined to become. Lemuel Richard Rushmore had been tall and handsome, tall enough that her bony, lanky frame next to him didn’t seem so odd, though he was much too good-looking for her, people had whispered from the start. But no one was surprised by the union, nonetheless.
After all, Grace’s father was Jonathan Holding, one of the most prosperous farmers in Polk County, Iowa, and Lem’s bad reputation had preceded him. Like Grace, Lem was thirty and unmarried. He had been arrested for stealing horses three times and convicted once, doing a year in the county jail, a sentence her Baptist father considered unduly lenient. Lem was a rounder, it was said, a man married only to drink, but whose good looks and easy charm had brought him plenty of female affection, unmarried and married alike.
But what a smile Lem had. He was fun and he was funny and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. People just liked him. Even Papa had come to be fond of him, particularly after Lem sat in the parlor, hat in hands, and promised he had changed his ways and wanted only to settle down, have a family, and work hard. He’d never farmed, but was eager to learn.
They had married in 1910, and now it was 1960. Fifty years had passed, that had only felt like one hundred. Not all of it was bad, though. Lem was kind to her, in his way. Brought her flowers on birthdays and anniversaries, though not always on the days themselves. He was good to her children, giving them candy and winning their love, and leaving the spanking to her. She never was as loved by her offspring as Lem was.
His looks had left him by his fifties. His hair had long since turned white and his handsome face became a bucket-headed exaggeration of itself, like something a State Fair caricature artist drew. The tall frame grew a potbelly—beer will do that, and a lot of beer will really do that—and his nose spread and reddened.
He never did pitch in at the farm in any way. Sort of pretended to for a while, but not for long. Instead he hung out in the poolrooms of nearby Des Moines and at various saloons and houses of ill repute. After their tenth child died, Lem never bothered trying to have relations with her. She was relieved, because he had bouts of what he called “the French disease,” which had played a role in all those miscarriages, the doctors said.
In these fifty years, rewards had been few and far between for Grace. But Lem was pleasant, even kind, called her “Sweet Thing” even now. Just like when they sat on her papa’s front porch in the swing and he held her hand and smiled at her. The smile was still nice, thanks to those fancy dentures she’d bought him.
The farm was run by others, since Papa died during the second war and money was coming in. Not as much as Lem would have liked, and he had encouraged Grace to use her skills in the kitchen to bring in a little more.
She in particular had a sweet touch—she could have been a professional baker, Lem always said. They ought to sell the farm and buy a bakery in town and she could whip up those sweet delights, as he put it. Her specialty, what she was best known for, was wedding cakes. She had taken a course in town on decorating, uncovering a natural artistic knack for it, and the golden lemon-touched wedding cake with the delicious cream-cheese frosting was her claim to Polk County fame.
Some people said the only time she smiled was when a bride-to-be and her mother came to pick up their special cake, with its towering tiers, perfectly spaced and arranged like some castle in the sky. The happy clients would oooh and aaah and a tiny smile would etch itself on Grace’s grooved, deep-cheeked face.
She knew this because girlfriends at church (girls in their seventies and eighties like her) would tease her about it.
“You should smile more, Gracie,” they’d say.
“You’re so pretty when you smile,” they’d lie.
But what did she have to smile about?
Really, though, when she thought about it, she had plenty to smile about. Four lovely children, grown and successful, Robert and Lucas and Jennifer and Beth, all married, generating twelve grandchildren and two great-grandchildren so far. Not a bum in the batch. No carousers. No loose women.
When she thought about this in church, which she frequently did (Lem accompanying her on Christmas and Easter only), she knew that her brood turning out so well was a miracle.
And she would bow her head and thank God.
* * *
Only her oldest, Beth, lived in the area. The others would be coming from hither and yon. That was so very exciting, contemplating it. Not in many years had the entire clan been under one roof. Each little family had its own Christmas traditions, though her kids always made sure one of them brought their family to the big old farmhouse to spend a few days of the holidays with Grandma and Grandpa. Great-grandma and Great-grandpa now, for the two little tykes of Beth’s daughter’s.
Grace sat in the big cupboard-lined kitchen with Beth, who at forty-eight was quite attractive, if a little heavy, her features echoing her father’s, before dissipation. She dressed rather severely, a black-and-gray suit with pink-and-gray pillbox hat today, since as a third grade teacher flashy apparel was not appropriate. They drank hot tea and shared the frosted sugar cookies Grace usually only made at the holidays. This was just September, though, and the Golden Anniversary celebration was the closest thing to a holiday coming up.
In two weeks.
“Where’s Pop?” Beth asked.
“At his job.”
Lately Lem had been bartending part-time in a little town nearby.
Beth’s expression tightened. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance... Nothing.”
“What, dear?”
She sighed, summoned a smile. “Is there any chance we might keep him sober at the festivities?”
Grace lifted an eyebrow. “Doubtful. The punch won’t be spiked, that much I can promise you.”
Her daughter glanced away, thoughtfully. “Maybe I could talk to him.”
“Welcome to try.”
Beth smiled. “You know, Lucy and Sam love Pop to death.”
“He’s always been good with kids.”
“Well, he’s always been one, hasn’t he?” She shook her head. “Mother, how have you managed it?”
“A day at a time.”
“Well, of course, but...you’ve worked so hard.” Beth paused. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What is, dear?”
She sat forward. “Jenny and Bob’s Martha and Luke’s Aggie and I...we all want to pitch in. We want to make the meal. No, no objections! You tell us what you want to have and just turn the kitchen over to us.”
Grace was shaking her head. “Won’t hear of it.”
“No! Now, listen to me, you stubborn old girl. This is going to be your day. You have earned it! You let us in here, in your precious kitchen, and we’ll wait on you and show you that the good cookin’ you’ve demonstrated all these years was catching. We are darn good at it, too, thanks to you!”
Deadly Anniversaries Page 10
