by Karey White
Mae knew that every word he spoke was true . . . but wasn’t their love more important? If they left, they could leave all tradition behind. Surely they were brought together for a reason, and Fate would only be satisfied if they honored their love.
“They will forget us in time,” Mae whispered, her voice unsteady. “We will make a new life together. And perhaps someday we can return to show them that love is stronger than an old woman who believes she can speak for Fate.”
Chen held up the pearl comb, slowly shaking his head. Mae’s breath hitched at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes. He did love her. They could make this work.
“I want you to have this,” he said in a careful voice as if he were trying to conceal his emotion. “From the moment I met you, I knew that you were the only woman who should wear this because you were the only woman I would give my heart to.”
“Come with me, Chen, please,” she said, the tears starting again.
He pressed the comb into her hand. “I will always love you, Mae Li. Even when I am an old man, and surrounded by my grown children, I will never forget the most beautiful flower in China.”
“Chen, please,” Mae whispered as tears dripped down her cheeks, landing on the comb in her hand. “I want you, not this comb.”
“You already have my heart,” Chen said. He blinked rapidly and leaned close. “Take the comb and never forget me.” His lips pressed against her cheek, then against her lips, and suddenly, they were kissing. Fiercely.
He drew away too soon. The kiss was too short. Before Mae could do anything, Chen had turned and began walking up the path. This time, his steps were quick.
“Chen!” Mae called out.
He didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. His footsteps faded until the only thing Mae could hear was the uneven beating of her broken heart.
Chapter Four
Mae crouched behind the garden wall beneath a willow tree, watching the young mother bounce her infant son on her knee as she sat on a bench, gossiping with another woman. Mae’s gaze kept darting to the tray between the women and the food upon it. Half-eaten fried stuffed buns and rice cakes. The tea was probably cold by now, but Mae’s grumbling stomach was no longer picky, not after more than a week of traveling toward Shanghai.
Mae couldn’t even remember when she’d last eaten. The night before, she’d tried to break into a small bakery in a village, only to be chased off by a short man with a cane. Did no one ever sleep? Exhausted, Mae had fallen asleep by a stone wall, only to awake mid-morning to the sound of female voices.
With her satchel clutched in her hand, containing her few changes of clothes, the comb from Chen, and her wooden tablet of ancestor names, Mae had nothing else to claim in the world. She’d hitched rides on farmers’ carts, but mostly walked. She’d been stared at, chased by young children, even had a few rocks thrown at her from a couple of women who must have thought she was a traveling prostitute.
Some things were beneath Mae, and that was one of them. But a young woman traveling alone seemed to bring out the suspicion in people. She’d told the cart drivers that she was going to take care of her ailing aunt in Shanghai and her parents were too poor to travel with her.
Mae hated lying, but it was amazing how hunger and a desperate heart could change a person. When Chen had left her at the riverbank, Mae could have returned to her home, ripped up the farewell note she’d written to her parents, and swallowed her indignation at the recent events in her life.
But Chen’s gift of his great-grandmother’s precious comb had made her determined to show him, the village, her parents, and even the matchmaker that she would not bow down to their foolish traditions. She had lost nearly everything, but she refused to lose her dignity and marry a man she didn’t love, while watching the man she did love marry another.
Mae hadn’t stopped to cry, hadn’t paused to grieve. She’d pushed herself day and night, putting one foot in front of the other, for she knew that once she did allow herself to think, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from turning back.
The women in the garden laughed, then passed the baby from one set of arms to the other. Mae’s stomach pinched and rolled. Even the leaves and dirt started to look appetizing.
Finally, the women commented on the growing heat and took the baby inside the house. Mae didn’t know if she would have mere moments, or longer, but she scrambled over the stone wall and snatched the food, stuffing everything but the plates and tea cups into her satchel. She drank the remains of the tea. She’d been right. It was cold.
As Mae stole out of the garden, and once again set along the winding road, she felt her resolve return. Nestled securely in her satchel was the pearl comb. She could sell it and earn a sizable amount, but she’d rather die than do that. There had to be another way to survive. All she needed to do was find it.
The matchmaker may have broken her heart, but she would not break Mae.
Chapter Five
Mae climbed off the rickshaw and gave the puller a few coppers. She’d earned the coins while spending several days working for a widowed farmer’s wife a half-day’s journey from Shanghai. Mae had arrived at the widow’s farm tattered and starving. The driver of the cart she’d been on had dumped her in front of what looked to be a lean-to, then scoffed, saying she wasn’t even fit for a brothel. The widow had taken pity on her for one night, then put her to work the next morning with her young sons. The field work was hard but at least Mae had been fed and had earned some copper coins.
The rickshaw had stopped just outside of the loading area of the docks that led to the great ships in from the ocean. Mae stood, gaping at the massive ships. She’d heard tales of them, but had only seen sampans in her lifetime. The open ocean seemed to be a living thing, swelling up and down like a heaving fish, gasping its final air.
Men shouted to each other. Children clamored along the docks, picking up scraps, and running up and down the wooden planks in their bare, callused feet. Mae had never seen such thin children. Women in silk cheongsams stood in groups, gossiping, but mostly watching the sailors unloading one of the ships.
Mae’s face burned as one of the women turned to stare openly at her. The rouge and painted lips were a dead giveaway that the women were there to lure the men. Prostitutes. Mae quickly averted her gaze and walked forward, past the docks, having no idea where she could go. There had to be a telegraph office someplace that listed work for hire. Mae was a fast learner; she spoke Mandarin and was familiar with several dialects. She knew she was weak in the Wu dialect that was spoken in Shanghai, but she hoped it would be passable. Surely there were places here she could find work, even if it was only in exchange for room and board.
The city moved at a furious pace in the mid-morning. Rickshaws and wagons weaved around the carriages clogging the main streets, while ragged children darted to and fro, tugging on the sleeves of men and women, begging for coppers.
Mae questioned several people, but they turned away from her awkward Wu dialect. Finally, she approached a rickshaw puller who was waiting for his next cargo. “Where is the telegraph office?” she asked in the Wu dialect.
He eyed her up and down, then held out his hand.
Mae couldn’t spare even one coin. She moved away, feeling her eyes sting. Then the driver shouted after her, “Next corner, go right.”
She turned back and smiled and waved at him.
He just shook his head and looked away as if she’d asked him to share in his profits.
Mae’s step grew lighter, and she looked at the city with wonder. Men pushed merchant carts, calling out their wares, and women leaned out of the windows above the shops, shouting their orders right there on the street. The merchants sent up rice porridge and dim sum on pulleys to the waiting patrons.
As Mae turned the next corner and headed right, a young woman sidled up to her, speaking in the Sze Yup dialect, a derivative of Cantonese.
“I’m sorry,” Mae said. “I don’t speak Cantonese so well. Do you speak Mandarin?”
The woman switched dialects flawlessly, questions tumbling out, one after another. “You are new here, yes? I thought you might speak Sze Yup since your red cheeks tell me you’re from the country. Do you have family you are staying with? Are you looking for a job?”
Mae placed her hands on her cheeks self-consciously. The women in Shanghai were known for their creamy pale skin. The woman speaking to her was about Mae’s age. She wore an elegant peach silk cheongsam with blue piping and frogs, cut in the traditional style.
“I am looking for a job,” Mae said, keeping her eyes open for the telegraph place.
The woman’s slim fingers wrapped around Mae’s arm. “Come with me. We are hiring new girls.”
Mae tugged away from the woman. “New girls for what?”
“Modeling for paintings and calendar hangings,” the woman said, smiling and revealing white polished teeth. “Come and eat with me. I’ll explain more when you are not so hungry.”
Had the woman read Mae’s mind or heard her stomach rumble?
“My name is Daiyu. What is yours?”
Mae found herself linking arms with Daiyu and telling her about her home. They walked into a tea shop and Daiyu ordered tea, then almond broth and dried vegetables with bamboo shoots. Just the names made Mae’s mouth water. When the tea arrived, she took eager sips, and when the food was set in front of her, she had to force herself to eat carefully and not devour it in a few bites.
“Where are you from?” Daiyu asked, a smile on her face as she watched Mae eat.
The tea shop was cozy, the smells heavenly, and Mae ended up telling Daiyu her entire story of woe with Chen.
“Your heart has been broken, but you will find good luck with me,” Daiyu said, patting Mae’s hand. “I will take care of you. Do you have a place to stay?”
Mae shook her head, and Daiyu only smiled. “You met fortune when you met me. Come.” She stood and motioned for Mae to follow her to the back of the tea shop.
“Where are we going?” Mae asked, wrinkling her brow.
“You will see,” Daiyu said. “I will introduce you to Madame Fong.”
Feeling better than she had since the day the matchmaker made her horrible pronouncement, Mae followed Daiyu past the kitchen and through a curtained entryway that led to a storage room. They went through another door that led to a courtyard—a shikumen—surrounded by a two-story structure with several doors facing the courtyard.
Daiyu led Mae across the courtyard and opened one of the doors on the ground level, and they stepped into a small room hung with lengths of colorful silk. Several lamps glowed on low tables set around the room, and cushions lined the walls. The air, thick with incense, was almost stifling.
A woman who was perhaps the largest person Mae had ever seen reclined on a settee, with a dish of sweets in her hands.
Daiyu spoke in rapid Wu to the woman, whom Mae assumed was Madame Fong.
The woman arched her painted brows, then pursed her dark red-stained lips. “Bring her closer.”
Mae moved closer, curious yet repulsed at the same time. She tried not to stare at the woman’s rolls of flesh.
“Who is your family in Shanghai?” Madame Fong asked.
When Mae told her she’d left her village for good and had no family in Shanghai, Madame Fong scoffed. “You are a foolish girl. Shanghai will not take care of someone as innocent as you. Do you have any money?”
“Very little,” Mae said, thinking of the handful of coppers in her satchel. It would probably buy a single meal and nothing more.
Madame Fong picked up a sweet from her bowl and popped it in her mouth. “We do not help strangers for free.”
Mae glanced over at Daiyu, but she’d busied herself with an incense burner, lighting a new stick. Mae met Madame Fong’s gaze again, not knowing what to say. The room was warm and thick with incense, making her feel drowsy and her thoughts muddled. Hadn’t Daiyu told her they were needed as models? Wasn’t this why Daiyu brought her here?
“Did Daiyu tell you about the work?” Madame Fong asked.
Relief pulsed through her. “Modeling,” Mae said.
Madame Fong smiled, showing a couple of broken teeth. “Yes. Exactly.”
The blood rushed to Mae’s head at the mocking tone of Madame Fong’s voice. She looked over to Daiyu again. Had the girl been truthful? Was this . . . her thoughts tumbled together as she paid closer attention to the small gilt-framed paintings on the wall behind Madame Fong. Mae had been so caught up in the large woman’s appearance that she hadn’t noticed the actual images. The paintings were of naked women.
Mae suppressed a gasp, and she took a small step backward, trying to think of a polite way to leave the room. But the room blurred and swayed, and before she could say anything, she collapsed onto a cushion.
Chapter Six
“Drink this.” It was a voice that Mae didn’t recognize. All she knew was that her head was pounding and her stomach felt like she’d jumped off a roof.
She opened her eyes, thankful that the light was dim. As it was, the candles glowing in the room seemed inordinately bright. The silk hangings were familiar; it was the same room she’d met Madame Fong. But now, Madame Fong was gone and so was Daiyu.
A man knelt before her, grinning, and holding out a cup of something hot. His hand slid under her arm and he pulled her up into a sitting position.
The action made Mae breathless. She felt as if she hadn’t a bit of strength left in her, like her bones and muscles had somehow disappeared.
“There,” the man said in a low, soothing voice. “Drink this, and you’ll feel better.”
Mae took a few ginger sips of the hot tea—strong and bitter. The man was right. She was feeling better. “Who are you?”
He put a finger to his lips.
Was he not supposed to be here? Mae guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. He was small for a man, and his limbs were delicate, almost like a woman’s. He moved back with silent, slow steps, then turned and left the room, passing through a door along the back wall.
Mae took another gulp of the hot tea and reached for her satchel. Thankfully it was still with her. She set the teacup down and rose unsteadily to her feet. She had so many questions, but the fogginess of her mind and the rapid beat of her heart told her that she’d been drugged. She had to get out. Now.
First, she tried the door that Daiyu had led her through, but it was locked tight. Just the effort of crossing the room exhausted Mae, and her hairline grew damp with perspiration. She walked to the other door, stepping around cushions and low tables. It too was locked.
Mae leaned her forehead against the door and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. She was so tired . . . Then she heard someone’s voice on the other side of the door. She moved to the side, pressing herself against the wall, waiting.
The door opened, and Daiyu came through. When she saw Mae cowering against the wall, her eyes narrowed.
“Did Goa come in here?” Her eyes scanned the room and landed on the tea cup sitting where Mae had woken up. “He will pay for this.”
Mae slid to the door and stepped out before Daiyu had turned back. But she got only one step into the corridor when Daiyu shouted, “No,” and lunged for her.
Mae screamed and pushed away Daiyu’s clawing fingers. Moments earlier, Mae had barely been able to stand and support her own weight, but now, it was like a feral cat had awakened inside of her. Deep down, she knew she was fighting for her life. If she stayed in this room, Daiyu or Madame Fong would drug her again and then who knew what might happen. She’d be forced into unsavory work, perhaps even prostitution.
The sordid tales of the big cities like Shanghai had been true, Mae realized. The thought invigorated her defense. She clawed back at Daiyu, hitting and scratching to get away. But the woman kept fighting. Mae caught hold of Daiyu’s arm and twisted it at an odd angle, and Daiyu cried out with a curse.
For a moment, Daiyu’s grip lessened, and Mae scrambled away, running d
own a dark corridor. She didn’t know where she was going or if she’d run into another wall, but she ran nonetheless.
She turned a corner, then another. Daiyu shrieked something behind her, but Mae didn’t allow herself to slow down or turn back. She ducked beneath a staircase leading upwards and crouched in the corner, making herself as small as possible.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Mae prayed to her ancestors, hoping that one of them was watching over her. She pled that she wouldn’t be found, that she could make it out of this place safely. Footsteps rushed up the stairs above her, and for several moments she heard shouting. First Daiyu’s voice and then a man’s. Goa?
Mae didn’t know how long she stayed crouched beneath the stairs, but eventually she became aware of the sound of dripping water and small scratches that made the hair on her arms stand on end. Rats? She wasn’t particularly afraid of rodents, but in the dark, she was wary of the unseen.
Finally, Mae knew she couldn’t stay hidden forever. She’d either fall asleep or she’d soil herself. Trembling with the damp cold, she stood, her legs stiff from her cramped position. Pulse racing, she crept from beneath the stairs, and not knowing which direction to turn, she climbed them.
The stairs led to another long corridor of closed doors. Light came from a window at the far end, otherwise it was quite dark. Taking a deep breath, she headed down the corridor. She walked at first, then started to run. Once she reached the window, she could see that she was on the second story of the building she’d first entered. She was reluctant to open any of the doors, afraid of what she might find.
Taking a deep breath, she moved back toward the stair case and started down the stairs. She stopped cold when a figure stepped out in front of her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the man clapped his hand over her mouth. “I can get you out of here,” he hissed in her ear. “How much money do you have?”
