I examined Willow, that enchantress. The sleek curve of her figure was accentuated by her uniform. I saw her vibrant red lips as they opened to say hello to each new client. Every male customer leaned a bit too close to her, and their eyes lingered longer than needed for a mere greeting. Whenever the rare female came in, hand in hand with her husband, the man’s palm slipped a little in his wife’s grip as he spotted Willow. The woman would eye Willow and frown, a crease creeping across her forehead until she yanked her husband away.
A mischievous ploy grew in my mind. I decided to enter Mill’s head and check out his thoughts. They were clouded by alcohol fumes. The perfect state to plant my sinister comments into his mind:
“Willow’s too friendly with the customers.”
“See how that man is leaning so close to her. Why, he’s practically lying on top of her!”
“There was a sparkle in Willow’s eye when that man shook her hand.”
Mill shook his head, and it felt like an earthquake. I exited his ear to witness what would happen next. I saw Mill thump his glass against the counter and crack the bottom of it. The dripping of beer snaked its way across the table. Then Mill strode over to Willow.
“I’m taking you home,” he said.
Willow glanced over her shoulder at the clock. “I’m not quite off yet.”
“You are now. Permanently.”
She laughed, her entire body shaking in the process.
“This is not a joke,” he said.
Willow stepped away from him and greeted another customer who had just entered.
Mill grabbed her arm, tight. I imagined the grip would leave a bruise on her delicate skin. “I’m your husband,” he said, “and you’ll do whatever I tell you.”
Willow looked at his fingers clenching her like one looks at a leech. “I’ll go with you quietly for now… but only so you don’t make a scene and drive away business.”
CHAPTER 19
Restricting Willow
I HEARD MILL whispering with his father late that night. They sat at the dining table while the women slept.
“BaBa, I’m sure you can help,” Mill said. “You hear about newcomers looking for work.”
Fillmore tapped his fingers along the wooden table. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do for the business?”
“It’s the best way to assist our family,” Mill said.
“What about our valuable connection? With a family member working there, Mr. Tanoshii’s tied to us.”
“You have the contract already,” Mill said. “Besides, I don’t care about that. Family comes first. And I’m sure you can lower the new employee’s pay. That would save you money.”
Fillmore stopped moving his fingers and grinned. “You’re right. Anyway, what’s that American saying? Blood is thicker than water.”
I didn’t fully understand the plan until the next afternoon when I followed Willow to work. I found a younger, daintier geisha already standing by the entrance. Willow had been replaced. Fillmore must have quickly secured a newly arrived female, eager to work at a meager salary.
Willow went straight up to the usurper and looked her in the eye. “That’s my job,” she said.
“What can I say?” The stranger placed her hands on her curvy hips. “Customers like young faces.”
Willow slapped her, and the redness spreading across the stranger’s cheek matched the young woman’s scarlet lips.
Mr. Tanoshii immediately escorted Willow off the premises.
***
Two days later, Willow had accepted defeat. I watched Stella and Willow gather together at the back of the house for some female bonding time while Jas napped. They watched the gentle sway of the wheat stalks in the nearby field for a moment before concentrating on the work in their laps. Stella pulled a needle in and out of the fabric in her hand. Willow jammed a needle down into the wooden board on her lap. She had pinned a wriggling insect on it; I watched it die after Willow’s steady strike.
“See, this is not so bad,” Stella said. She embroidered the edges of a purple flower on her cloth. “Without jobs, we can be outdoors and have time to reflect on the world.”
“Don’t you miss making money?” Willow asked.
“I chose not to sell,” Stella said. “For the sake of my marriage.”
“I think you should continue following Carolyn’s advice.”
“She’s a midwife—with no husband. She has to work to survive.”
“But don’t you?” Willow asked. “This can’t be all there is to life. Cooking and cleaning for men.”
“I still sew for myself.”
“What about all that ‘being special’ stuff you read in that heavy book of yours?”
“The Bible?”
“Right. That part you told me about everyone being unique and knit in their mother’s womb.”
“I am special, and I have my skills,” Stella said. “I know it, but the whole world doesn’t need to.”
“Nevertheless…” A glass jar lay beside Willow, a transparent cage for several trapped bugs. Willow extracted a butterfly from the container and pinned it against the wooden board. “Do you remember that butterfly saying by Zhuangzi?”
Stella concentrated on the flicker of silver in her nimble fingers. “I didn’t do much formal study beyond women’s duties.”
“Zhuangzi was a philosopher,” Willow said. “Once, he dreamt that he was a butterfly fluttering around, happy and pleased. When he woke up, he saw that he was a person, but he couldn’t tell who had been dreaming—Zhuangzi who had dreamt of a butterfly, or a butterfly who had dreamt of Zhuangzi.”
“Does philosophy interest you? Is that why you collect… those things?” Stella scooted a little away from the bug jar.
Willow didn’t answer. Instead, she stroked the wings of the butterfly, and some powder rubbed off onto her index finger. “Sometimes I feel like that dream happened to me. I was a butterfly floating on the breeze, but I didn’t understand until Millerton clipped my wings.”
Stella stopped moving her needle and placed a hand on Willow’s arm. “Men make mistakes, but I know my son treasures you.”
Willow moved her hand away. “I’m not property, like a house. I don’t believe in that old-fashioned stuff, like you do.”
“I grew up this way,” Stella said. “I was taught to be the best wife and mother possible. After I learned those tasks, Fillmore found me.”
Willow pointed to Stella’s emerging floral pattern. “Does Fillmore know that you still do it?”
Stella sighed. “Of course, he doesn’t like it, but it’s not forbidden if I embroider in my free time.”
“Even if he destroys your efforts again, you’ll still make them, right?” Willow watched Stella nod. “It’s your outlet.”
“Yes, I like to create,” Stella said. “Speaking of which, when will I get some grandchildren?”
Willow grimaced, but tried to hide it by dropping her head toward the bug board. “Now is definitely not the right time. I don’t even want him to touch me.”
“Millerton’s very kind and understanding,” Stella said. “You should talk to him.”
Willow looked at the last insect in the jar, a dragonfly, and shook the container hard. The poor bug banged against the glass sides and looked dazed. “Sometimes I wonder if he married me for my pretty face. Maybe I was just a distraction to cope with his grief. I know he still misses Topaz.”
My insides felt like they were glowing within me. I wondered what kind of light I would emit—golden like the spirit snakes, or white like the guardian angels? I couldn’t believe I had a combo deal; not only was I causing grief to Willow, but I was also regaining Mill.
Stella gripped hard onto her needle as she added some grass to her scene. “Well, he must have seen something special in you.”
“I wonder what that was,” Willow said. “We didn’t court nearly long enough. He knows none of my secret dreams. I want to study living things. Even Jasmine thinks I’m cruel
for torturing insects, but it’s for knowledge’s sake.”
So she didn’t have the perfect relationship with Mill? Had I been mistaken? He seemed to be so full of love for her, but was it just infatuation?
Willow touched the board before her and with her finger traced some ink lines on the grain that I hadn’t noticed before. I crept closer to the unmoving creatures and could discern words underneath each one. Long, unrecognizable names, like Danaus plexippus, were written in neat printing.
Stella’s steady hand swooshed back and forth across her fabric with quick, masterful strokes. “Jasmine’s a little girl. She’s still shaping her thoughts and swayed by everything around her.”
I wanted to shout out to the women: My daughter wasn’t swayed by the wind; she was influenced by me. It hadn’t been random at all. I made the most important decisions for her and placed healthy boundaries in her life. Stella and Willow knew nothing.
Stella finished her embroidery work and handed over the finished handkerchief to Willow. “Here, this is for you.”
“Thank you.” Willow touched the image of a baby dragonfly that Stella had created on the stem of a purple flower. “I think it’s a myth, but I once heard that dragonflies live only twenty-four hours. That’s what I had, a dragonfly dream—a short childhood fantasy. I appreciate the gesture, even though I’m trapped here.” Willow took the handkerchief with her and went inside the house. I felt a little sad for her then. Maybe she didn’t have the perfect life anymore. How would I have felt being unable to work at the fig factory, having no means to help my family?
CHAPTER 20
Jasmine and Boys
IRONICALLY, THE NEXT DAY dawned with a beautiful sunrise, like a promise from nature of a better future. Willow shook Jas’ sleeping body. “Wake up, little girl. It’s your first day of school.”
Jas rubbed her eyes and yawned. As she grew more alert, my own senses awakened to the change that had occurred in my daughter. She was no longer a baby. She had lost her cute chubby cheeks and wiggly thighs. Despite my sudden awareness of Jas as a little girl, I still hovered over her as she walked to school hand-in-hand with Willow.
The brick building lay a mile away from the house. Its outside was drained of color from years of wind and rain. The inside retained a musty smell, and pieces of dust gathered on the small desks allotted for the children. Despite the dull interior, the boys and girls (fifteen in all) jammed into the room, beaming forth smiles. The brightest of them all was my little Jas. With her silky black hair and long-lashed almond eyes, she was like an exotic orchid in the middle of those pale dandelions.
The children jiggled their feet in anticipation of learning new things until the stern-faced Ms. Pippins came in the room. The teacher wore a high-collared dress, and the plaid fabric seemed to cover every square inch of her body. “Welcome, class,” Ms. Pippins said. “I’ve come here from Fresno Kindergarten to help you learn. My boys and girls there follow the rules, and I expect the same from you.”
Using a piece of chalk, she wrote the alphabet across the board and quizzed them on their letters. With each child’s shake of the head or hesitant voice, she shook her own head and sighed. The morning hours passed in this slow, dreadful way. The boys and girls had lost their initial energy by the time class was dismissed.
When they headed outdoors, though, they saw the brilliant sunshine just right for playing in with their new schoolmates and brightened up again. None of them wanted to walk home yet, so they all lingered at the front of the school building. Jas stood off by herself, her eyes focused in the sky on a particularly puffy white cloud. About a stone’s throw away, a ring of boys clustered together. They whispered and pointed at her. Then the tallest boy, about a head higher than Jas, detached himself from the group and walked over to her.
The boy offered his hand to Jas for her to shake. She glanced away from the sky to focus on his sweaty palm, backed up a little, and returned to looking at the cloud. His small shoulders hunched over, and he walked away. One by one, each boy tried to ingratiate himself with Jas, with words like these:
“Here’s a flower.”
“Want to play ball with me?”
“Let me show you the frog I found.”
My daughter didn’t bat an eye. She looked at each boy, wrinkled her nose, and wouldn’t answer any of them. My interpretation of the commandment was working, helping Jas to rebuff the advances of the opposite sex. I felt proud that she could withstand all the attention. When Jas left to go home, she didn’t say goodbye to any of the boys, but waved to one of the girls.
During dinner that night, Jas unleashed a faithful account of the day’s events.
“Those boys shouldn’t pounce on you like that,” Mill said. He clenched his hands into fists under the table.
“Men,” Willow said, shrugging.
“Tell us more about what you learned at school,” Stella said.
Fillmore sat at the table, silent, picking at his teeth with his forefinger. He flicked out a piece of meat from his mouth. “That’s it! I know how to secure our future with Mr. Tanoshii.”
“Always thinking about business,” Mill said, but his hands relaxed. He was probably relieved to fix his mind on a subject other than boys liking Jas.
“I’ll arrange a marriage between Mr. Tanoshii’s grandson and Jasmine. He’s seven, only a couple of years older than she.”
“Who? What?” Mill asked. I experienced shock, too. Was this old China? Marriage for love’s sake was the progressive way. And wasn’t Fillmore a fan of the modern?
“You remember him,” Fillmore said. “The little boy was at your wedding, seated at the table with Mr. Tanoshii. We could tie the kids together, and our business would be secure forever.”
“An arranged marriage?” Willow almost spat out the words. Stella placed a hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder.
Fillmore looked at the angry faces around him. “Fine, we’ll ask the girl about it.” He turned to Jas, looking into her eyes as he asked, “Can I marry you off to Mr. Tanoshii’s grandson?”
Jas blinked at him. “Whatever,” she said. That’s what I got for making my daughter not care about the opposite sex. She had no emotion at all in regards to boys and marriage.
“Then it’s settled,” Fillmore said.
Well, was that so bad after all? What had I gotten from a love marriage? A poor relationship with my in-laws and a man who had left me for the first pretty face in a pool hall. At least I knew that Jas would have some financial security in the future.
CHAPTER 21
No Stealing, Rule 8
“ARE YOU HAPPY with your handiwork?” Sage asked.
“It’s not too bad.” I had wreaked havoc in Willow and Mill’s newlywed life and secured a lucrative mate for my daughter.
“Here’s your next commandment then: You shall not steal.”
“That’s an easy one,” I said. “Jas will make sure she uses only the things she owns.”
“Fine by me.”
I left Sage’s side and flew off to see how Jas would follow these instructions.
***
I arrived at my in-laws’ home and saw everything labeled on the dining table. Jas had staked out her own chair and printed her name on it. Her plate and utensils also bore her signature. Very cute. She knew how to separate her own stuff from the other family members and got to practice her letters at the same time.
The next morning, I saw her carrying customized pencils to school. Each wooden handle had been painstakingly carved into, and displayed her full name. It must have taken her hours to complete the task.
The early portion of school passed by with lessons on simple sentence structure, along with story time and songs tossed in. Before break, I saw Jas swipe a piece of chalk from the blackboard. As she headed outside, she grabbed a ball from the shared sports equipment bin. It was a red rubber sphere, the size of a cantaloupe. She started bouncing it up and down on the ground. When she got tired, she wrote her name on it in chalk. The
tall boy who had tried to woo her on the first day complained to the teacher, and Ms. Pippins reprimanded Jas: “You can’t do that. The ball is for everyone to share.” She made Jas wash off the white markings.
After school, the kids all started walking home. Jas had discovered that the girl she’d waved to on the first day, Emma, lived near my in-laws’ place, so they shuffled along together, chatting. On the threshold of Emma’s home, Jas took out her ink pen. She grabbed Emma’s arm and wrote on it.
Emma pulled down her rolled sleeves to cover the marks, but that made it worse. Her beautiful sky blue dress became covered with a slow oozing line of black ink. The little girl burst into heart-wrenching sobs.
Upon hearing the commotion, her mother rushed out the front door. “What’s wrong?” she asked Emma.
“Mom, Jasmine ruined the nice dress you gave me.”
“I bought that dress for your birthday.” The mother turned to Jas with pursed lips. “Did you put ink on Emma’s clothes?”
“No,” Jas said.
“You’re holding a pen, and smudge marks are all over your palms.”
“I wrote on her arm, not her dress.”
Emma’s mother peeled back her daughter’s blue sleeve. The ink had smeared across both skin and fabric. She placed her hands on her hips and faced Jas. “What made you do that?”
“I wanted to put my name on her,” Jas said.
Emma’s mother started yelling at Jas, but my daughter just stood there, blinking at her with wide eyes.
“She’s my friend,” Jas said. “Nobody else can take her.”
Emma’s mother ushered her daughter inside, bidding her to wash off the stains. Then she turned to Jas. “Ridiculous,” she said. “You need to learn some manners!”
Emma’s mother stepped forward, ready to swat at Jas. My daughter saw the blow coming, dodged it, and ran off. I doubted Jas would be able to walk home with Emma anymore.
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