Shan-Rose’s mouth dropped open and she uttered an exclamation in Chinese. Then her eyes snapped up to meet Kari’s.
“Where did you get this?”
“I-I, um, found it.”
“Where did you find it?” Shan-Rose demanded. For an old lady, she sounded a lot tougher than she looked.
“What is it, Auntie?” Mixxie scooted close to Shan-Rose and tried to peer over her shoulder. Shan-Rose, without letting the book out of her hands, pointed to the inscription.
Mixxie read it and stuttered, “W-what the—”
“Mixxie!”
While the girl stared at Kari as though she’d seen a ghost, Kari reached over and tugged the book out of Shan-Rose’s hands. She clasped it to her chest with both hands. “I found it. That’s all you need to know.”
Shan-Rose replied in a no-nonsense voice, “No; that is not all I need to know, young woman. That book belonged to my grandmother.”
“She wasn’t your grandmother,” Kari shot back. “Even I know that.”
“No; not my natural grandmother, that is true.” As Shan-Rose stared at the book Kari held protectively, she looked as if she regretted her outburst. “But she was certainly the grandmother of my heart.”
A moment later, she whispered, “I apologize, Ms. Hillyer.”
Kari, too, was sorry. This isn’t going at all like I’d hoped, she thought. “Please. I-I’m sorry. Call me Kari. Perhaps we can start over.”
“Yes, I would like that.” Shan-Rose, breathing heavily, turned to Mixxie. “Please go fix us some tea, Mixxie.”
Mixxie eyes were large and unsure, but she nodded and slipped from the room.
“Mixxie is overprotective, Kari. I apologize for her rudeness. And my own. But, while she is gone, I hope you will speak freely. You may trust me,” Shan-Rose coaxed Kari. “Can you not tell me where you got this journal? It has been missing a long time.”
“Missing?”
Shan-Rose nodded but did not explain. She only studied Kari again, looking for something, and making Kari uncomfortable in the process.
Kari licked her lips, debating whether or not to trust the old woman . . . who had been only months old when Rose had written about her last.
Rose loved her. Rose loved her mother, Mei-Xing. I can’t believe I’m here, in this house . . . where it all happened . . . but Rose loved her.
And I love Rose, her heart echoed. I should trust Shan-Rose. For Rose’s sake.
“I’m not lying. I did find it,” Kari said softly. “In an old trunk in a garage.”
“I see. A garage.” Shan-Rose thought briefly. “May I ask in what city or place this garage was?”
Kari nodded. “New Orleans. Louisiana.”
“New Orleans.” Shan-Rose slumped against the back of the settee and closed her eyes. It seemed to Kari that, whereas just minutes ago the woman had been stronger than Kari had suspected, she now appeared fatigued. Frail.
“Auntie?” Mixxie had returned with an old-fashioned tea tray that she placed on the low table near the flowers. “Auntie?” She spoke in Chinese, sounding a little worried, and Shan-Rose opened her eyes a moment and then closed them.
“I am just tired,” she whispered.
“I think you should leave now,” Mixxie said to Kari. She wasn’t angry when she said it, just concerned for her aunt. “She needs to rest.” She still looked at Kari strangely.
Kari nodded and placed the journal back in the cloth bag and the bag in her purse. Shan-Rose, though, her eyes still closed, whispered something to Mixxie.
Mixxie protested, but Shan-Rose was insistent.
“She . . . wants you to come back,” Mixxie repeated with obvious reluctance. “Tomorrow. Can you come back tomorrow?”
“Yes, I suppose I can,” Kari answered. It’s why I came here, after all, she reminded herself. I came to find out more about Rose.
“If I come back, will you tell me about Rose?” she asked Shan-Rose. “And about Palmer House?”
“Yes. I will,” Shan-Rose murmured, opening her eyes then letting their lids drop again. “I will.”
Kari glanced at Mixxie and raised her eyebrow in a question.
“She is best in the mornings,” Mixxie answered. “Say, around nine?”
Kari left the house and stood on the sidewalk staring up at the house. Her emotions were torn. I’m not disappointed, she told herself. I won’t allow myself to be disappointed. Tomorrow will go better. Tomorrow I will learn more about Rose.
She walked in the general direction of her hotel. Tonight I’ll make a list of questions to ask Shan-Rose. First I need to find a pay phone and get a taxi.
Back in the house, Mixxie helped her Aunt to bed. They had turned what had once been the house’s parlor into Shan-Rose’s bedroom, so the walk was not far.
“You’ll feel better after a nap, Auntie,” Mixxie whispered, tucking the old woman into her bed.
“Yes. Thank you, my dear girl,” Shan-Rose managed.
Later that evening, when Mixxie had gone to the kitchen to fix their dinner, Shan-Rose reached for the telephone and dialed.
“Quan?” She spoke in Chinese. “Something important has happened, and I must see you. Can you come this evening?”
She listened. “I will be fine. I had a good rest this afternoon. Please come. And bring An-Shing. No, no. It must be tonight. Very important.”
She listened. “Yes? Around seven o’clock, then. I am certain you will be glad you came.”
~~**~~
Chapter 16
When Kari arose in the morning, her spirits were high. Today Shan-Rose will tell me more about her namesake, Rose, she rejoiced.
Shan-Rose! I can’t believe I’ve met her. I want to know everything about Rose; about Joy and Grant and Baby Edmund; about Mei-Xing; about Breona, Mr. O’Dell, Marit, Billy, and Will; about Tabitha and Sara—oh, and everyone!
Kari was so excited and nervous that she had trouble eating her breakfast. She also dithered over bringing the journal with her or leaving it in her hotel room—but then she worried someone might take it from her room!
You are getting a tad bit paranoid about this book, Kari reprimanded herself. Yet the thought of losing Rose’s precious words hurt her more than she cared to admit.
Kari decided to wear her hair down but pulled back in a large clip. Clips that would hold all of her thick hair were hard to come by; the faux tortoise shell one she wore today was a favorite.
She stepped from the hotel lobby into the bright Denver sunshine and gave the valet her claim check for the Caddy. A few minutes later the valet, a young man with an infectious grin, stepped out the car and held the door for her.
“Awesome ride,” he enthused.
“Thanks; I think so, too,” Kari answered. She drew on her Sophia Loren’s, flipped her long mane back, and tossed him a cheeky grin. He laughed and waved as she pulled away.
Kari drove straight to Palmer House, now confident of how to get there. She pulled up to the curb behind two other cars. Three more were parked along the curb across the street.
Who’s having a party? She looked around at neighboring houses but saw no activity. As she opened the gate and walked toward the porch, it dawned on her that the cars might mean others were in Shan-Rose’s house, and she was immediately a little anxious.
She stared at the front door. No one had better try to bully me into giving them Rose’s journal, she fretted, because I won’t give it up, and that’s final.
She was about to ring the doorbell when she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling, she faced a Chinese man, quite spry but likely near or in his seventies. It was hard for Kari to tell his age; his face was smooth like Shan-Rose’s, and he smiled pleasantly. When he smiled, his eyes all but disappeared.
He bowed. “Ah, you must be Ms. Hillyer. I’m late, as you can see. Why don’t we just go in?” He opened the door and gestured for her to go in before him. As she passed, he reached for something and Kari caught the movement out of the corner of her ey
e.
The man touched the rusted sign hanging next to the door with the tips of his finger and, bowing his head reverently, murmured something.
What is that about? she wondered. From down the hall, Kari could hear the murmur of many voices. Maybe I should be freaking out about now, she added, but then Mixxie appeared, frowning.
Kari was beginning to think her face was stuck that way.
“Who let you in? Did you think you could just open the door and waltz—Oh! Grandfather. I didn’t see you.” Mixxie bowed—actually bowed—to the old man, although Kari was finding it hard to think of him as old, for he seemed bursting with energy.
“Mixxie, Ms. Hillyer is our guest.”
Mixxie reddened under the implied rebuke. “Yes, Grandfather. I apologize, Ms. Hillyer.” She bowed to Kari but ruined the effect by sticking her tongue out at Kari on the way up. The old man—Mixxie’s grandfather?—had stepped across the foyer and into the great room and missed the display.
“Charming,” Kari muttered. Not waiting for Mixxie, she followed the man through the double doors. And stopped dead in her tracks.
Is it Chinese New Year and I didn’t get the notice? Kari stared around the room. It was filled with men and women—fifteen or so—all Chinese.
No, that’s not true, Kari realized. A couple across the room were Anglos like Kari. And with the exception of Mixxie, no one else in the room appeared to be under the age of forty. The doors to the dining room were open and people were eating or serving themselves from a breakfast buffet.
The room stilled as they noticed her.
Kari stood in the doorway, unmoving. They decided to host a brunch and forgot to invite me. Either that or I’m the main course.
A middle-aged couple broke away and came toward her. The man held out both of his hands. “Ms. Hillyer? Welcome. Please come in. I am An-Shing Liáng. This is my wife Fen-Bai.” He nodded curtly in Mixxie’s direction. “I see you have already met our daughter, Mixxie.”
I feel for you . . . Kari cut her eyes toward the girl. Yup. Still frowning.
An-Shing took Kari’s hands in his and studied her a long moment. “I hope you don’t mind. When Aunt Shan-Rose mentioned you would be returning this morning, some of us wanted to meet you. So she invited a few family members.”
A few? To meet me? Stranger and stranger.
Fen-Bai shook her hand and whispered a greeting. Others lined up behind her, each one shaking Kari’s hand and giving his or her name. Each one scrutinizing Kari.
What are they looking at? Kari didn’t know what was happening, and she didn’t like it. With every nerve on edge, she did her best imitation of Lorene Brunell, enduring the introductions with stilted graciousness but promptly forgetting every name. Almost.
Quan Liáng—his son, An-Shing? and An-Shing’s wife, Fen-Bai Liáng? Relatives of Minister Liáng?
It was all a blur until the other Anglos in the room reached her. “Hello, Ms. Hillyer. My name is Sean Carmichael. This is my daughter, Alannah Carmichael.”
Carmichael? Kari stared at both of them. “Are you related to Pastor Isaac Carmichael?”
Sean also looked to be in his seventies. He smiled. “I am his son. Did you read about him in the journal you found?”
Kari’s face froze. Ask to see that journal and I’m out of here, she dared.
His expression changed to one of concern. “I’m sorry. Have I offended you?”
Kari flushed. “It’s just that I didn’t expect to see anyone today except Shan-Rose and Mixxie . . .”
“Of course. We have . . . overwhelmed you. Please. Sit here and make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to a chair and Kari eased her way toward it, wondering if she should just bolt for the door instead.
Kari sat down and clutched her handbag on her lap. Sean Carmichael’s daughter, Alannah, whom Kari judged to be only a few years older than herself, took a seat near Kari.
“Aunt Shan-Rose told us that you are very protective of Rose’s journal.”
If possible, Kari’s grip on her handbag tightened, and Alannah noticed.
“We are not going to take the journal from you, Ms. Hillyer. It isn’t ours to take, you see. I want to assure you that we would not try anything . . . underhanded.”
“If you say so.” It was the only thing Kari could think of to say. From across the room, Shan-Rose caught Kari’s eye and gestured to her. “I think Shan-Rose is asking for me.” Kari was glad to get away, even though she was feeling a little more comfortable with Alannah.
“Of course. You should go to her,” Alannah agreed.
Kari walked past several staring people on her way to the chair in which Shan-Rose indicated Kari should sit. Some of them whispered together in Chinese while studying her.
I’m starting to feel like a bug under a glass. Kari finally reached Shan-Rose.
“My dear, I am so sorry,” she whispered, placing her hand on Kari’s. “I called my brother last evening and told him about your visit. The next thing I knew, caterers were here this morning setting up breakfast for twenty! What a hullabaloo.”
Kari almost burst out laughing. Who says ‘hullabaloo’ anymore? she chuckled to herself.
Shan-Rose didn’t notice Kari’s mirth. “Have you eaten, Ms. Hillyer?”
“Oh, yes. I have, thank you.” Like I could swallow anything while under this microscope!
About that time Quan began calling softly for everyone’s attention and the room quieted. “Everyone is refreshed, I hope? Good. Perhaps we can begin now?”
Begin what? Kari thought, darting her eyes around the room.
“Ms. Hillyer, I’m sure you are wondering why we have gathered to meet you. My sister has told us a little about you and that you have found Rose Thoresen’s missing journal. This is great news to all of us who remember her, and even those of us who only know her as part of our family’s history.”
Kari looked from Shan-Rose to Quan. “He’s your brother?” she whispered.
“Oh, yes,” Shan-Rose replied. “I assumed you knew.”
“You have a question, Ms. Hillyer?” Quan asked.
“No, but—I mean, I didn’t know you were Shan-Rose’s brother.” She looked between them. “Rose’s journal only covers two years and ends in 1911. I didn’t know Mei-Xing married anyone.” She frowned. “Wait. Your last name is Liáng, not Li?” She asked Shan-Rose and Quan at the same time.
“Yes,” they both answered. A little laughter rumbled from the others.
“Ms. Hillyer,” Shan-Rose explained, “Our mother, Mei-Xing Li, married Minister Yaochuan Min Liáng in the spring of 1912 . . . after everything happened, and he adopted me.”
“Oh! She did? She married Minister Liáng?” Kari was thrilled. “And were they happy? Rose loved Mei-Xing so much . . . and I have been wondering what became of Mei-Xing.”
Tears sprang to Shan-Rose’s eyes. “You know of my mother only through Rose’s eyes and words? This touches my heart, Ms. Hillyer. Your visit is bringing back many happy memories.”
Shan-Rose touched a tissue to her eyes and answered Kari’s question. “Yes; I would say that Mother and Father’s marriage was very happy.” She nodded at Quan. “Quan is my youngest brother. He assumed Father’s pulpit when Father grew too feeble to pastor. We also had two sisters and a brother. We are the only two siblings left now. Our sisters and our brother have gone to heaven before us, but we have many nieces and nephews—some of whom are here—and they have many children and even grandchildren.”
Kari saw a few heads nod and then she realized . . . “So the others here are Mei-Xing’s grandchildren?”
“That’s right,” Shan-Rose smiled.
“And you?” Kari asked the old woman. “Your name is still Liáng. You didn’t marry?”
“No, my dear,” Shan-Rose chuckled. “I was far too busy trying to change the world to marry.”
“Well, this is just fascinating,” Alannah spoke aloud. A murmur of agreement went around the room.
Kari fastened
her eyes on Alannah. “If you are Isaac Carmichael’s granddaughter, who did he marry?” she asked.
“Breona,” several voices replied at once.
“What? Breona!” Kari shook her head slowly. “Wow. That is so cool.”
More soft laughter reassured Kari and she began to relax.
“Our families—the Liángs and Carmichaels—have been friends now for how long?” Sean Carmichael looked to Quan and An-Shing.
“At least eighty years,” An-Shing answered.
“Perhaps a little longer than that,” Quan added. “And it is quite amazing to hear you talk of these departed friends and relatives with such intimate knowledge, such passion.”
“As Shan-Rose said, I only know them through Rose’s eyes,” Kari explained, “but I came to love Rose through her journal and to love those she loved. I am so anxious to hear more, to fill in the gaps and learn what happened afterwards. I drove all the way from New Orleans just to see if Palmer House was still standing . . . and if, by some chance it was, to see if anyone knew of or remembered Rose Thoresen and could tell me anything more about her, about Joy and Grant, about Mei-Xing—oh, about everyone I read of in her journal—”
“Thoresen,” someone interrupted. It was Mixxie. “Her name was ‘Tor-eh-sen.’ Not ‘Thor-eh-sen.’” Her words dripped sarcasm.
“Mixxie!” Quan’s rebuke cracked in the quiet room. “That was quite unnecessary and you will apologize to our guest. Now.”
Mixxie’s face suffused with color and she would not meet Kari’s eyes. “I apologize.” The words grated like glass in her throat.
That had to smart, Kari gloated, thoroughly irritated with Mixxie’s hostility. At the same time she tried out the correct pronunciation. “Tor-eh-sen. I had no idea I was saying it wrong all this time.”
“I’m sure it is not a problem, Ms. Hillyer. But speaking of time,” An-Shing, with a reproachful glare at his daughter Mixxie, turned the conversation, “we are all quite interested in how you discovered Rose’s journal. Could you tell us when you found it?”
Kari sensed the subtle shift in the conversation. Her defenses armed themselves and she held them at the ready. “Let’s see. It hasn’t been that long . . . this is mid-July, so perhaps three months ago?”
Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6) Page 18
