Dreams of the Red Phoenix

by Virginia Pye

  Kathryn handed Shirley a cigarette, took one for herself, and shimmied up onto the porch railing, her pencil skirt straining as she crossed her long legs. She really was a fine-looking gal, Shirley thought, deserving of far more attention than she received here in this hinterland. It was all for the best they were heading home before Kathryn’s window of opportunity began to close. Shirley would set her mind to finding Kathryn a good catch once they got stateside. Wasn’t that the sort of thing that a widow did with her time? They thought of others instead of themselves.

  She inhaled slowly, her head bent and spirit worn. “Caleb was always so generous and so full of life and vitality. Far more than I am.”

  “Oh, now, that’s not true,” Kathryn said.

  “I’ve always been too—” Shirley looked at her friend, whose cheeks in that moment appeared especially rosy, her blue eyes sparkling. Really, she thought, not for the first time, Kathryn and Caleb would have been better suited to one another. They were easygoing and warm, nothing like Shirley in temperament. “I’ve been stingy with my heart,” she announced. “I’m sure Caleb stayed out on the trail because of it. I didn’t show my love for him nearly enough. And this is my punishment. I will never love again.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, “ Kathryn said, “don’t talk nonsense. You’re my oldest friend, and you know perfectly well how to be loyal and dear. Your husband has died recently, so of course you’re miserable. But you must eventually face the fact that your own life is not over.”

  “It might as well be.”

  “That decides it.” Kathryn hopped down from her perch on the railing. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll impress upon Reverend Wells the need to hurry our papers along. We can’t wait another month. He has to find us passage sooner. And it’s time for you to focus on something else. How about your son for starters?”

  Shirley let out a sigh. “Don’t remind me what a negligent mother I’ve been. But do tell Reverend Wells I’m concerned for Charles. This is no place for a teenaged boy without a father.”

  “According to my father,” Kathryn said, “this is no place for anyone. Another telegram came from him begging me to return home. Apparently everyone but us knows that we’re living in a danger zone.”

  Shirley turned and studied the still courtyard. It seemed remarkably peaceful. The tan brick pathways divided the yellow soil where ginkgo and cherry trees had been planted thirty years before. A calm and idyllic setting, she thought, just the way the early missionaries had envisioned it: the Congregational mission resembled a quintessential small college campus, dotted with fanciful Chinese elements to gently remind the visitor of what existed outside the high brick walls.

  The Chinese Boys’ School loomed at one end of the quad and the Girls’ School at the other. Just across the way, in the center of the mission, the chapel resembled a pagoda with an eccentric, Chinese-inspired steeple. The roofs of the buildings flipped upward at the corners, and ornate lead decorations climbed each ridge with colorful sculpted dragons at the peaks. On each wall, moon windows intersected by Chinese wave patterns balanced nicely with standard Western-style rectangular frames. And at the entrance to the wraparound porch of each mission home stood a moon gate, etched with Chinese characters that offered words of welcome and promises of good fortune to all who entered.

  Shirley shut her eyes and pictured Caleb dashing through their moon gate, bounding up the steps to kiss her on the lips. When she opened her eyes, her lashes were moist again, and a frightening stillness surrounded her. No one stood gazing up at the evening stars or strolling on this summer’s eve. Earlier, Shirley had assumed that the choir ladies had slipped out quickly after practice to be sensitive to her, but now she wondered if they had hurried home for another reason.

  “Are we under a curfew?” she asked.

  Kathryn took her hand. “Oh, my dear, you really haven’t been paying attention, have you? Of course we are. I’ve spared you the news, but things don’t look good for our Chinese friends.”

  As Kathryn began to explain the situation, Shirley intended to listen but quickly became distracted by the sight of the chips of glossy paint littered across the porch floorboards. She loved the red-coffered ceiling and the intricately painted timbers of her home and the gaudy gold details around the heavily carved front door. But apparently in her weeks of mourning, her house had started to crumble around her. The heavy spring rains could do that—peel the paint right off the walls.

  Caleb had always seen to upkeep. It didn’t matter to Shirley anymore how the place looked except that its demise served as a reminder that he was truly gone. She let out a final stream of smoke and flicked her cigarette over the railing and onto the courtyard ground. In the past, she would have hidden her extinguished butts under the porch, but now, she didn’t care who knew about her unladylike habits. So little mattered anymore except that Caleb was gone, and she would be leaving soon, too.

  “Even though they’re supposed to be united, they hardly trust one another,” Kathryn was saying, and Shirley realized she had missed her friend’s subject altogether.

  “Sorry, who is united?”

  “The Nationalists and the Communists, dear. At least that’s their intention, but out here in no-man’s-land, it’s all up for grabs.”

  “And people think it’s good that they’re united?”

  “A desperate move.” Kathryn stubbed out her cigarette on the porch railing and flicked it under the porch. “But necessary.”

  “All right, then, a united front it is,” Shirley said and tried to rally some enthusiasm. “They’ll sweep the Japanese out in no time.”

  “Not likely. The Japanese are pouring in from the north.”

  “From the north? You mean, near here?”

  They both turned to gaze again at the courtyard.

  “The young warlord, your Tupan Feng’s nephew, has appointed his usual cronies. They love to strut about, but rumor has it they’re as ineffectual and greedy as ever.”

  Shirley gave a weak smile. “Old Tupan Feng finally has a reason to wear his dress uniform.”

  “Skirmishes are taking place out there somewhere. Japanese supply lines and railroads and such are being attacked by the Nationalist forces. Or perhaps the Communist ones. Honestly, it’s all a muddle to me.” Kathryn straightened Shirley’s collar and smoothed her flyaway hair. Their hands found one another again and swung ever so slightly, as if they were the schoolgirls they had once been together. “Some people say the Chinese don’t care who rules their country,” Kathryn continued. “I can’t imagine that’s true at heart. They’re just highly pragmatic. And the poor peasants are worked to the bone and haven’t time to look up from their plows. I think they assume they’ll remain miserable under any government. While meanwhile, the higher-ups take Japanese bribes until a better option comes along. They’re cagey, always hedging their bets, but who can blame them, with so many factions in our sorry little province?”

  “I wonder what the Japanese are offering?”

  “To let them live, I suppose,” Kathryn said with an arched eyebrow. “The alternative, I gather, is not so good.”

  “But the Japanese seem decent enough,” Shirley said. “One of the young soldiers started sweeping our back steps after Cook disappeared. I didn’t see any harm in him doing it.”

  “But have you asked yourself why Cook disappeared?”

  Shirley didn’t know what to say. She should have wondered. Of course she should have. “Is it possible that he joined the Nationalist Army? He was always patriotic and absolutely hates the Japanese.”

  “True, but if he’s like everyone else, he hated his own government almost as much. And besides, if Cook had joined, they would have sent him off with whatever feast they could manage. Candles would be lit for him, and we’d probably know his whereabouts.”

  “Then perhaps he joined the Reds? I remember Caleb saying they weren’t far from here, up in the hills to the west, I think.”

  “The Red Army has been aroun
d these parts for months, recovering from their escapades across the country. It’s possible that Cook may have joined them and not the Whites. Did you know that they call them the White Army?”

  “Who?”

  “The Nationalists. The ones who aren’t Red. Although now that they’ve supposedly combined forces, I assume they’ll start calling them the Pink Army! Oh, it’s all so ridiculous. I can hardly believe we’re stuck in the midst of it. Remember when our greatest concern was which chapeaux to wear to Sunday service?”

  Both women shook their heads.

  “The point is,” Kathryn continued, “while we are still here, we must do our best to help hold off the Japanese. Most likely, my dear, they are the ones responsible for your cook’s disappearance.”

  Kathryn let go of Shirley’s hand and patted her charming cloche into place. She opened her purse and pulled out her lace gloves in the same forest green as her hat. Shirley marveled at her friend’s style, even here in this distant outpost and with the other American women so little inclined to care about such things. Shirley felt certain she was the only one who saw Kathryn for who she really was: a smart, snappy future career girl who had made a wrong turn and wound up in China for her own stubborn reasons. Once she got back to America, she’d find a job and a husband. The rest of the mission might be deluded into thinking that Kathryn cared about China’s endless troubles, but Shirley knew better, because now that Caleb was gone, she felt similarly worn out with the whole mess.

  “I’m so sorry to have abandoned you these past weeks, my love,” Shirley said as she bent to kiss her friend on both cheeks. “Let’s make a pact. We’ll take tea with one another every afternoon until it’s time for us to depart. We can start tomorrow. We’ll review the latest news and make our plans. There’s much to be discussed. As our professors used to say at Vassar when the bell rang, ‘Ever more learning tomorrow, fine ladies!’”

  “Yes, ever more learning. I remember it well. Now, get some rest. Your eyes do look awfully puffy.”

  As at so many partings since girlhood, the friends let go with outstretched fingers. But at just that moment, from around the corner came two young Japanese soldiers with an officer marching a few paces behind. The men halted before the moon gate in front of the Carson home. The two younger men looked identical, their khaki uniforms the same and their blank expressions in the shadowed light unchanging, until Shirley realized that the one on the right was the young fellow who had swept her back steps. She offered a nod, but his expression remained unchanged. The officer stepped forward through the gate, snapped his heels together, and bowed quickly.

  “Good evening, American madams,” he began in stilted English. “I am Major Hattori, Fifth Division, Japanese Imperial Army. Does American mother know whereabouts of boy with red hair?”

  Kathryn retreated up the steps and stood next to Shirley.

  “Is everything all right?” Shirley asked. “He isn’t hurt, is he? I assume he’s somewhere around the compound, but honestly, I’m not sure where exactly.”

  “American mother does not know whereabouts of son. Very bad. I have reports American boy is rude and should be punished.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Shirley said. “I thought he might be injured.”

  “From high on wall, American boy spits on Japanese soldier.”

  “Good Lord,” Kathryn said under her breath.

  Shirley raised her chin. “Why, that’s terrible, Major. I’m awfully sorry. I will speak with him. But you must realize that boys will be boys.”

  Kathryn squeezed her hand.

  “American boy learn bad manners at home. But bad boy not reason for visit. I come to confiscate your two-way radio.”

  “My what?” Shirley asked.

  Kathryn whispered something she didn’t catch.

  “We believe radio in house used by Red Army. We intercept signal. American missionary woman is spy!” He raised both his voice and his eyebrows with his pronouncement.

  Shirley burst out laughing. She pulled her hand free and ignored Kathryn’s worried expression. Her friend quickly regained her arm, but Shirley straightened her spine and thrust out her chin. At five feet eleven inches, she would have been noticeably taller than Major Hattori had they stood nose to nose. Looking down at him from the porch she felt had an even better effect.

  “Everyone knows that radios get terrible reception here,” she said. “No signals can make it over the surrounding hills. My husband tried to find my beloved opera on the dial but gave up years ago. And perhaps you did not know this, Major, but he is no longer with us. Our house is in mourning, so I will ask you to respect our peace.”

  Shirley’s mind drifted for a brief moment into the chasm left by Caleb’s death. A familiar wafting loneliness sucked her downward. It swirled and engulfed her in its chilly calm. Her arms went limp at her sides, and she had to work to keep her knees from buckling. But instead of leaving her completely floored, as it usually did, she could feel the sorrow somehow bolstering her courage and helping her to rise back up again. It was as if the undertow was buoying her, the way a candle sucks down heat before flaring upward into light.

  “I’m quite certain that my husband gave that old thing away years ago,” she continued, her voice growing stronger. “Or if I do still have it, I have no idea where it is.”

  “Don’t be foolish, my dear,” Kathryn whispered, her pretty cheeks flushed. “Give the man what he wants. These people don’t mess around.”

  The officer marched up the steps and placed himself before them. “Madam,” he said to Shirley, “bring radio to me.”

  She had spotted his saber in its hilt at his side, his revolver tucked into the leather case on his belt, and knew she was supposed to be impressed by them and by his crisp uniform and shiny boots, but the fact that she literally towered over the man seemed to contradict all that. She turned and strode into her house, calling back over her shoulder, “I shall return in a moment.”

  Kathryn clasped her hands together and looked off at the courtyard and then up at the black and starless sky, anywhere but into the stony faces of the officer and his two soldiers, who remained like sentries blocking the bottom step. “Reverend Carson died quite recently, you see. Mrs. Carson really isn’t herself.”

  The major did not respond or acknowledge Kathryn’s words, and she wondered if perhaps his English was rudimentary. She was about to try the local Chinese dialect when the screen door flung open again and Shirley reappeared in a flurry, her black satin mourning skirt swishing and her arms upraised. She had a broom in one hand. With a dramatic gesture, she placed it on the floorboards and began sweeping. As she did, she sang an off-key, airy tune: “Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me. Anyone else but me. Anyone else but me.”

  As Shirley continued to sweep and sing, Kathryn’s jaw slackened. The broom whisked right up to the edge of the major’s polished boots and kept going, as if they were merely annoying debris that had fallen onto the otherwise tidy porch.

  Major Hattori shuffled back. “American woman most impertinent. She and son must be punished!”

  Kathryn reached for the broom and tried to pull it away, but Shirley held on and surprised them both with her strength. She thought she must have been storing it up all those pointless, painful weeks since Caleb’s death, when she had repeatedly come to the conclusion that there was no reason to go on living. For, as she yanked the broom back from Kathryn, she remembered her husband’s words: Face the foe, he had said. A silly phrase he had heard from British military passing through. He had meant it tongue-in-cheek, spoken in a teasing and irreverent manner, but Shirley had known that at heart, he had meant it. Caleb had wanted her to be brave.

  She planted the broom and announced, “You may go now, Major Hattori. Good evening.”

  Kathryn rocked back on her heels, and the major let out a growl.

  “I will return,” he said and hurried down the steps. His soldiers followed closely at his heels as he strode across the
courtyard and was gone.

  Shirley let the broom fall from her hand, and Kathryn caught it. Shirley’s arms trembled, and she felt perspiration snake down her sides. She leaned against the carved post and gripped the railing.

  “Good heavens, who ever knew I had that in me?”

  Kathryn offered no congratulations and no reassurances. She simply stared at Shirley with a concerned expression. Shirley didn’t expect her friend to understand. Kathryn had not endured the hollow sensation that coursed through Shirley’s veins all the time now, its meaning only beginning to come clear to her.

  Three

  The screen door wheezed shut, and Shirley paused in the front hall, her pulse still thrumming in her ears and her thoughts addled. One of the thick muslin curtains in the dining room wafted, though there was no breeze. She let out a gasp, but it was only Charles. He slipped out from his favorite childhood hiding place and scurried after her as she moved unsteadily into the parlor.

  “Bravo!” he whispered. “You were wonderful, Mother. But is it true? You aren’t really a spy, are you?”

  “Please, darling, I need a moment to collect myself. How long were you there at the window? You really shouldn’t eavesdrop like that. I’ve told you before.”

  Her hands were shaking as she gave her maid, Lian, the broom. The older, dignified woman offered to bring tea, and Shirley thanked her, then tossed herself down onto the wicker sofa. It creaked and complained as she settled into the silk pillows.

  “Mother must rest now,” Lian said. “Ladies’ Choir very big effort. Leave her be, Charles-Boy.”

  For the first time in many weeks, Shirley said, “It’s all right, Lian; he isn’t bothering me.”