Stella felt Jas’ forehead. “Temperature’s still rising,” she said.
Fillmore grunted from outside the room. “Stop fussing with the girl and finish cooking.”
Stella moved away into the kitchen, but I stayed right next to Jas. “Don’t worry,” I said. Her body uncurled a little. “Can you hear me?” I asked.
She moaned, and I lay my hand on her forehead. I gasped because I could actually feel the heat of her little head. I could touch the locks of hair plastered to her temples, every marvelous sweaty strand. She nestled into my palm.
Her eyelids flicked open. She smiled at me and then closed her eyes again. Already, her forehead felt cooler with my hand on it. I tried to suck out the heat invading her body by putting both my hands on her head.
I massaged her temples as I sang lullabies. Anything I could remember from growing up, Chinese folk songs mixed with snippets of American melodies. Jas stopped shaking and settled into a peaceful rest. Her color returned to normal.
I heard Stella clanging at the pots on the stove in the kitchen. Then she snuck back through the curtain to check on her granddaughter. “Oh, she looks so much better!” Stella hurried over with the porridge. “Eat, dear.”
Jas obeyed, although she didn’t open her eyes. She ate several spoonfuls before refusing any more.
“Are you done in there?” Fillmore asked. “Come serve us our lunch.”
Us? Were they all home? I walked back with Stella as she entered the living space separated by the bedroom curtain. Fillmore and Mill sat at the table. Stella served them bowls of porridge, and Fillmore got an extra rice bowl with added vegetables and meat in it. He started slurping his porridge.
Mill took the jook, but sat staring into his bowl, as if he could see pictures in the swirls of steam perfuming the air with rice fragrance. Fillmore and Mill must have let the other workers tend to the horses and stagecoaches. Jas’ sickness must be bad if the whole family had stayed home.
“Are you sure she’s okay?” Mill asked his mother.
“Yes, son.”
“I thought maybe...”
“I know.” Stella tousled his hair. “But she’ll recover from this.”
Fillmore pushed his two, now empty, bowls toward Stella and tapped the table with his spoon. Stella refilled his food and placed the brimming bowls in front of him.
“I blame it all on that weak woman,” he said. “See how easily she died.”
Stella’s lips tightened, but she said nothing. I glanced over at Mill. He seemed oblivious to the conversation and kept staring at the mound of porridge in his bowl. I walked over to Fillmore and bent down next to his ear. I shouted my words at him: “I’m not that woman. I’m your daughter-in-law, your son’s wife!” He didn’t even blink. I looked at my timid mother-in-law and my distracted husband. If no one else would stand up for me, I would do it myself.
CHAPTER 12
Planting Memories
WHILE JAS RECOVERED from her sickness, I whispered stories into her ear. I told her about how my mother birthed me in the fig orchards, my father catching me as I slid out. I talked about my childhood, growing up as a girl, but unashamed of it.
I shared about how I met Mill, when he delivered an out-of-town guest to the fig factory, instead of the clean storefront a few miles down. It was love at first sight for the both of us. In the midst of the chaotic mess of fig packing, I was the one who had noticed him standing bewildered at the entrance. I gave him simple directions, but he asked me to come along to navigate. After dropping off the customer, we stayed talking for hours, enclosed in the confines of the coach. Only a few feet separated us on the benches, but it hadn’t felt stifling. We were inhaling and exhaling one another’s words and breaths in that small space, and it had felt right—the matching of our minds and our hearts.
I also talked to Jas about work for a bit, and how I wanted more for her than a factory job. Like my mother before me, I dreamed higher. At least, my mother had gotten me out of the fields she was chained to and into a building. I wanted Jas to do anything she put her mind to. If I had been more educated or maybe born in another place and time, maybe I could have made my craft into a livelihood. I spoke about my love for clay, how I enjoyed molding it. In my mind, I likened it to the current forming of my daughter’s thoughts about her origins.
I stayed by her side even after she recovered. The morning came and she felt fine again; she ate a full bowl of porridge without any prompting. Before Mill left for work, he stopped to kiss the top of her head.
“BaBa,” she said. “What MaMa like?”
Mill frowned, but then ruffled her hair. “She was a very sweet woman. Every night before she slept, she touched the top of her belly with you inside it and whispered to you. A good luck wish every day until the day—the day you were born.”
Jas squirmed away from the hand resting on top of her head. “No. What MaMa look like?”
“Let me think. Black shiny hair down to her waist, a little curl to the strands. Dark brown eyes with full eyelashes. Mouth curved up into a heart, like yours.”
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I see MaMa.”
“You saw a picture of her?” He glanced over at Stella washing the dishes in the sink. When he turned back, he saw Jas firmly shaking her head.
“No. Now. I feel MaMa.”
“In your dreams,” Mill said. He turned away from her before she could continue the conversation. “I wish I still dreamed.” He pulled on his shoes and headed out the door without saying another word.
***
I wanted to spend every moment talking with her, but as her health increased, I faded into the background. I saw Jas start distancing herself from me. She would see a bird chattering away outside and fling herself at the window, regardless of whether I was in the middle of speaking to her. She galloped across the floor, pretending to be a mighty stallion, racing around the corners of the house, not looking to see whether I caught up with her or not. She played hide and seek with Stella, using the bedroom curtain as a makeshift divider between them, giggling at her grandmother’s surprised face every time. I tried to cherish her child-like games, but I was frustrated inside. I wanted to talk, to share. She was immersed in the land of the living while I wanted to spread old memories and plant them deep within her soul.
When my words no longer penetrated, I chased after her with my body. I wanted to touch her at least. I longed to feel the silky weight of her baby hair. I wanted to take hold of her beautiful fingers and feel them intertwined with mine, our hands gripping tight to each other. She ran away from me at every turn. Even when we touched briefly by accident, I could no longer feel with my hand. Jas’ body was becoming its own ghost to me, and I could not bridge the invisible gap.
The days of feasting on conversations with her had made me strong, though. I had even barred my senses from distracting me during her recovery process. I hadn’t inhaled the rich smell of porridge offered to her. Instead, I had breathed in the very air my daughter had expelled, living on her every exhalation. In some strange way, my physical body felt more solid as my spiritual body grew stronger.
My earthly desires didn’t bother me anymore, and I could sense better where Jas’ guardian angel hovered. The angel was the flicker of light, tilted the wrong way from the angle of the sun streaming in through the window. It betrayed itself with the rustle of its feathers whenever it moved. I could feel its mass even before I could spot it in my peripheral vision. It didn’t full out engage me like Sage, but stayed shrunken down to an almost imperceptible size. The angel probably watched over in stillness unless Jas was in danger. Only then would it dive in to protect her.
After a full day and night of minimal interaction, I decided to accost Jas. She was eating a simple snack of bread at the table when I shouted at her. “Don’t you want to be with me?” She tilted an ear my way, a puzzled look on her face. Then she shook it, like a dog shaking off its wet, mangy fur. I tried tapping her
shoulder, but could no longer feel the soft slope of it. She was disappearing fast from me, and I needed to act.
I banged my hand against the table. I wanted to be like an axe chopping against its polished surface. Nothing shook, but I could see a faint line. The curve of my fingernail that hadn’t been there a moment ago against the dark wood. I looked at my hand in wonder. My spiritual body had grown stronger, enough that I’d dented a physical object with it.
It was nice to affect the world around me, but Jas seemed unfazed. How could I make her notice me? I felt the mass of the angel behind me, no doubt watching to make sure that Jas didn’t choke on her piece of bread. I looked at the soft buttered slice resting on the hard porcelain plate before her. I shoved the dish with my hand; it moved a millimeter. I used both palms and pushed, and it moved an inch. Then I jumped up on the table and heaved with the weight of my body. The plate crashed onto the floor, its shards spraying out.
The angel flew to protect my child. I could see Jas recognize the white glow approaching her. It was then that I intercepted the blur of light and stepped in front of Jas. I would be the only protector my daughter needed.
I yanked hard at the angel, my hand a vise, and felt the creature tumble over. Several feathers shimmered in my hand.
“Ouch,” Jas said. She cradled her left pinky, a sliver of red already snaking down her previously unblemished skin. I hadn’t managed to block her entirely. A shard had entrapped itself in her finger.
I felt sudden regret for my impetuous anger. “Sorry. Are you okay?” I asked.
Stella burst out from the kitchen wielding a broom. “What was that noise?” Then she saw the blood and blanched. “Hold on, Jasmine.”
I had only moments to speak with Jas with Stella gone running for supplies. “Can you hear me, Jas?”
She looked up, a tear running down her cheek.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said. “I wanted to talk with you again.”
She shrugged. “You went away.”
“No, you stopped talking with me.”
My daughter shook her head. “Can’t see you anymore,” she said.
Maybe the distractions of life blinded her from my presence. I wanted to reassure her. “I’m always here. In fact, I want to stay with you longer.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” I tried to touch her face, but my palm passed through her cheek. “So that you’ll always know I love you.”
“I know that,” Jas said, smiling.
Stella came sprinting back with a cloth, a needle, and thread. She cleaned the wound and started stitching. As she worked, she whistled a tune under her breath. Maybe to distract herself from the gash. I also heard Jas humming—but it was a different melody, one that I had sung to her as she lay sweating off her fever.
CHAPTER 13
Going to the Witch’s House
EVEN THOUGH WE were now separated by the return of her good health, I couldn’t move away from my daughter. I wanted to drink in every moment with her. And since I no longer had hunger pains or tiredness, I could watch her all day and night.
I fell into Jas’ patterns: her mealtimes, napping hours, and bedtime rituals. Every night Stella would pull out a tattered storybook that she’d salvaged from a pile of discarded books near the city library.
One night, Jas requested her favorite story again: “Hansel & Gretel.”
“Yes!” She clapped her hands with delight as she spied the illustrations.
Stella went through the story, not bothering to look at the words, but just translating the pictures into a plot.
“A witch can’t eat me,” Jas said.
“Would you outsmart her, too?”
“No, I change her to be nice.”
“By using your sweet words?” Stella cupped her hands over Jas’ upturned face and gave her a kiss.
“With smiles and hugs,” Jas said. She still had issues with saying the hard “g,” but if she said it fast enough, the word slurred a little and sounded almost right in the context of a sentence.
After their conversation, I made a plan. The preparation and waiting amounted to five days before an opportunity presented itself. Stella was outside, hanging up the wash on the clothesline. The flapping sheets covered her body and let only her silhouette show through. She’d left Jas standing in a patch of summer sun, playfully tapping at the heads of the wheat nearby.
I opened my hands which clasped fragrant, delicate petals in a tight embrace. I had practiced manipulating the physical world, and the work had paid off. I could now maneuver light objects, hold onto tiny items. I laid a trail of jasmine to the house.
Jas followed the blossoms, just like I thought she might. She skirted through fields of corn, the silks tickling her nose. Then she walked under the branches of apple trees, the blossoms like pieces of floral snow beneath her feet. Finally, she spied the tottering house.
She looked up at it with a tilt of her little head. Her eyes grew wide as she spotted the sagging chimney, its old soot creating fanciful pictures dripping down its belly. Uncontrolled ivy covered up half the front so that the house almost seemed to be peeping out at visitors. A fairytale look of a cottage, except the walls and windows were not made of candy, but Jas knocked anyway.
“Who is it?” my mother asked even as she opened the door.
Jas smiled at my mother. “Can I come in?”
“Topaz’s grin,” she said. “No, it can’t be.” She looked in surprise, and then delight, at the girl. I swore I could see a few wrinkles leap off her face and disappear altogether.
“Welcome,” my mother said. She called out to my father. “You won’t believe it, Kong. They let her visit us… all alone.” My mother ushered Jas in and checked her to make sure my daughter hadn’t suffered any harm during her walk.
Once Jas was inside the tiny dwelling, though, she froze. She saw my father standing, one arm extended to greet her and one arm missing. “Where did your arm go?” she asked.
She looked back and forth between my parents. Her eyes stopped on my mother’s solid, square face. “Did you eat it?”
“No, dear.” My mother erased the grin that had appeared on her face. “Around here, we eat figs, not people.”
She settled Jas down at the dining table and placed a platter of the ripe fruit before her. “I picked these myself.”
“You did? Is it hard work?” Jas asked.
My mother shook her head. “My family’s always been in the fruit business. My dad—your great grandfather—plucked peaches off trees. I remember helping him as a girl.”
“I like canned peaches,” Jas said.
“Your great grandfather gathered White Heath Cling Peaches. Beautiful pale ones with a soft red blush. They were great for canning.”
Jas moved a fig around the plate. Although I was glad that my mother was bestowing our family history, Jas was bored. “Can I eat now?” she asked.
“Sure, and I’ll walk you back home after your snack,” my mother said. Then she showed Jas how to pop the sweet juicy ball into her mouth.
***
They cleared the plate in minutes and smiled at one another, accidentally flashing each other with the brown seeds stuck to their teeth. This interaction alone was worth all of my hard preparation.
Of course, that’s when Sage decided to appear beside my shoulder.
“Touching, isn’t it?” I said.
She gave a curt nod, but said, “You do know that your actions have consequences, right?”
I shrugged. “It’s only a short time.”
“I’m talking about the spiritual realm,” Sage said. “When you shoved Jas’ guardian angel aside, and she cut her finger.”
“Sorry. That was a mistake,” I said. I glanced at Sage, but all of her eyes were hooded, revealing nothing.
“They know that you’re here now,” Sage said.
“Who’s they?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
CHAPTER 14
Hono
ring Your Parents, Rule 5
I LOOKED AT SAGE. “I know you’re not here just to reprimand me. I’m ready for the next commandment.”
“Here it is then: Honor your father and your mother,” Sage said.
“Excellent. There’s no question there. Have Jas honor her parents.”
“As you wish.”
I heard the buzzing of a thousand insects, fast approaching me. “What’s that noise?” I asked.
“What I was warning you about,” Sage said, and then disappeared. In Sage’s place, a dozen golden snakes (was it like the golden worm I’d seen in Bao’s ear?) slithered my way. They surrounded me, hissing in an unknown language. They blinded me with the sparkle of their scales. I took a deep breath and pushed my way through them. They didn’t feel hard like metal as I walked through them, but I couldn’t shake off the cold that they infused my body with, even as I headed away from their artificial golden brightness into the normal dim surroundings of my in-laws’ home.
I shook my head twice to get my bearings straight and found myself watching Mill and his father deep in conversation.
“Think on it,” Fillmore said. “We can get a partnership with the owner. He owns the latest Chinatown business, along with a few stores in other areas in Fresno. I’ve always wanted to expand outside the stagecoach business.”
“You and your ambition.”
“We can start small. At the very least, you can secure a single business deal. I’m sure they’ll need coaches to transport the customers back home after a night of relaxation.”
Mill ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “What about Andy? He’s a better salesman than me.”
“I don’t think so,” Fillmore said. “He’s almost graduated. I’m not pulling him out of school for this. Plus, he’ll get distracted by the sights.”
“Fine, but who will watch Jasmine? Ma has a headache.” Mill gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders and hid his smile.
If he thought his father would retract his decision because of my daughter, he was wrong. “I know,” Fillmore said. “But I’m not leaving her to wander off and have Mung steal her again. Go ahead and take the girl with you.”
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