River of Dust

by Virginia Pye

  There was Mrs. Jenkins whose oldest daughter, Miranda, had died suddenly earlier that spring. The lady's body appeared hollow now, her once proud chest caved in and her shoulders curved as if she were a coolie bearing a heavy load across her back. And Reverend Powers, once a robust and striking gentleman, had lost so much weight that his clothing hung on him like a scarecrow. And yet it was his eyes that bothered Grace even more: they had grown dull, the sparkle of light that had once shone in them with curiosity and even delight all but extinguished.

  These people, her good and noble American compatriots, ap peared to her not only worn down but lost. Grace recalled how their mission had once required that they stand tall and sure. They were to be models to the godless here. They were to rise to their better selves and overcome any personal faults in an effort to bring unadulterated good to a poor, deprived race. Now their fervent purpose had grown as faint and forgotten as the soil that blew away on the wind across the plains outside the compound.

  Grace looked back at Mildred, whose tears rolled down her husband's dark lapel. Reverend Martin held his wife tightly. Grace tried to ignore the frantic pumping of her heart that caused her vision to blur. She kept her eyes focused on the spot where Mildred's cheek met her husband's chest. The question that buzzed in Grace's mind was as loud as the sound of her feeble, determined blood doing its work. Where was her husband? Grace wondered with surprising ferocity.

  She made herself look away and out the window of the Martins' parlor to the view of the dirt yard at the rear of the compound. In the tradition of Chinese walls, a large and handsome moon gate had been strategically placed so that the Martins might look beyond their property and onto the windswept plains. Out there, the dead grasses of the previous season swayed and yellow dust stirred. Grace could sense the spring sun starting to warm the land. A mild though persistent heat had begun to burn the dry, useless weeds. Her husband was out there in that rising fire.

  He continued on and on in his endless search, though Grace feared he had forgotten what exactly it was that he looked for. Of course each day he hoped to stumble upon evidence of their son. And yet she had come to realize that the Reverend was now upon a quest for something else as well. He had not found it, and yet he continued, not nearly as defeated as the lesser ministers here with her now. No, her Reverend carried on in spite of it all. He was an extraordinary man. She wished he would be satisfied with only her company and love, but he wouldn't be the man he was if he would. He was out in that wilderness looking for something. Something large and significant. Grace feared he was on a mission to discover nothing less than the Lord Himself.

  She shook her head ever so slightly and let out a little puff of air. It was dawning on her that by conducting his fruitless odyssey, the Reverend had been steadily losing not only his faith but his dear extended family here in the compound as well. These people, his people, had had no choice but to turn their backs on him. Her husband had lost not only the Lord but these decent souls. He, of all people, was utterly alone.

  She understood with sudden and striking clarity that she was the last one on earth still able to reach him. Wherever he had gotten himself to, she must go there now. It fell to Grace alone to fetch him back, even if it killed her to do so. Death was not nearly as troubling as she had once assumed, except for the thought of her baby. There was Rose to consider. And yet her husband was somehow calling out to her, too.

  Mildred drew her head away from Reverend Martin's shoulder and spoke more calmly. "Grace, you can't care for your baby here," she said. "She won't survive it. You'd be killing her. Don't you see that?"

  And, in an instant, Grace understood her situation and grasped what was required of her.

  "Yes, Mildred," she said, "I do."

  "Then say you'll leave China with us?"

  "I will come along soon thereafter."

  Mildred shook her head and looked toward the other ladies for

  confirmation of Grace's foolishness. But Grace stepped nearer and spoke with as much conviction as she could muster.

  "Dearest Mildred and Reverend Martin, I don't know of two more generous and worthy people than you. You are upright and pure of heart. You are good, good Christians. You have saved me these past months by sharing your home and your care. And yet, now, I find that I must ask you for even more."

  Through their swollen and exhausted eyes, the Martins looked at Grace most willingly, for they recognized their better selves in the description she had painted of them, and like all true Christians, they wished it to be true.

  "Will you take my precious Rose with you when you leave this place?" Grace asked.

  For some time, no one spoke, and so Grace continued, "The Reverend and I will follow as soon as our business here is finished. I cannot leave him now. You are loving parents, and I wouldn't dare to presume that my Rose could ever replace your dear Daisy in your hearts. But if you should take her with you and allow her even a fraction of your love, I would be most grateful. And soon, I will join you. Surely, I will, by and by."

  The Reverend Martin looked ready to speak but then seemed to think better of it. Grace thought she recognized a brief glint of light in his eyes behind the veil of sorrow. Mildred's expression was simpler. She nodded slowly and seemed to grasp the request as only a mother could: above all else, she would see to the child.

  "Good, then," Grace said. "It's settled. I can never thank you enough. May God bless you both."

  She turned and let Mai Lin steady her as she walked out of the parlor without glancing at the others. In the hallway, although it was past the time for her to return to bed, Grace chose instead to step out through the screen door and onto the veranda. She couldn't bear to hold her baby one more time, knowing she might never see her again. So she let Rose sleep on upstairs under the care of Mildred's amah and her new family. Grace told herself not to remember the warmth of Rose's tiny body pressed against her side, her hands clenched over Grace's heart. Just the image of the precious child in her mind's eye was enough to start the unpleasant whirring sensation in her feeble body again. Her blood beat wildly as she looked out at the deserted courtyard. Her arms felt heavy at her sides, as if weary from carrying the weight of her daughter. And yet they were painfully empty.

  As she stepped down from the porch, Grace told herself not to notice how her body ached with loss in every possible way. All around her appeared abandoned. The yellow-brick school building stood shuttered. The chapel at the far end was also closed. Several of the houses, too, were already boarded up. Crates of packed possessions stood stacked on carts, waiting for donkeys to pull them away. And yet none of it seemed nearly as desolate to Grace as the single glance backward that she allowed herself. She looked one more time at the Martins' house, still full of people, including her Rose.

  Then she turned again and crossed the cracked earth toward the Watson home. As Mai Lin walked beside her, Grace shaded her eyes and squinted up at the front porch. She was surprised and most glad to see Ahcho standing just inside the open door, a broom in his hand. The dear fellow had been keeping after the infernal dust even though no one lived there anymore.

  Twenty-three

  M istress Grace came slowly with Mai Lin to guide her. Ahcho held open the door to the house that had not been a home for months. His heart lifted at the thought of the baby arriving at its proper residence, but when he did not see the small bundle, he hoped that everything was all right. He had seven children of his own, and they each had seven children. He was a happy man because of it, even in these lean times when they had been scattered to the winds. It was known in his family that a baby placed in his arms would soon be charmed to sleep. He hoped he would have the opportunity to show this to the Reverend and his wife with their daughter.

  Mistress Grace paused at the threshold and said, "Thank you, Ahcho, for all you have done to maintain things while I was away. You are most good to us."

  Ahcho bowed solemnly and hoped that his face didn't betray his concern, for he couldn't h
elp noticing that she didn't look at all well. Her sallow complexion matched her dingy white gown. All of her seemed covered by a yellowish tint: her fair skin, her lace dress, the white stockings, and her light brown hair all dusted by a thin layer of loess, the loamy deposit that he spent far too many hours each day sweeping ineffectually from the floorboards and rugs.

  At night, he would shut and lock the front door, and in the morning, he'd still find small piles of the dusty sand pushed up against the walls and crammed into every crevice of this, the finest home in the Christian compound. Try as he might, Ahcho was unable to keep it clean. He had an impulse to use the broom to whisk the loess off his mistress now, or to at least employ a washcloth and lye soap, but of course he would never do such a disrespectful thing. It fell to Mai Lin, if she did her job properly, to help free their mistress of the dirty cloud that surrounded her.

  "Mistress is hungry?" he asked. "I will prepare your dinner."

  "No, thank you, Ahcho. Very kind of you, though."

  She walked with gentle steps into the parlor, where he was pleased to have dusted only an hour before.

  "I'll eat something," Mai Lin said.

  Ahcho ignored her and stood instead behind his mistress as she looked at the lone photograph on the mantel. Inside a dark wooden frame, intricately carved with vines and blossoms, was a daguerreotype of the Watson family. With eyes pinned on the photographer, the Reverend stood in a light linen suit, his collar buttoned high, his goldrimmed glasses glinting in the sun, and a clear expression on his face. Beside the young Reverend stood Mistress Grace. She wore a simple smock with black boots hidden under the shadow of the hem and held a rumpled linen hat in one hand. She, too, stared directly into the camera and did not smile. They didn't hold hands but stood shoulder to shoulder, a matched set, although he was so much taller. Ahcho was proud of the handsome and serious young couple at the start of their important work here in Fenchow-fu, where they would do so much good for others.

  Standing in front of them was their small boy, Wesley. He wore knickers and a sailor top. In his arms he held a heavy-looking glass jar filled with American pennies, his greatest treasure. Ahcho remembered picking up the annoying coins from the floor and scolding the little boy to fetch them himself from then on. Ahcho regretted ever speaking harshly to the lad, who in the photo squinted with ferocious curiosity out at the world.

  Ahcho wondered if Wesley's mother was noticing now that neither parent touched the child. No hand rested protectively on his shoulder, no fingers reached for his small hand. He was not tucked into his mother's side. Instead, little Wesley seemed all alone as he glared into the years ahead, poised to conquer, full of great seriousness and strength for someone so small. He had the countenance of a future leader, someone like his father who would bring people together to accomplish great things. Could the boy have been a prince all along? Ahcho wondered now.

  Grace turned abruptly from the fireplace and cleared her throat, attempting to hide what Ahcho suspected were tears. "You must bring me to the Reverend at once," she announced.

  Ahcho clasped his hands behind his back and bent forward as if he had not heard her correctly. "Madam?"

  She turned to Mai Lin. "I shall see my husband now. I have important family business to discuss with him."

  Mai Lin reached for Mistress Grace's arm, but she pulled away.

  "I don't want to hear either of you telling me that I can't go. After I see my husband, I shall sleep for days and will be a most agreeable patient. But if you make me stay here, I swear I will not rest for a single moment and will make us all miserable."

  She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for a reply. Ahcho didn't dare shoot a confirming glance at Mai Lin, but he could tell by the clucking sounds emanating from her that she agreed with him that the mistress's plan was most absurd.

  "Why, I don't know where the Reverend is," he said.

  Grace stamped a delicate foot on the carpet, and a cloud of yellow dust wafted around her. "Of course you do," she said. "You've known all along. You know far more than you let on. I don't hold it against you, but this is most urgent. You must take me to him."

  Now Ahcho did look at Mai Lin, but she could only offer a mystified expression. What had come over their feeble mistress, Ahcho wanted to ask, to make her suddenly so strong a soul?

  "I really ought to change out of my wedding dress, but we haven't the time," Mistress Grace continued. "I saw the Master's traveling coat hanging on the hook in the hall. Fetch it for me, please, Mai Lin."

  Ahcho used his calmest voice as he said, "I don't mean to offend, Mistress, but you don't look well enough to make an expedition. You appear to be quite ill. Wouldn't you rather be in your bed with your baby at your side?"

  Mistress Grace appeared to blanch for a moment at this commonsense suggestion, but she answered, "It is precisely because of my condition that I can't hesitate. I shall ride on donkey back. I have done it before. I am quite able."

  Mai Lin returned with the Reverend's ragged traveling coat and held it up. The mistress slipped her arms into it. When she took an awkward spin in the long coat, it swished and more loess hovered in the air before settling on the rug.

  "It's good you don't mind donkey back," Ahcho said to humor her, "because we no longer have a wagon."

  "Is that so?" Grace asked with little concern in her voice, no sign that she grasped her situation. "How about a horse?"

  "Long gone, I'm afraid."

  "Ah," she said brightly. "Well, as I said, I'll be fine on a donkey. Thank you, Ahcho. I will wait outside on the porch for you. It is a lovely spring afternoon. The fresh air will be good for my lungs. But do come along and don't dawdle, please. I must see my husband today, and nightfall will soon be upon us."

  Ahcho bowed, but he was not pleased. When the screen door wheezed shut and they heard the mistress's footsteps recede, Ahcho and Mai Lin stared at one another with wide eyes.

  "Aieee!" she said in a harsh whisper. "They are cuckoo, the two of them."

  "Don't be disrespectful," he said. "The Reverend is a great man. He built the roads and the hospital and— "

  "Yes, yes," Mai Lin said, "I know about his accomplishments, but that was some time ago. He's no longer a great man."

  "I disagree. The Reverend has faced terrible trials recently, but he will always be a great man, and his wife a fine lady."

  Mai Lin waved her hand at him.

  "They just need rest and peace," Ahcho said. "That's all."

  "True," Mai Lin had to concede, but then she sidled up to him and poked at his chest with a bent finger. "Which, I do not need to tell you, they won't find on a dangerous journey to the Gobi Desert. And have you considered that their new baby might be kidnapped out there like the other one?"

  She looked up at him with searching eyes, but Ahcho was not a man to discuss grave things lightly. It worried him terribly that a family's fate rested in his hands. He was no god, nor had he ever been meant to be one. For weeks now, he had tossed and turned sleeplessly. He wasn't any closer to understanding what to do than the evening he had shared a bottle with the traveling trader who had told him of the golden-haired prince who was surely better off wherever he was than this sorry lot here.

  Ahcho pinched shut his lips and looked away.

  "Sometimes," Mai Lin said with a coy singsong in her voice, "the Fates decide things for us. Our role is simply to sit back and watch."

  Ahcho gazed into her sparkling dark eyes. For once, she appeared to intend nothing but good. As annoying as Mai Lin could be, she was loyal and sometimes even wise. For a rare moment, he allowed himself to relax. Perhaps, just this once, she was right. The Good Lord was watching over them all. Ahcho, as a simple servant of God, had only to steer the donkey on its path.

  Twenty-four

  A s the other families attended the burial of the Martins' daughter, Mistress Grace and Ahcho plodded out from the compound and into dusk. She fussed for many miles, but he didn't listen. She was flabbergasted that
they had only one donkey now. Had she known that the old gentleman would have to walk the whole way, she would have insisted on some other mode of transport. He didn't wish to be disrespectful, but this was a ridiculous notion. Nor did he mention that he had borrowed the donkey from the Martins by bribing their number-two boy with a precious cigarette. This sorry animal was one of the very last beasts of burden in the compound and had to be returned to them without fail this same night so that it could cart that family away the next morning.

  On they walked, Ahcho holding the reins of the tired animal. As he tromped along before it, Grace sat perched upon its back in her long white dress, both legs dangling over one side against a thick blanket. It was not lost on him that they resembled that blessed man and woman on their way to Bethlehem. Although he did not mean to suggest, even in his mind, that they were that sort of couple. He wished only that he could promise his mistress as warm a greeting as the shepherds had given the Virgin Mary on that deep winter night so long ago. If only he could bring her to as pure and simple a setting as the stable where the straw had been warm and the animals had stood guard. He longed, most of all, for her to hear angels singing all around. He liked to think of the cherubim, those chubby babies whose cheeks were always pink and whose voices no doubt rang out like high and happy church bells. He longed for his mistress to hear such sweet music and not the frightening cries of the banshees that cascaded down from the craggy mountains in the near distance.