“Say ‘God.’” Stella fumbled at the foreign word on her tongue. She had picked up only rough conversational English herself, having been brought over as a young bride. Years of bargaining at the food market had honed some of that skill. Stella waited for my daughter to speak.
Jas opened her mouth. Her tongue worked back and forth between her teeth. Then she closed it again.
Stella watched as Jas licked her lips and tried to make a sound. Nothing came out.
“What about this word?” Stella put a finger on a grass blade, and a red spotted ladybug climbed onto her palm. “Bug,” she said in English.
“Buh.”
“Bug.”
“Buh.”
“Hmm.” Stella scratched the back of her neck. She pointed up at the sky. “Bird.”
“Brrr.”
“Why don’t we go inside, Jas? Maybe the heat’s gotten to your head.”
Jas transferred the bouquet over to one hand, dislodging a bee in the process. She dropped all the flowers and squeezed it out of curiosity. Then she started wailing.
“Are you okay?” Stella practically dragged Jas inside the house and tried to wipe off the swelling bump with cool water.
“Bath?” Jas asked between sobs. So that’s how Stella had skirted the soap and water issue. Sponge baths.
The bump was not improving, though, and looked more inflamed than ever.
Stella called out for Fillmore and showed him the bee sting. “Calm down,” he said. “Put ice on it.”
Ten minutes later, though, when Mill came home, the red rash had already spread beyond Jas’ palm and up her arm.
Mill grabbed his father’s arm. “Jas needs medical help.”
Fillmore frowned, but then Stella spoke up. “Her skin’s really pale.”
“Fine. I know a physician,” Fillmore said. “Dr. Leach.”
“Who?” Mill asked. “You don’t go to a doctor.”
“Someone I know from the mining days.” The gold rush days. Fillmore still kept a miner’s pan pinned to the wall as a memento of the hard work—and sneakiness—that resulted in his current good fortune. He was asked to dive into the icy waters (like many, the miner he’d worked for couldn’t actually swim) to find gold pieces. He’d discovered a large collection and hadn’t hesitated on secreting a fist-sized nugget for himself.
Mill scratched his head. “I didn’t know they took care of their workers.”
“Not those fools,” Fillmore said. “Out of the goodness of his heart, Dr. Leach cared for those who got hurt during the Mariposa Indian Wars.” Even with my little schooling, I had heard about the battle between Indians and miners in 1850 and 1851. Many Indians had ended up retreating to the foothills.
“Dr. Leach will know what to do,” Fillmore said.
CHAPTER 9
Why I Died
DR. LEACH WORKED in an actual office in a brown brick building. Most of the other physicians in town worked from home and traveled to their patients. Dr. Leach made people visit him, and he seemed to run a fine business. I noticed several other patients waiting their turn to get looked over when Stella and Jas entered his practice.
I thought he’d be pompous, but when Jas’ turn came, the doctor seemed gentle and kind. He made eye contact with Jas and made sure she didn’t feel unsettled by him. He had one of those faces that seemed young despite its myriad wrinkles and ivory hair. It was the smile that did it, the one that lifted the corners of his mouth until his dimples showed. He flashed one at Jas when she first stepped through the door.
Dr. Leach didn’t rush through Jas’ examination. He explained each device that he used on her and made sure she was ready before he proceeded to peer at her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.
“Jasmine will be fine,” the doctor said. I shuddered at hearing her full name, but liked his conclusion.
“A moderate allergic reaction is all,” he said.
Stella asked in her halting English. “Jas okay now?”
“Yes, not to worry.”
Stella bit her lip and spoke about Jas’ problems pronouncing certain words.
Dr. Leach then tested my daughter on simple words, mostly animals: cat, dog, bird, etc. Jas tried to name each one, but stumbled on some of the words.
“Mrs. Woo, Jas does have problems with certain letter sounds. D, the hard G, and the short O.” The exact sounds needed to form the word God. I had brought this curse upon my daughter. I backed away from Dr. Leach and tried to cover my ears. I still heard the rest of the conversation as the words filtered through my insubstantial hands.
Stella glanced over at Jas, who’d been placed in the corner and was playing with blocks. My mother-in-law lowered her voice. “Some body part wrong?”
Dr. Leach shook his head. “Nothing physical, at least. No problems with her ears or tongue or teeth. English is her second language, so it’s normal if your family speaks only Chinese.”
Stella hung her head. “I speak little, but son’s wery good. Miller-don smart—he the daddy.”
“What about Jasmine’s mother? She’ll be the most help as the primary caretaker.”
Stella scrunched her brow. “Topaz has English okay.”
“Then Jasmine’s mother should practice English with her.” Dr. Leach peered around the room, looking right through me at one point. “Where is Topaz now anyway? At work?”
Stella stretched her delicate hand across her brow. “Oh, the mama die.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Too much stress borning Jas-min.”
“Oh.” Dr. Leach leaned forward. “Maybe there was some trauma during birth that might account for a speech delay. It’s a good thing that the midwife works next door. I’ll call Carolyn over. She might remember the case.”
“No, please. She not help family born Jas-min.”
Dr. Leach raised his eyebrows at Stella. “Carolyn is the best, but also one of the only birthing ladies in town.”
“I know. She help me.” Stella stood straight, hand over her heart, like she was saluting an invisible American flag. “Before, she teach English me. Use Bible.”
“So I don’t understand,” Dr. Leach said. “You didn’t use Carolyn again for your daughter-in-law?”
“A lot money. Fillmore no like.”
“I’m sure she could have reduced the rate. Made it cheaper.”
“No matter. Daughter-in-law, Topaz, no good for son, husband say. Too low class, so we use Chinese girl…” Stella explained about the fourteen-year-old whose experience had been birthing farm animals.
“That’s bosh.” Dr. Leach cleared his throat. “How could you employ someone with no medical knowledge? It’s too sad. I’m thinking septicemia may have taken your daughter-in-law’s life.”
“Excuse. What is?”
“It’s poison in the blood. From unclean tools.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. His large hand was weathered with a dozen cracks. “It’s one thing to help animals, but quite another to assist people.”
As Stella grasped his implication, she placed a hand over her mouth and covered her gasp. I fled. My life could have been saved. Maybe that girl had killed me. She had passed some sort of dirty animal disease to me during my shining moment of womanhood.
I flew through the waiting room and into the hallway. I found myself floating next to another door, one which led to the town’s real midwife, Carolyn. I had seen Stella pause before the door earlier, a small smile on her lips as she used her finger to touch the name placard outside the office.
Carolyn. That Bible-flipping lady that Fillmore, on no grounds, allowed to have running around his house—at least that’s what he had told me. He claimed he hadn’t wanted any religious nonsense clogging his doors. But the truth was he had seen Carolyn fit for his own wife to birth his sons. Just not for me.
And what about Mill? He could have argued on my behalf. Isn’t that what husbands do? Did it really matter what his father thought if it had involved our child? He’d sworn that he’d help us
create our own family unit, even while living under Fillmore’s roof per tradition. But it had been too late. We didn’t have a threesome to confront the usual patriarchal way. I stood there mourning my lost chance at life. Then I heard a cry that echoed my soul’s thoughts.
A wave of melancholy rushed at me from the crack under the midwife’s door. I could see a misty blackness seeping out, and I got pulled into its jelly stickiness. As I was dragged into Carolyn’s office, I found that the sorrow came flooding out of someone I knew. Bao, my co-worker.
CHAPTER 10
Bao’s Dark Choice
BLACKNESS SURROUNDED a sighing Bao. “I figured I was,” she said.
“Have you told the father?” Carolyn’s bright blonde hair swished past her ears as she leaned forward to focus on her patient. The startling gold color made her seem like a fairytale princess. She was not tall and had slender bird-like hands that matched her thin face. Even so, she filled up the room with an aura of professionalism. Carolyn’s eyes didn’t waver from Bao’s, and I refocused my attention on my friend.
Bao wrung her hands on her lap. “No, I haven’t told him yet.”
“Do it. Your baby needs a loving family.”
“He might not like the news.”
Carolyn gave Bao a gentle smile. “If you two are not ready, there are people eager to add a little one to their home.”
“What if the baby doesn’t make it?”
“You mean if you have a miscarriage? That would be unfortunate.”
“Can you change its course… on purpose?”
“It’s up to God,” Carolyn said. “I never intervene.”
Bao clasped her hands together, her fingers going white from the tight pressure. I know she didn’t believe in gods. How could she? What loving being would have put her in a fig factory at the early age of twelve? (Of course, she had lied on her application, not that they really checked. They needed the labor.) She was already a veteran when I had shown up at the age of fourteen. My own parents had tried to keep me out of the fruit plant for as long as possible, until their last penny had been exhausted.
My friend, a hard-working child who had turned into a tough young woman, looked at the midwife. “That’s it then,” Bao said.
Before Bao could rise, Carolyn placed a hand on her shoulder. Her nails were clipped square and neat. “You won’t be alone, you know. I have a network of friends willing to help. I can find food, shelter, whatever you need for the baby.”
A dark wisp detached itself from the cloud hanging around Bao. She looked the midwife in the eye. “Thanks for the kindness, Carolyn. But I’ll manage on my own.”
Carolyn didn’t let go of Bao. “Do you want me to pray for you?” She said this in a calm tone, like it was part of a typical medical examination. I saw a warm sunshine yellow color brighten the air.
But Bao didn’t see it and cringed away from the midwife’s touch. “I said I’ll do it alone.”
***
After she left the midwife’s office, I followed her. Bao headed to the fig factory. She wove around the other workers, her head bobbing up and down as she looked into people’s faces. The trail of black following her didn’t cause anybody to give her a second glance. All the women were too busy staring at boxes of fruit, and all the men chatted with each other and checked the women’s work.
Bao made her way through the bustle into the quiet interior of the back room. This is where she had been nursed by Rich that time when I’d hurt her ear. In fact, I spotted him in the room, sitting down on a box of first aid supplies, examining some documents. He looked up at Bao as she entered, his eyes traveling down the entire length of her body. “Feeling better now?” he asked.
“I wasn’t really sick,” Bao said. “I had an appointment with the midwife.”
“Midwife? Now, why would you—” His papers fell to the floor. He didn’t bother to pick them up.
“Yes, it’s our child.”
I felt sick. I hadn’t pieced it together until now. It was all my fault. I had thrown them together when I had hurt Bao’s ear.
Rich seemed to look like how I felt. “How can this be?” His Adam’s apple rose up and down in a flurry of swallows. “You calculated the dates.”
“My flow isn’t consistent. It’s different each month.”
“Look at you.” His shaking figure pointed at her belly. “You’re practically showing already. You won’t be able to work here if the other managers find out about your condition. Don’t say anything about it.”
“Do you doubt me? I’ve never talked to anyone about our relationship.”
“Go home,” Rich said. He swatted at the back of his neck with his hand. Drops of perspiration stuck to his fingers. “Take the rest of the day off. I’ll tell them you’re still feeling sick. In fact, have another couple of days if it helps, but get rid of this problem before you return.”
Bao’s lip quivered. “You said you loved me.”
A deep red mist, the color of blood, rose like a wall between Bao and Rich. “You said you wouldn’t get pregnant,” Rich said, his face grim. He waved her away and turned his back on her.
Rich couldn’t see Bao’s dark brown eyes, but I could see the wetness glimmering in them before she exited. She walked slow, measured steps out of the factory, but once she reached the front door, she ran down the street with her arms flailing.
***
It took a while for Bao to reach her home. Nighttime had settled in like a cloak on her shoulders before she reached the humble place. It was smaller and more unstable than my parents’ home. Red papers, inked with lucky sayings, covered every available wall space inside and out. Instead of brightening the house, they made the interior seem even shoddier and darker. Not one oil lamp burned inside, and I couldn’t make out the figure crouched in the dark until it moved closer to Bao.
A shaky old woman’s voice addressed her. “Was I right, Bao?”
“Yes, PoPo.”
Bao’s grandmother clucked her tongue. “I told you that I can always tell.”
“I need to get rid of it.”
The old woman’s fingers clutched Bao’s belly, squeezing it as if she were kneading dough. “Too far along. Might be dangerous.”
“I can’t work while pregnant, and you know my job helps get food for us.”
“Fine, I’ll mix the potion,” Bao’s grandmother said. I followed her to a dusty shelf in the corner where piles of unknown ingredients lay on top of each other. The area smelled like a cross between skunk and rotting vegetables. She picked up a blob of brown roots, almost like tentacles in their entanglement, along with a few dried seahorses. All these strange ingredients were steeped in boiling water. When finished, she brought a jar filled with dark liquid over to Bao.
Bao’s grandmother was breathing hard as she said, “This heats the blood. Drink it slowly over three days.”
“Thank you, PoPo. Please rest now. You’ve been too active.”
Bao took the drink outside, where the moon gave off some light for her to see. She smoothed her shirt over her slightly rounded belly and patted it once. “I must be back to work tomorrow,” she said. She opened the jar and gulped down the contents in a single deep swig. She blinked once before she crumpled to the ground.
“What have you done?” I cried, but she didn’t hear me.
CHAPTER 11
The Price of Resting, Rule 4
I HEARD THE RUSTLE of wings even before Sage entered my line of sight. “There’s nothing you can do to help,” she said.
“Bao’s my friend,” I said. “If I can’t help, can you do something? I know you have powers.”
Sage’s head shook, and her feathers made a thousand soft sighs. “Bao made her choice. I can’t undo it. Now it’s time to make yours.”
“The next test already? Can’t I stay here longer?”
“I have places to go,” Sage said.
“Fine. Tell me the rule.”
“Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.”
The minute my mouth closed, Sage covered her multiple wings around me. I felt an overwhelming darkness, but a soft warmth permeated the pitch black. It was a very different experience than Bao’s jelly-like oozing substance. It soothed me. This must be what the womb felt like to a baby. Just then the wings parted, and a sharp burst of light jabbed at my eyes.
***
The light receded, and I found myself watching Jas sleep. Ah, her sweet Sabbath, a time to relax. For a moment, I stared at her beautiful body curled up tight like a snail shell. She was so peaceful. I would let her rest. Maybe I could sneak off and see Bao for a moment, but then I noticed the high color in my daughter’s cheeks. An unusual redness bloomed there.
I moved closer to examine her. She lay on a pallet of straw, and a blanket entangled her feet. She tossed and turned. What was wrong with her?
Stella entered the room, her hands cradling a delicate porcelain bowl. She glanced at Jas wriggling on the floor. My mother-in-law twisted her head to call back behind her. “Her fever hasn’t broken all day, Fillmore. Should we call for the doctor?”
“No, just feed her the porridge.”
Stella crept in, put down the bowl, and touched Jas on the shoulder. “Wake up, Jasmine.”
Jas didn’t respond to her touch or to her voice.
“Here’s some jook,” Stella said. “So very good for you.”
Jas groaned and tried to curl up even smaller.
Stella took a porcelain spoon and dipped it into the porridge. I could smell the sharpness of the scallions as their tang cut the air. I picked out the scent of preserved egg, too. I could imagine the soft texture of the rice pieces melting in my mouth.
Stella tried to force feed Jas. All she managed to do was wet my daughter’s lips with the rice mixture. Nothing got swallowed into her body. No illness-fighting grains went into her stomach.
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